Sitting in the nursing mothers room with Calvin, I was upset by having a disruptive three year old at yet another Sunday morning church service. We were sitting in a rocker. He was struggling to loosen my grip as I struggled to hold him still, trying to make being taken out of the service a more boring experience than sitting through it. Discouragement began to set in and I searched for ideas on how to make the struggling stop. "What color are my eyes, Calvin?" I asked. He stopped struggling and looked at me. He brought his nose within an inch of mine, looking deeply into my eyes. "Um, pretty," he said.
