Cindy Hval's article ("Jot it down") instantly brought back one of many, many happy memories of my children when they were little. We spent endless nights before bedtime all curled up in one rocker while I read to them. I still have that rocker.

When I look back, I see rows and rows of days where we were either in that chair or all three cuddled up on the couch, one on either side of me. They were precious moments where we "bonded" – where we formed a tight circle of love and affection – just the three of us. I miss those days of cuddling. They haven't faded completely out of view for just this last Christmas we were all together with our extended families and I lost count of the times that one son or the other son embraced me as we were all celebrating the holiday.

I remember the day I discovered my babies had sprouted fuzzy angel hair on their legs! O my! Who would have thought that those fat squeezable legs would grow into puberty, into long legged teen boys.

Or the day my youngest drew a tattoo in blue indelible ink on his leg. "That was a perfectly good leg," I told him! "No marks, no scars, no taints, no blemishes. Perfect!"  He now sports several real tattoos, on his legs, arms, neck. {sigh}

And the day that we were watching "Puff the Magic Dragon" when they were six and seven years old. As the little boy in the cartoon grew into a man and forgot his magical dragon friend, Puff, my youngest turned to me in astonishment, huge tears spilling over his cheeks, wondering how something could be so sad – and I was thinking at the same time, how does a six year old learn compassion and empathy to the extreme of tears? I hugged him and encouraged him to stay young! Stay innocent! Stay my baby!

He's now 35 years old. But he hasn't forgotten me!

There's always a hug and there's always a "hey, Mom!" of some discovery he wants to share.