Clickable Magic

Last night I was walking up the stairs and heard my son reading a book to his brother. The lights were supposed to have been off ten minutes before, but maybe I was in a good mood or something, because at that moment, it was just amazing to hear them reading together, sharing something they both like in total brotherly love.

At times like that, I find myself doing what I call a "Cam Jansen click." Cam Jansen is a fictitious kid with a photographic memory, and when she wants to remember a particular scene, she closes her eyes and says "click." This helps imprint the scene so she can recall the details of it later. She calls it her mental camera.

I don't really claim to have a photographic memory. But there are many moments in my life that make my heart flutter, when I just wish there was a way to capture the emotion of that moment. Sometimes a real camera helps with that, and sometimes a journal or blog helps, but usually I find that I have to simply live the moment, flutters and all, then I mentally "click" and hope that I can remember it.

Here are a few that came rushing back to me tonight:

* This might sound insane, but some of my favorite 'click' moments are from the quiet hours of the night, when I am taking care of one child or another after they've had a bad dream, or when they can't quite fall asleep and we're reading stories or singing songs.

* I love singing hymns as lullabies, while I look into the eyes of my baby and we're just staring at each other, feeling, listening, and it seems as though the words of the song carry my testimony into their little heart. And their eyes tell me that they know too.

* My oldest isn't super talkative, except at night. When it's late at night, and he's supposed to be going to bed, this kid will sit and talk about everything. Sometimes I tell him that's how I know he's tired, but I love when I occasionally 'break the rules' and take the time to listen instead of ushering him off to bed.

* I am realizing that all of my kids will eventually grow out of being small enough for me to just hold them. So sometimes I just hold them and hold them, hoping that if I do it enough we'll both remember it when they hit their annoying stages.

I guess that the ironic thing about these examples is that the very things I love the most can also infuriate me -- when kids are supposed to be sleeping and they want more stories or songs, when they're supposed to be sleeping and want to talk, or when they're supposed to be in their own bed and are instead flopping all over me in mine.

When I do it wrong, the moment is caustic, and when I do it right, it's pure clickable magic.