Songbird

Just when the world seems overwhelming, the skies a little too gray, and the responsibilities of life a little too pressing I hear her. She is my own personal Songbird sent directly from heaven, my youngest daughter. I adore the fact that she is still my innocent child. She still calls me "mommy." Additionally, though, God gave her the greatest gift. Her voice is pure. She can sing; she can really sing. She's the reason our water bill is usually $140-$160 a month. Whenever, she's in the shower and she thinks no one is listening she belts it out. I love to hear her then. I love to hear her raise her voice without abandon. The water bill seems a small price to pay.

Songbird is eleven. She wants to be big and actually announced at dinner last week that she was an adult now. She has big dreams of being on Broadway and even though I secretly wish that she will never leave home, I know she will. I know she will go to New York and have a cracker-jack-box of an apartment that she shares with another Broadway hopeful. They won't own a stick of furniture, but their wardrobes will be killer.

Songbird is the one that I know will make the best mom. She has a heart of gold. Oh, and how I pray for a man worthy enough of her. But for now, it is enough to simply be her mommy and help her stay little as long as possible.