One of the children had to remind us. The dead wood of the cabinets and tables just sits there. The only thing worse than that is when we lose one of the children. She was watching the game and a leaf caught her eye and waved. Then, like an intricate, silent network from the natural world—say, a creek flowing to a stream, to a river, to the ocean, to the clouds, to return as rain—we rely on other mothers. And remember, I love you, babies.