It's kind of amusing that before we started trying to conceive, I had no dearth of fertile cervical fluids, but now that I actually want them to be there, they're making themselves scarce.

I made a friend yesterday.

Her name is Emily, and she's four years old.

Emily's mother brought her and her younger brother and sister into the children's room for what may have been the first time yesterday afternoon, and Emily was just ecstatic. While she was busy playing with some blocks, I helped her mother find some books. As I was just standing up from my crouch by the shelf, I heard the little girl's voice from behind me. "Can you help me find some books for my brother?"

Emily loves her brother. He likes books about trucks. Together we had a marvelous time searching out boardbooks suitable for his tender years; I found a book shaped like a bulldozer, and she was beside herself with glee. While we looked over the shelves, she regaled me with stories.

"Sam just loves to read! We bring him home piles of books, and he just reads them all up! He's such a good boy! I like to read, too, but I don't like trucks as much as he does."

After we'd assembled a sizeable pile of books, her mother thanked us and then asked for recommendations of books for early readers. Seeing that Emily was the oldest sibling, I knelt and asked Emily if she was a "pretty good reader"; I didn't want to ask her mother the question right in front of her, should the answer hurt the child's feelings. As it happened, Emily didn't read at all, but was keenly interested in starting: her eyes grew to saucers and a huge grin broke out on her face when I suggested we go to pick out an early reader for her. I turned to walk to the proper area, and I felt her little hand slip into mine.

We chose He Bear, She Bear. She held the book out in front of her chest reverently as if it were made of pure gold. She nodded her head slowly as she said, "I think this will be just perfect!" And then, before I knew it was coming, she swiftly hugged me about the waist. I almost burst into tears on the spot.

There's something about a child's hug that melts away the biggest stresses and leaves one feeling warm and loved.

I am never so flattered as when the flattery comes from the mouth of a kid. Children are so candid and honest about their feelings (however quickly they learn dishonesty born of fear) that their praises are all the more affirming than those coming from adults. The moment you are a king in a child's eyes is a glorious moment, indeed.

I was never so attractive as when I was babysitting for a four-year-old and her friend, and the friend screamed at the top of her lungs to her mother, "I'm playing with Blair and her babysitter! She's pretty!"

I was never so talented as when I brought my flute in to play for my Sunday School class of two-year-olds, and they all gathered around with wide eyes to listen, and clapped with wild fury when it was over.

I was never so tall and strong as when I was teaching my neighbor's kids how to play basketball, and they had me lift them up to reach the basket.

I was never so loved as when I was left to teach a class of twelve toddlers all by myself, and I had them all in the palm of my hand, and none of them wanted to leave at the end of the class; they cried when their parents took them away.

I was never so interesting as when I made up stories for the kids I was babysitting, and they sat on the sofa and listened for hours without fidgeting or wanting to go to the bathroom.

I was never so touched as when my Sunday School class of two-year-olds all hugged and kissed me on my last Sunday before I went off to college, and their parents chipped in to buy me a bouquet of yellow roses.

I was never so happy as when my mother told me that one of those kids, now grown into a young teenager, remembered being in my class and said they really missed me.

Warm fuzzies...they're born not in the heart of a child, but in the heart of one who has been touched by a child. I wonder whom I touched when I was a child, and whom I turned into a king for a moment. I'm sure they've kept their memories as I've kept mine.

Dad had his surgery yesterday. Turns out he had a hiatal hernia, instead of just a spur, but it's been fixed and he's home. Things are once more becoming right with the world.