Last night while my son was getting ready for bed, he found my big pink comb on the counter. He grabbed the comb and motioned for me to sit on the bathroom floor. He stood behind me, gently combing small sections. He walked around and carefully checked out how it looked in front. His little fingers stroked through my shoulder length hair. His mind was absorbed in taking care of me. Most nights, I repeatedly remind him to get ready for bed, while he bounces around trying to add play time to a day that has already passed. Last night, I let him comb my hair until he was done. He took another look at his work and plopped down in my lap, hugging me. He suggested I get a hair cut. I couldn't make that moment last forever, but the memory of it will.