Big blues eyes set in pleading face ... May I bake some bread today, mom ... all by myself?

I weighed what I thought would be the damages of such an undertaking. The floor would undoubtedly be covered in flour, more utensils than I could possibly imagine would be piled in the sink, my new kitchen sponge gooey with pasty baking residue; ruined at best.

A sigh.

Sure you can! And a squeal of delight.

The bread we feasted on at supper was not only delicious, it was better than any I've made of late. We smothered it in jam, French cheese and Swiss meat spread. We evaluated its texture, admired its crunchy crust, beamed over its beautiful shape and color.

Later in the evening, as little feet were padding their way off to bed, two arms slid up behind me and a head rested on my back. How I love you, mom. So, so much.

Is love increased when it lets others fly? By letting go, I do believe one is given back... one-hundredfold.