there’s a line in an anne shirley book. “counting her days like pearls on a string.”  I can’t stop thinking about that line.  pearls on a string.  that’s exactly what it feels like to me.

we don’t do much.  my little sunshine girl and I fold laundry and walk to the park and cook dinner for dad and play with dinosaurs.  but every day feels like a pearl.  something precious.  I get to be here with her, every day, all day.  I get to have these memories.  when I am old, I have this string of pearls and I can run my fingers over each stone and remember: this was the day she turned a somersault for the first time.  this was the day she went down the slide by herself.  this was the day she wore her elmo pajamas all day long.  even the jonah days when she fusses and breaks things and I fuss and she closes her door in my face.  I want to to keep them too.

this is the best gift I’ve ever been given.  and I never thought I would be lucky enough to get it.   the days go by and I read potty fairy princess three times in a row and every single one of them is a pearl.


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