Sometimes in the midst of sleepless nights, toddler tantrums, endless carpools and teenage angst, it's hard to remember why we wanted children in the first place.
Tonight my third-grader reminded me. He came into the kitchen and said, "Mom, I'm writing a book. Wanna know the title?"
"Sure," I replied.
"It's called 'Cindy: More Perfect than the Moon.'"
I put down the dishcloth and looked into his blue eyes. "Sam, that sounds wonderful. What's it about?"
He showed me the title page covered with tons of tiny hearts. "It's about you, Mom and how much I love you."
Of course I pulled him into a huge hug and told him I couldn't wait to read it.
As he walked off he said, "It'll be a mostly true story."

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