Tuesday, December 20, 2005

To the Beat of a Different Drummer...

My Grace is a wild child. If it were the '60's, Grace would be dancin' at Woodstock with daisies in her hair. If it were the '70's, she's be a roller disco queen. In the '80's , Grace would be Molly Ringwald's best friend. In 2005, Grace marches along to her own music.

Grace loves writing her name. I find pieces of paper all over the house: "Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace." Sometimes she rushes her name, and then puts, "Garce." I tell her "That says Garce, not Grace," and she laughs and laughs. When she laughs, an enormous dimple pops up on her left cheek. I notice these wonderful details because I'm her mom and that's my job!

Graces hates it when I miss church. We've missed church for about a month, and she's been really mad at me. The girl has a one-on-one line to Jesus. She talks to Him a lot. It's a part of her creative style. I don't doubt that she'll savor a strong spirituality her entire life. That's how she is. She reminds me of how I need to stop and be thankful. "Momma, did Jesus make the Chritmas lights?" or "Momma, Jesus didn't make the smokers. Smokers are gross."

The other day I pulled out a photo album and was looking at pictures from my childhood. Five or six of them looked exactly like Grace. The funny thing about having children is that there are bits and pieces of you in them, but they still come out as separate, unique, important little people. The joy is figuring out who they are.

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