Just for this morning, I will let you wake up softly, all rumpled in your flannel and I will hold you until you are ready.

Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say you're beautiful.

Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I am going to eat a huge breakfast, with bacon eggs, toast and waffles, and you don't have to eat any.

Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that 100 piece puzzle together.

Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the garden blowing bubbles.

Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up or who you might have been before your diagnosis.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to 'fix' things.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you put all kinds of barettes in my hair, and put lipstick on my face, and I will tell you how pretty you have made me look.

Just for this afternoon I will take you to McDonalds and buy us both a Happy meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born, and how much we love you.

Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the bathtub and not get angry when you throw water over your sister's head.

Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch swing and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will bring you glasses of water, and snuggle beside you for hours and miss my favorite T.V. show.

Just for this evening, when I kneel down to pray, I will simply be grateful for all that I have and not ask for anything, except Just One More Day.