The Warmth Outside The Blanket

I recently started referring to the state of my daily life as a Calgon commercial. For those of you not old enough to understand the reference, there was a television ad that once showed a chaotic life on screen in 4 squares, in which there was a ringing phone, crying child, a pot boiling over and somebody knocking at the door, all at the same time. Lately, for some time actually, that's been a sort of daily theme for both of us, starting at 6am and running well into the evening hours. But what I am thinking about now is one of the few moments in the day that probably give me the greatest reward and the strongest sense of accomplishment. That's the time before bed, when the house is quite, and I step slowing into the room of my sleeping children. I do so for the sole purpose of checking on the room temperature and to routinely cover them once again with the blankets they've usually writhed-aside or ended up on top of. The sound of their breathing calms me, and the love I have for them gives me more warmth than any number of blankets might provide for them.