There is something to be said for being busy, I suppose. Lately, though, I crave the embrace of a lazy afternoon. Fuzzy socks, a new novel, a blanket, maybe a fire in the fireplace.

A nap. Oh, now we're talking. A long, luscious nap.

Nevertheless, the busy I've got going on is a good busy. A productive, happy busy that makes those final moments before sleep extra sweet. It is in those last minutes of conciousness that I find myself replaying little snapshots of the kids, and filing away the memories for another day.

I want to remember that every day this week, my son met me at his classroom door with raised arms and a big, jack-o-lantern smile on his freckled face. I want to remember him skipping all the way from the classroom to the van, singing Ode To Joy under his breath.

I want to remember my soon-to-be-nine-year-old curling up next to me on a chair and telling me that if she could do anything in the world at that moment, she would be doing it with me. (I'm going to forget the part where ten minutes later she screamed "NO ONE LOVES ME" and slammed her door.)

I'm going to remember that my five-year-old still can't cross her eyes, instead following her finger towards her nose until it gets close, whereupon she opens both eyes wide and tries to catch a glimpse of herself with her eyes crossed.

I want to remember that I'm so very lucky, and even though sometimes I don't appreciate it, I've got so much to be thankful for in my life.

And now, I want to remember where I stashed that candy bar so the kids wouldn't find it. That would be valuable intel right about now.