as long as i live,

I will never forget the sight of my daughter leaping from the car this morning, her turquoise tinkerbell backpack strapped tightly to her shoulders and hanging down past her knees. She was running to keep from being late, and her gait was so light and happy it was almost a skip. Her bright pink and white polka dot shorts stood out next to her white shirt, from the sea of other children and I could spot her across the field where I sat, parked, watching her skip/run into kindergarten. Her little a-line bob bounced up and down with her movement, her face was so confident, so determined, so focused on her run, thinking only of getting to class on time. It overcame me. I sat in my car, my boys strapped in back, all ready to go to the park, and all three of us watching Hannah, make her way fearlessly into school. So many kids still have their mom's holding their hand all the way to the kindergarten door. My Hannah is a champion. Watching my daughter run into school was like Christmas morning. Seeing the combination of such differing traits married into the perfect contrast that is my child overwhelms me. She is small, her features are dainty and pretty, she has more spunk in her pinky than most people have in their whole body, she is tough, she is sensitive, she is pensive, kind, aware. She notices things most kids would miss. I sat in my car watching her little body until she disappeared into the swarm of five-year-olds and Carter asked if we could go to the park now. When I turned around to answer him, I was crying.

"What's wrong, Mom?" he asked.

"I just love Hannah so much," I answered. "I love you all so much."

He smiled back at me, Ethan grinned (I tickled his legs) and we drove to the park with Carter's favorite monkey bars.