She carries her belongings in a black trash bag, gripping it in one hand.

Her other holds a sterile glove someone has inflated for her.

The hand balloon as she calls it, is making her laugh.

She wants me to see it.

She clutches the prized possession. I wonder if the nurse or doctor who blew up the hand knows how much it now means to her.

We laugh while the elevator descends.

Today it stops at most every floor. On other days I would be annoyed. My internal self volleying a comment about how I wish we had express elevators.

Today I don’t mind. The conversation with this little girl of 5 or 6 is the distraction I need.

She talks to me about getting her nails painted a sparkly pink, about what she is doing in school.

My eyes wander back to the trash bag and I wonder why this child must carry her belongings like that.

I think about my own three girls and all the purses; the backpacks that line their closets and creep out of their dress up bins.

I know from the worn jacket, the tattered shoes that are most likely to small, that this young lady does not have a dress up bin to go home too. There are no walk in closets filled with more purses than any one child should have.

Her bright smile.

The laugh that fills up the small space.

She has made my day.

The elevator doors open a final time in our lobby and she follows her care taker out. She turns her head to take one last look at me, waves her hand balloon and yells “GOOD-BYE”.

Today I have witnessed joy in its purest form.

I feel privileged for the reminder.

She dances for me at least three times a day.

She tells me of her fears.

She recounts her dreams.

I’m not always present to see the waltz or hear the words that describe what goes bump in the night.

My eyes trained on the chicken that I’m currently burning.

My ears listening to the internal dialogue about the way I should have run that 3pm meeting.

As I finish her bath last night I pull the plug on the drain.

I grab the clothes she will wear to bed and wander in and out of the bathroom while she enjoys the last few moments of water play.

I catch her then on her knees and elbows, chin supported by her hands, simply watching the water swirl down the drain.

“Momma come look! The water is dancing”.

I have heard her.

In that moment I am moved.

Me now down on my knees. Us together watching the water twirl and move around the silver drain. Moments it takes until the last drop has left the tub.

“Momma can we do it again?”  she asks, as the smile spreads across her face in recognition of the secret wonder we now share.

“Tomorrow Ellery Jane we will watch the water dance”.

Yep tomorrow I will watch the dancing, I will listen to the dreams.

Dear Ellery Jane,

You are a promise fulfilled.

A wish hoped for.

A dream granted.

I prayed and prayed for you.

Just when I thought my prayers would go unanswered you became a part of me.

 And now I have been granted this privilege to watch your life unfold.

My beautiful, bright-eyed, spirited child.

You are explosive.

You are a force.

I could not be more proud of the little girl you have become.

Your presence knits us together as a family.

You are the exclamation point at the end of our sentence.

Please don’t ever stop jumping in puddles

or letting the tears come when they must.

One of your greatest gifts is that you feel.

You feel with such intensity

and with such passion,

and you let the world know it.

Too many girls shy away from it; don’t let their feelings be heard.

I know you won’t be that way.

I know you will always speak with your own voice, in your own rhythm.

Happy birthday my Ellie girl.

I love you with every piece of my heart.

Your one and only Momma

P.S.-This will always be our song.

A compliment – “You look great Heather”.

The sentence resonates.

“Must be your running. Have you lost weight?”.

The clothes in my closet tell the story.

Trips to Goodwill to drop off bags that contain old suits, jeans, dresses. The ones that no longer fit and now need a new home.

How many years would I have killed to hear those compliments; marched cheerfully to rid myself of clothes two sizes too big.

I was never “overweight”. I maintained an added layer. A layer that put me squarely in the healthy category on the BMI chart, but one that also represented to me years of failing to be the perfect women.

And then, one year ago this month, life changed.

I turned to running as a means of survival; my daily meditation.

Food was no longer the focal point of my day. No more counting calories or debating what foods would enter my body. I ate when I was hungry. I stopped eating when I was full.

For the first time in my adult life I began cooking at home.

Now food was a nourishment not a punishment.

Dance parties around the kitchen island and conversations with my girls turned the focus to what was truly important – the gift of being together, our family around our table not the food placed on it.

So the layer is gone.

A leanness has emerged.

I share this not to make anyone feel less than perfect, but because when I took away the shame of perfection and lived in the moment, life revealed itself in the most amazing ways.

I hope now that when my girls hear someone bestow a compliment on their momma they hear a woman who accepts that compliment with a “thank you” and a gracious smile.

I hope they see a momma who runs because she radiates joy after miles logged.

I hope they remember countless nights around the kitchen table laughing over the day’s adventures not a momma agonizing in the supermarket aisles over the calories she is or is not placing in her shopping cart.

I hope that day, months, years lost thinking about weight that was or was not there will be the education their momma needed to teach three beautiful souls that the weight they carry is not a burden but a blessing of a life lived.

It’s moving fast.

I’m always amazed by the incredible swiftness of life this time of year.

Overnight we’ve changed from the lazy days of summer where adventures sit around every corner and the sun never sets to this new season of deadlines, homework and preplanned activities.

Even the girls bodies are effected. They fall asleep nestled under covers and awaken as if emerging from a cocoon now too tall for yesterday’s pants; feet too large for their glass slippers.

Don’t get me wrong I love the rhythm of this time of year. The chance to get back into a routine. But I am always moved by visual reminders of the rapidness of life changes that present in this season.

We start preschool. Where we long for old teachers and familiar classmates.

We ride new horses when treasured friends have found new homes.

We take up new activities. Trying to carve a place for ourselves at the table too.

And we pause and reflect in the midst of it all. A sunday morning paper, big girls consumed by books and a little sister insisting that while the pool may be closed she will still wear her water wings and pretend it’s summer. Because “You know Momma, next year I won’t need these”.

Yep Ellery Jane you are right, next summer you won’t….

Dear Sidney,

Today you turn 10. You hit the double digits!

You will celebrate by eating Krispy Kreme with your classmates and having dinner out tonight with your sisters, dad and I. You must wait until Monday evening for your true birthday celebration at the barn with your riding friends. Given the opportunity to do anything for your big day this year, that is all you wanted, a night with your horses.

It seems like yesterday I watched you hop on a pony for your first lesson and here you are today a veteran show rider and horse enthusiast.

Now is the part of your annual birthday letter where I start to wax melancholy about how time has flown. As I type I can almost hear you –“Mom I’m not going anywhere. I’m just turning 10.”  Given your intolerance for my weepyness I will just skip right through the trip down memory lane and head to the meat of it.

Sidney you are one amazing young lady.

Your smile lights up a room.

Your passion for your friends and your ponies fills my heart with such joy.

Your work ethic is incredible.

What other 9-year-old would come home from the first day of fifth grade only to sit down at her computer and “work ahead” because she did not feel “challenged” by the day’s activities?

I love watching the person you are becoming;

the young woman you are turning into.

You my love are everything good and perfect in this world.

You are strong.

You are smart.

You are beautiful.

I feel so privileged for the front row seat I’ve been granted to watch your glorious life unfold.

I hope I can always be a rock for you, the steady hand you need to guide you on this journey.

No doubt your tenth year will be amazing.

Happy Birthday Sidney Reagan.

You are my heart set free.

Love,

Your one and only Momma

P.S. This one makes me think of us and the next stage of our relationship.