Today. 12:35pm. I'm lying sick in bed with a head cold and my twins are loving me by bringing helpful things like a broken doll's head, a sticky penny and a picture that says (roughly translated from the text below): "Mom, you forgot to finish the story, Mom."
She's right. Last week, I was telling them a story about twins who were lost in the woods--and I said I would finish it the next day. But I never did. I'm thankful for sick days and letting my children love me. And for reminders to finish the story.
Tell me: when was the last time YOU felt loved?