We arrived home from our cross-country trip early Monday morning this week and the girls and I loaded into the car on Thursday morning for another roadtrip up to St. George for "Kids Quilt Retreat." Admittedly, the last thing I wanted to do was get back in the car for 15 hours, but remembering Mr. Drucker's quote, I packed our bags and filled our car with yet more four-dollar-a-gallon gasoline and headed north. The girls were deliriously happy picking out their fabric and ric rac and dressing their dolls for the trip. It was such a good reminder for me of how important and sweet one-on-one time (or one-on-two, in this case) is for my relationships with my children. The greatest blessing of my week came on Friday as I was helping the girls each make a quilt. When they got stuck or started sewing wildly crooked, I stood behind them, leaned over their shoulders, and placed my hands on top of theirs as they guided their fabric through the sewing machine. I could smell their hair. I could hear their breathing. I could see the tip of Olivia's tongue and the crease in Savannah's brow. I could see their chipped fingernail polish and their ragged little hangnails, and still feel a bit of their baby roundness in their wrists. I kept thinking, "Remember this. Remember this." And I was so grateful to be standing there. With my hands atop theirs. So grateful for this tradition, for needle and thread, and especially for the links between me and my daughters.