A pamphlet was delivered to us for an upcoming religious gathering: a smiling, Aryan Jesus holds his hand up in invitation, his arm draped with a poncho and his coif softly curling. My husband, without a word, cut out a talk-bubble and applied it – “Who’s up for some Ultimate Frisbee?” The Son of Man congenially asks – then put it on the fridge where I saw it an hour or so later and spluttered laughter (Ralph went to Evergreen).

Last night I bathed with both my children. My aching body found comfort in the hot, hot water. Sophie sat behind me and poured water on my back, unasked but so appreciated by me. After a few minutes she said, “Let’s lay back,” which is exactly what I wanted. I held her and we whispered. She got out and into a towel; Nels arrived next. I smelled his salty skin and his hair – I simply can’t describe how good his hair smells to me. His little strong body is the brownest of all of us. I hold and kiss him and think it’s remarkable how my children allow me to fuss over and touch them – sometimes they enjoy it, leaning in and reciprocating, but often they don’t even notice. I thought, how nice for us all that we touch this much.

I told my son, “Nels, you were born in water.” He said, “This feels good,” and smiled. Sometimes I simply can’t believe I’m allowed to spend time with them in my life. I cherish and love almost every minute.

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