My Favorite Part of the Day

This is my favorite part of the day.

The sun sets, the bullfrogs turn it up a notch, and my heart and arms are full.  My daughters’ love fest begins; hugs and multiple kisses all around, accompanied by the now familiar pang in my gut that comes with the sincere, silent wish of every mother, “I pray they stay this close forever.”  My eyes water, my heart beats stronger, and my face warms from the smile that has spread across it. 

The same story is read/recited for the thirty-fifth time in as many evenings, prayers are started and people or stuffed animals are blessed several times, and she begins.

“Tomoyo, I go cherch!”

“Why you hair wet?”

“No let witch ge me, kay?”

 “Seuss in Heaven with God.”

“But Mama, I no wan to go nigh-nigh!”

“But Mama, I no wan you to leeeeave.”

This is my favorite part of the day.

Promises are uttered about being just downstairs and always being here for her, and that appeases her…for now.  Lullabye, AKA Rockabye, is hummed ad nauseum, but I love it.  Every second, I love it.  This is our time; our special time when my face is so close to hers for an extended period of time, yet I’m acutely aware of just how fleeting these moments will become.  Days pass, inches attach themselves to my daughters…as do those pesky days, weeks, and even years.  Before I know it, they won’t want to be this close to me for a moment longer than a quick peck and barely-there hug…if I’m lucky.

This is my favorite part of the day.

My keen ability to multi-task, a sure blessing, allows me to hum a tune and think about my precocious daughter at the same time.  Her soft, stick-straight blonde hair, enormous sky-blue eyes, perfect rosebud lips…she is a true beauty.  Memories of the day bombard my mind, and I review dances with her dolls-both in princess dresses-in the family room, “Gace, gi me hug,” the cartoonish way her face crumples when she’s disappointed or sad, “Yeth, you can,” the pinwheel that is her running style.  The idea of bekiss, lunch, and dinnah bring such joy to her little life…and I try to capture it all and put it in my mind for safe keeping.  

I watch her fall asleep.  It’s magical.  To watch her mouth stop moving, her fingers cease their nightly ritual of rubbing Snuggle Bunny’s ear to her lip, her eyelids fluttering to their down and locked position, is a gift.  The moment is not lost on me-not even for a second.  She is protected in the folds of my arms…for the time being.  Her sleeping face, peaceful and angelic, would provide a subject for the most renowned painters and poets alike.  

All I can do is just stare down at her; my impulsive, brave, generous Little Bit.  Love pours out of every cell of my being for this little life.  I thank God for her during these moments, because I know that she is very much His gift to me and not the other way around.  So, I rock her just a few minutes more; I hold her just a little bit tighter; I hum a few extra verses.  

She is mine and I am hers. 

This is my favorite part of the day.

I Pray.

I pray.

I pray because I'm a Christian and it's what we do.

I  pray because I sin.  I'm pretty sure I do it every day and so I need to come clean to God.

I pray because I have questions without answers-and I hate that.

I pray because I am a planner.  I need to have Plans A-D ready to go for any situation.  However, I'm not the one in control here.  God is.  So, I pray.

I pray because I need to get things off my chest and God listens without interrupting me with His needs or complaints.  Plus, He forces me to listen, too.   

I pray because I can't do it alone.  Any of it.  I figure I should go straight to the source with questions about my life, so why not hit up the One who loved me before I was born, has counted all the hairs on my head, and knows every thought before I think it?  Seems logical to me.

I pray because I've been charged with raising 2 daughters-angels on this Earth for sure-and with the way society is headed these days, I want to protect them from everything; bullies, social media stalkers, cell phones and texting taunts, creeps, mean dogs, drugs, boys who will break their hearts, "friends" who will use them, and physical pain of any kind.  It's a tall order-I'm aware-and I'll need help.  So, I pray.

I pray because I'm a control freak, lax on laundry at times, imperfect, optimistic despite my better judgement, too easily disappointed, romantic, judgmental and impatient every now and then.  Jesus fixed all of that and I want to say "Thank you!" Everyday.  

 So, I pray.

 

  

I Run.

I run.

I run because I'm training for the Monument Avenue 10K; a race I signed up for on my own volition.  No peer pressure this time.

I run because I'm trying to lose baby weight and nothing else has worked.  2 pregnancies, 2 daughters 16 months apart, and loving good food got me here-and my Mizuno running shoes will get me out.

I run because I miss my Dad.  He faced challenges his whole life.  If he can beat his past and one heart attack (the second one not so much) and lung cancer, I can certainly beat the pavement and take just one more step...for  him; get to one more streetlight-make it one more mile.  I'll never have one more of anything with him, and I can't change that.  I can, however, run.

I run because it's a challenge for me.  Being able to burst through the door and yell, "I did it!" even if it's just to myself, brings me joy.  Scooping up my daughters as they run to hug and congratulate me is permanently etched on my brain-and will force me out the door again tomorrow.

I run because my life is far from perfect.  It's my stress-relief now.  3 months ago it was a stress-inducer...the irony.  When the gray cloud of situational depression lurks, or sadness over things I can't control threatens to glue me to the sofa with chick flicks and a carton of ice cream, I just run.

I run because I'm not perfect, nor do I want to be.  My mind needs clearing, my heart needs mending, my body needs toning, and I just need air!  Fresh air!  I need to see the beauty God has put before me in the form of a budding tree, a crocus pushing through the frozen ground-a friend who waves as she drives by as I run.  All of it, all of it, is therapeutic...and I need it.

I run because it gives me back the confidence I'd let slip away for so long.  I'm challenging myself and kicking those challenges in the shins.  I'm pushing myself to go farther-faster-longer...and I'm doing it!  I'm going farther, faster, and longer!  I'm in control when I run-not the weather, the time or anything or anybody else.  This is me time; time I need to get myself back to who I used to be.

I run because I need a break...a break from cleaning, worrying, talking, feeling, planning, driving, cooking, defending and compromising my needs and what I deserve.

I run.