Monday, 1:43 a.m.

Our Stake Center burned to the ground on early Monday morning.  Which was completely surreal.  I had just been there the night before at a Stake Standards night. 

David and Caleb drove by on the way home from swim team and after viewing the charred remains Caleb said, "Is it the second coming?"

The girls, of course, heard on the bus on the way to school.  (Their little "network" is always up and running with the latest news.)  When they got home Savannah asked, with a little tremor, "Does this mean I can't get baptized?" 

I was as surprised at their tender comments as I was at the news of the fire.

Ode to My "Baby"

I woke up to this:

(Technically, I went to bed with it like this, but we won't get into that...)

Ethan said,  "How many minutes is it going to take?"

"A lot."

"A hundred?  What comes after a hundred?"

"A hundred and one."

"What's next?"

"A hundred and two."

"Then what?"

"A hundred and three.  A hundred and four.  A hundred and five.  A hundred and six."

And then eyeing the dishes with his raised eyebrows, "Mom, what's the last number?"

Yes, it may take me that long.  I grinned anyway.

Ethan was born six years after Caleb and so I worried about their "connection."  But they have been remarkably good friends given their age difference.  On Sunday, the kids wrote thank-you notes in Primary.  They could choose anyone they wanted to thank.  Caleb wrote this:

Dear Ethan,

I'm thankful for you because you bring a light into my life and make me happy.  I'm glad your my brother. 

Love, Caleb

Oh, yes.  A light.  Caleb has it just right.  And my heart squeezed so hard it hurt.  To have a boy that is indeed a light, and to have a boy that conscientiously and humbly wrote this to his brother. 

And finally, there's this.  Last Saturday afternoon this is how I found my "baby":  gathering more evidence for his case.  He exclaimed, "See, Mom, this is why you should put me in the circus." 

 He doesn't yet know that I will never be able to let him go.