Every night, it was the same: I’d tuck him in bed and make sure St. Michael was on his bedside table, then I’d go and tuck in the others. About 30 minutes later, I’d peek back in his room, and hear him crying. So I’d go and settle into the white enamel rocker in the corner and begin to hum his favorites (he was partial to Barry Manilow). And soon, very soon, I’d feel a little pat on my lap. It was time to cuddle! Read all about it today at CatholicMom.com.  #PrayerStories #FosterParenting #BedtimeDrama