My mom was born and raised in Montana.  There must be some kind of country gene that passed down to me and I’ve never been able to shake it.  When I discovered Spotify this week and started creating playlists it was a given that after the playlist titled “Music that makes me want to write” I added a playlist called “Old School Country”.  Among the songs I grew up on is one called “Look Heart, No Hands”- a Randy Travis favorite.

Ironically as I was giving Little Girly a bottle this afternoon I had this song cranked up and looked outside to see my boys wearing huge baseball helmets (from older neighbor boys) and preparing a bike jump on our court.

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This morning Darla got dressed in new jeans and shirt.  ”Mom, it looks like something you would wear.”  She gave a little twirl.  ”Look!  I’m cute like you!”

I laughed.  Certainly looking at her is like looking in a mirror.  Sometimes that’s not easy.  Last week she was dramatically sharing her woes with large sighs and clearly not letting go of feeling justified in the situation- everything is very black and white to her.  I cringed and whispered to S., “I’m so sorry.  I think she got that from me.”  Few things bring me to quick repentance like seeing my weaknesses manifesting in my kids.

At the same time, having my oldest daughter so much like me is one of God’s greatest gifts to me.  We talk incessantly, give way too much detail in our stories, and love to teach.  When I walked in to this earlier this week

my heart melted.  A good book, a cozy chair, and an apple characterized many afternoons in my childhood.  I joined her with my own book and apple…now that is quality time. Read the rest of this entry