The kids last week each wore a name tag. It made it easy to address them, and learn how precious they are to their parents. How else can you explain the choice to christen your child Vivienne? Or Brooks? Noelle? Sophia? Each one swirls in my mouth like fresh squeezed orange juice, sweet and tangy. I have had the pleasure of naming nine souls and know the import of two or three syllables. Or four. Or five. 

Each morning I took the opportunity to call them by name. Such as when I invited them to choose an animal for Old McDonald Had a Farm, or to explain what their mom's or dad's job is, to include in the song My Old Man's a Sailor. One boy I called on explained that his father runs errands. Another said he helps his mom cook. 

I enjoy that some kids have no clear notion what their parents do to provide for them. After all we don't do it for popularity or prestige. We love our children and that leaves no alternative but to serve them lavishly. 

Another song we enjoyed was You are My Sunshine.

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my Sunshine away."

One boy picked up on the fact that three straight hours of full volume singing can be taxing on my voice. He hustled to bring me a cup of cool water. Funny, but the scripture suggests that it be the other way around. In any case, it tasted heavenly, and eager to please me he brought more. And more. 

At the close of the morning he handed me his name tag. 

"You can put this somewhere where you can see it... you know, to remember."

I hugged him and said I would. Then he curled his hands with wrists and fingertips together. 

"I heart you!" he ran toward his mother. 

"I love you!" I called after him. But by then his eyes were on his mother and I doubt he heard me. No matter. My affection went with him just the same. 

He will never know just how much.