I have the sinking feeling my time in nursery is coming to a close. Maybe it's because my husband (a member of the bishopric who coordinates callings with our Primary president) said of recent changes, "Well, we are in the process of phasing you out of there."

Or maybe it's the fact I'm risking sanity by simultaneously serving as a Gospel Doctrine Teacher, a nursery leader and a Cub Scout leader over both wolf and bear dens who meet every Wednesday at my house. (It hasn't been so bad, so far).

The truth is, I love church callings that allow me to spend unique, quality time with my own children.

Cub Scouts has been like a weekly play date on steroids for my boy who loves to don a uniform and salute the flag with his best friends.

Nursery has been my chance to hold on to every precious moment of my tiny little girl's fast-track development. Judging from how quickly my older girls have grown into teenagers, I more fully appreciate every minute of toddlerhood.

So this Thanksgiving, which may be my last as nursery leader, I'm especially grateful for the silly, the chaotic and the precious times I've spent with the tiniest members of our ward family.

I'm grateful for little girls who sneak pink ballerina tutus under their church dresses.



I'm grateful for the miracle of criers who instantaneously become content without warning, despite your best efforts.

I'm grateful for women who are open-minded enough to spend an hour or two in nursery with me on Sunday mornings and walk away saying, "Wow, that was really fun."

I'm grateful for soft play-dough and heart-shaped cookie cutters.

I'm grateful for kids who love to color and aren't afraid to wander outside the lines.

I'm grateful for song writers who have penned catchy finger plays for our children to adore.

I'm grateful for homemade bean bags made from colorful fleece.

I'm grateful for jump ropes that turn our class into a safe "chain gang" when we want to take a walk outside on a spring day.

I'm grateful for glitter glue that sparkles our craft projects without all the mess.

I'm grateful for plastic baby dolls that still look pleasant after decades of weekly wear and tear (we have some that haven't held up so well and seriously frighten me when they're pulled from the doll bin).

I'm grateful for tablecloths that soak up water spills.

I'm grateful for puzzles with all their pieces and books with all their pages.

I'm grateful for little ones who excitedly exclaim, "Sister Duce" when they see me in the grocery store.

I'm grateful for copy machines and new manuals that make lesson time a breeze.

I'm grateful for newfound friends who insert each other's names into Primary songs. For instance: my 2-year-old daughter sings, "Lead me, guide me, walk me Simon, help me find the way ..."

I'm grateful for toddlers who love the prophet and sing his praises.

I'm grateful for those little voices who say the words to their own prayer right along with the designated pray-er.

I'm grateful for hand sanitizer and disinfectant wipes.

I'm grateful for industrial strength vacuums in church closets that erase any evidence of cracker explosions.

I'm grateful for clearance-priced Halloween costumes that turned our nursery class into the nativity scene last Sunday complete with little lambs, wise men, an angel of the Lord, and of course, a chubby-faced Mary holding a babe in swaddling clothes. (We took a picture and are using it for the ward's Christmas card -- best idea ever!)

I'm grateful for the Son of God who came into the world as a child, who loves every child and reminds us to become like a little child.

I could go on with this thanksgiving list, but pumpkin pie awaits for you and me.

The holidays are the perfect time to cement memories through gratitude, and I hope I never forget my time in nursery. (But if so, I guess I can always go back and read this column.)