Zoe's Cinnamon Rolls

I know people say things like this all of the time. But I really do think that my little girl really is the best little girl there is. She is sweet, kind, gentle, smart, honest, creative... she is the most beautiful person I know. And yesterday we celebrated her 8th birthday. It just seems impossible that eight wonderful years have passed since I first held her in my arms. As each year passes, I find myself being even more sentimental and "mushy" than the year before. It's going too fast... way to fast. So, when her birthday rolls around, I make it a big deal. Because it is a big deal. Her birthday is a celebration of the day we found true love... unconditional, all forgiving, unselfish love. And I make it a big deal because she deserves thanks for giving us such an incredible gift.

When my brothers and I were kids, my mom would make cinnamon rolls for us to take as treats for our classmates. Our friends were always so excited to see and smell and devour Mom's famous cinnamon rolls. It was more to us than a treat... something yummy. It was the fact that Mom took the time and energy to make us feel so special. I didn't understand it all when I was little. But now that I'm a mom, I understand.

So, the night before last, I stayed up until 2am to make my "baby" cinnamon rolls. As I mixed and kneaded and let rise and sprinkled and rolled, I thought of what I think my mom might have been thinking as she did the same for me. I thought about how Zoe used to lay across my chest when she was a baby and let out soft little sighs as she fell asleep. I thought about how she used to put her little dollies in the stroller and hold her arm up to keep her purse on her shoulder as she walked down the street. I thought about her daddy teaching her how to ride a bike without training wheels. I thought about playing in the leaves, baking cookies, cozy nights in front of the fire and making giant snow bunnies and hot chocolate. And I thought about all of the nights of tucking her into bed and how every single day, I thank God that he sent her to me and how every single day she makes me so proud.

And the next morning when her daddy and I put a candle in a cinnamon roll and sang happy birthday to her, her bright eyes and beautful little smile were all I needed to make every minute of the three and a half hours it took me to make those cinnamon rolls worth it.

my dad

There are moments in life that make ya think "This is it. This is a turning point. From here on out things are going to be different." I had a moment like that the other day when my mom called me to tell me that my dad has cancer. A lump just in front of his ear prompted a doctors visit. From there, an upper body scan. Then, a full body scan. Then, an appointment with the oncologist. Through the days of tearfully wondering what news the doctor would break to my dad, I looked back at all the things that my dad has been to me. I remembered how my little bare feet would step into his giant foot prints in the black dirt as we picked green beans, how my little feet would step on his as we danced at wedding receptions, how I would braid his hair and everyone would tease saying he looked like Willy Nelson. My thoughts wandered to my teenage years when my first boyfriend and I parted ways and my dad hugged me while I sobbed and how it calmed me and made me feel like everything was okay. I thought of the way he held me when grandma died. And how he would make pictures in styrofoam plates with his fork when he was done eating. I thought of how he teared up... just a bit... on my wedding day... and the days my babies were born. And I think back to all of those stupid things I did as a kid... and as a grown up. And how no matter what... no matter what... my dad has never... never turned me away. I thought about the 40 something years he and my mom have spent loving eachother and I wondered how she must be praying every minute that he'll be okay just like me and my brothers and everyone that knows and so dearly adores my dad. Because what's not to love about my dad? And I just kept thinking "I'm not ready for this. I'm just not ready."

Then, the phone rang. They think it's treatable. They will remove the lump and then decide if they need to do any radiation or chemo. And as I type this, I'm crying... out of relief... out of fear that something will "pop up"... because it's my dad. And if you knew my dad, you'd be crying too.

So, in about 11 days, I'll see my dad in a hospital bed and without a beard for the first time ever. And I realize that I'm at that point in my life that I start to worry about my parents like they worry about me and like I worry about my kids. I've reached that point in my life when I realize that... well... I'm not a spring chicken anymore. And I think about the day that my kids will have these realizations. And I wonder what will go through their minds. So, once again my folks have taught me a very valuable lesson... there's never time to waist... that I should be walking in the garden with bare foot children, dancing every chance we get and teaching them what it's like to love and be loved in every sense of the word.