"Everybody's Not Here!"

Yesterday, I stripped all the beds and washed all the sheets. While I was in Daisy's room I weeded through the twelve stuffed animals, and dolls, on her bed. I took six of them out of her room and put them back in their respective toy bins. Hoping, against all hope, that she wouldn't miss them.

Nap time came and went and all was well. I was feeling victorious until fifteen minutes after I put her to bed that night. She'd been singing quietly to herself and everything seemed fine. Then, there were tears. I went in to check on her. She was sitting up and had tiny tears falling down her cheeks. "Everybody's not here!" she cried. I had an inkling about what she meant but, of course, I had to confirm. "What, honey?"

"Everybody's not here! Not bear, not bunny, not Pooh!" Oh, the tears. Of course, I promptly returned to the toy bins to retrieve the six friends that had so wrongfully been evicted from her bed. It was a happy reunion and she feel fast asleep.

How I wish it were that simple to be reunited with my mother, my grandparents, and my sister. A reunion with my mother, and grandparents, isn't possible this side of Heaven. However, I will be reunited with my sister next week. God is good.

Love Notes From Mom

My mom loved to leave love notes for my sister and I. We'd find little notes tucked into our lunch boxes or in our suitcase when we'd gone to sleep away camp. The other day I found the last batch of love notes my mom had written for me.

I was living about an hour and a half away from home at the time and was working as a flag director for the marching band my husband directed. My sister had come from our hometown to the town I was living in to help with the dance choreography for my flag team. We were gearing up for a four day flag camp and my mom had sent many love notes for each day. She knew camp would be long and exhausting and she had wanted to boost our spirits.

The notes were silly and sweet. They mentioned the reality televisions shows that were popular at the time and included questions about how the tomatoes in the garden were doing. Many of them spoke of her love for my sister and I and asked for a phone call or email update.

I'm sure she had no idea when she wrote them I would be re-reading them and crying over them seven years later. That I'd do anything to be able to call her or email her. That I'd long for the days when she could give me a hard time about my non-existent green thumb.

I wrote almost thirty love notes for my sister to take with her on her recent move to the East Coast. I knew the trip would be long and exhausting and I wanted to boost her spirits. And, before too long, I'll be leaving little love notes for my own children. The tradition continues.

Thanks, Mom.