For Lucy

Today a dear friend brought us dinner. (Bless her. It was one of those days. The kind that saw tears escape from both your mom's and your dad's eyes when we were reunited after busy hours apart and mutually inquired, "How was your day??" Not sad tears. Just tired tears. And they were followed by a healthy dose of tired laughter.) You very happily ate up your main entree and devoured every last bite of your broccoli. When we served you dessert, you downed a few spoonfuls before declaring in a voice totally void of contempt or condemnation, "It tastes a little like pond water." And then you proceeded to calmly consume your treat - in spite of the irrepressible laughter that sounded on either side of you.

Dear child, you bring so many smiles to our sometimes stressful days.

A few nights ago, all four of us were piled into the car, driving through the darkness to an unfamiliar destination. Anxiety was mounting at each wrong turn. I finally offered a cheerful, "Isn't this a fun night-time adventure??!" I couldn't tell in the darkness, but I think you may have rolled your eyes before responding, "Oh, Mom! This is a car ride!"

Smiles.

It is true that sometimes our smiles are forced. Like tonight, when our directive to "put the markers away for bedtime," was met with your screaming,"I just want to color while I sleep!!"

Funny.
Much funnier now that you're finally resting.

And your brother's finally resting too, bless his little heart,which means that I should be sprinting for bed, myself. But I want you to know that even in the midst of these busy, blurry days, you are thriving. And I notice it.


I notice the way your "pretend" play has risen to new heights as you daily don your princess shoes and disappear for many many minutes of make-believe fun. I love to sneak up on you and listen to your running, complicated dialog.

I notice the way your reading ability has exploded from our morning lessons to every book, sign, poster, or magazine you can get your hands or eyes on. Can't tell you how much I love to see your dimpled little finger tracing under the words you sound out so patiently.

And every day I notice the way you're growing into life as a big sister. Your attention span and attentiveness toward Spencer are increasing daily. You give me a token smile in the morning as you run past me declaring, "I want to see Spencer." You hover close at his side and talk gently (most of the time). And I'm amazed at the way his squirms often calm at the sound of your adoring voice.

It is true that I am often impatient with you. It is true that my fuse is sometimes ridiculously short. In my efforts to be more patient, I often think of Elder Ballard's validating words. They've become almost a daily catechism.

"Recognize that the joy of motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times. But amid the challenges, there are shining moments of joy and satisfaction."

Joy and Satisfaction. I felt those things during the wet moment we shared together a few days after Spencer was born. All I did was spray you down with warm shower water, but your delighted squeals were more healing to my weak self than a thousand hours of sleep. (Mmm....I'm wavering a bit in my willingness to commit to that statement. And yet, after a few minutes of consideration, I feel inclined to let it stand.) That was truly a smiling, shining moment.

So was the moment we shared last week when my instinctive "it's way past your bedtime" comments crumbled in the face of your polite pleading to "go rolling!" down a nearby hill. How did you know that a twilight trip down that grassy slope was just what my tired soul needed? And your soul needed it too. You danced by my side all the way home, repeating the astonished question, "Did we go rolling in the night?!?" again and again.

And now, to bed with me! No rolling tonight!

But, oh, I love you, little girl! Please don't forget that during these sleepy-eyed, stress-filled, happy, sunny, autumn days!