Sometimes it’s the little things.

Like having the perfect book to calm her when she’s convinced there’s a scary face in the baby swing.

Her smiling face that always wants to hang out ‘just five more minutes!’
And the way it reminds me that I have worth and purpose.
I’m supposed to be here right this very second.

It’s the mispronounced names, and the seemingly never ending stories that trail off into distraction.

Or the fits when she has to admit
someone might know better than her.

The joy and love that bubbles up
as her tiny feet hit the hardwood with the force of someone ten times her weight.
All the while she’s screaming, “sweeeet dreams errrybody!” from the hall.

It’s the little things that keep me focused.
The daily lessons learned from the sage wisdom of a three year old.