Flushed, cranky, legs aching from a round of immunizations, she cries out for me. She, my youngest, my baby who wants to do everything herself and who tells me all day long, with a flip of her hand, to "go 'way," actually wants me. Cuddling her and putting her back to sleep won't do; neither will singing a song. All she wants is the comfort of mama's arms. So I hold her soft, sturdy little self and she slumps and snuggles against me.

In the other room, from where she too is supposed to be sleeping but is not, my 4-year-old sings "Halle-lu-jah...halle-lu-jah." (Lest you give us credit for being holier than we actually are, let me tell you that she is singing the version off the movie "Shrek," not from an actual hymn). But in this quiet house, a big bundle of blankie and baby held tight to my chest, it is a moment for giving thanks after all, no matter which tune we're singing.

.