After watching Anne of Green Gables, we head up to our rooms. I catch my daughter coming from her three year old's bedroom.
"I just had to cuddle him," she says.
"You really cuddled him? You don't worry about waking him up?"
"Well, I don't really cuddle, I just have to see him before I go to sleep. It renews his sweetness--him lying there like an angel."
We head to our respective bedrooms and then I remember while brushing my teeth, that I too, at day's end, had to see my sleeping darlings. Especially if I'd had a rough day with the two year old, the four year old, the twelve year old, and all my love had been ripped from my heart while battling them to go to sleep or arguing over an unfinished chore, or an un-eaten vegetable at dinner.
The angel in the bed put my heart back where it belonged.