Interview with A Four and A Half Year Old


What’s your name?
What’s your favorite color?
How old are you?
”Four, but I’m going to be five on my birthday.”
When is your birthday?
”Ummm, Octover eighteenf!”
What’s your favorite animal?
”Dog, because dogs are really sweet!”
What’s your favorite book?
”My favorite book is The Lorax.”
What’s your favorite movie?
”Cat in the Hat.”
What’s your favorite thing to play?
What’s your favorite toy?
”My scooter!”
What’s your favorite thing to do?
”Ride my bike outside!”
Do you have any siblings?
”Siblings? I have one sibling! It’s my sister!”
Do you like your sister?
”Yes! I play with her. I like painting art with her.”
Is she cute?
”She’s so so so so cute!”
What do you want to be when you grow up?
”I want to drive a car!”
Are you going to have a job?
”Yes! Driving a car!”
Anything else you like to do?
”Yeah! Play with the Nugget, baking, cooking, art.”
Who is your best friend?
Do you like to go on trips?
”Yes! I love sleeping in hotels!”
What are you growing in your garden?
”(Loud excited noise!) Tomatoes, strawberries, flowers, lavender, and, best of all, milkweed!”
Are you learning to read?
”Yeah. I want to read Goodnight Moon to Reed!”
Are you a happy girl?
”Yes, I am!”
Is there anything else you want to say about yourself?
”Umm, no thank you. I am really tired of all these questions. Reed wants to read a book with me, so I am going to take a break now.”


Some Kind of Bird


I am alone in the new light of morning.
Our children are still asleep in our room;
you are still asleep in our daughter’s room.
I sneak away and reach my arms high as if to embrace the sun.

I pull open the front window curtain,
fill up my water cup
and watch the cardinals dive from the sky,
land on our front porch where 
we scattered seed for them yesterday, 
hoping to see them up close.
And here they are, my visitors 
dressed in the color of fire,
dancing just for me as I admire them 
from my side of the glass.

Soon my oldest will wake, fly into the room and scare them away.
Soon she will demand all of my attention, ask me to feed her and tell her she is brilliant and beautiful,
like some kind of bird.

And I will, always,
because she is

We Are Not Competing


I don't think I've ever told you, Nat, but since we were little girls I've thought you had the most beautiful hands. I first noticed them when I watched you play piano in the living room of your childhood home, just a few houses down from mine. I envied the way you calmly moved through lessons in class or crafts at Girl Scouts, slower than I ever had the confidence to go but with much more grace and intention. And when we became teenagers, you started to crochet and then weave--the way you can turn something simple into something so beautiful is a lovely little miracle, a picture of what the Lord has done and continues doing for us all of the time. Today, although not often enough, I get to mother alongside you as your hands hold your babies, wipe their noses, stroke their hair. And now I get to make my own hands somewhat useful--to hold yours as you give birth and click the button on my camera as you love on your family. Although I do wish I was more of a maker like you, I have settled into a place of appreciation for you and your incredible talents and the peace you seem to so easily incorporate into every area of your life instead of the schoolgirl jealousy I once felt. I am so happy we have remained friends for so long, and I don't tell you enough how much I admire you.