s h e r i f f

Owen starts flag football next week, and I never even posted about his first season of soccer. He was a goal scoring fool, and I couldn't help but crush on his coach, wink wink.

I served time in Owen's class today. I call it serving time instead of volunteering, cuz when the day is through, mama's throat, back, and feet hurt. I'm plumb tuckered out. I'm amazed his teacher does it all day long, every day. Hats off to those Kindergarten teachers. Hats off!

So, I overheard Owen keeping his fellow classmates in line. "You're not on task, you're supposed to be sitting down, you need to get in line, someone forgot to clean up their mess." Are ya kidding me?! We nicknamed him sheriff at home. Apparently the name, title, and duty, are reestablishing themselves during school time too. Let's just say the little chat about only worrying about yourself, is becoming quite redundant.

Mama finds the sheriff down right exhausting at times, and I've got a hunch his classmates think it entirely annoying. I'm hoping it's like every other childish phase, most of the time vacating in a months stretch or two. Time will tell.

Until then, I guess keeping himself and everyone else in order isn't the worst thing he could be doing, especially when he has a wee one following, mimicking, imitating, impersonating, and down right matching....

his every move!

ight">From Collages

10:21 a.m.

It was 10:21 a.m. when they first laid her on my chest.

I'll never forget that moment.

The smell of her head, the sound of her breathing, the softness of her skin, all of it.

"Nice to meet you," I whispered through the tears.

The nurse slowly turned the blinds in an upward angle and the brightness of the outside light hurt my eyes.

"Is that snow?" I wondered out loud.

"Yes!" she cheered.

"In a city that rarely sees the white stuff, this is a rare gift," she explained, knowing we were new to the area.

A rare gift.

I nodded, like I was agreeing with her, but my mind was wandering in a million other directions.

Thoughts were spinning about this baby on my chest, I wondered what she would be like, look like and would she really resemble me or parallel her dad, and what would she care about, fancy or hold dear?

I remember that.

The absolute wonderment and intense intimidation of this,

my "rare gift",

laid peacefully on my chest at 10:21 a.m.

Payton celebrated her 11th birthday last month. I looked through my picture files and although there's an abundance of great snapshots of the kid, I really liked this one.

 I thought it proclaimed, "PAYTON" so very well. 

Just 11, but still it seems,

 a lot of those questions I craved,

the ones floating aimlessly, with such uncertainty, the morning of her birth...

 reveal themselves and become more apparent. 

A vision of my frightened, exhausted self emerges.

What I would give to tell her now,

Don't be afraid.

She's going to be pretty and kind and good.

She will be smart, hard working, responsible and a tremendous help to you. 

She's going to be passionate about soccer and running, competitive and determined with an inner drive that will have you wondering where it came from and wishing you had it!

She'll keep you on your toes spiritually and push you to be better.

 She'll be goofy and fun and you'll enjoy spending time with her. You'll be close and get along. She'll be your fashion consultant and youngest confidant. 

Then one day you'll realize,  

 more than any other thing, she will fill a hole in your heart.

An empty, barren space,

an absence of a sister,

filled with the presence of a daughter.

A rare gift.

One you will treasure and thank Heavenly Father for,

every, single day.