I couldn’t help but post two photos today. The first was an easy pick… I like the way the snapshot is framed and I like the all the bright clothing colors in the white snow. The second photo? Well, I couldn’t pass up posting it here. It is so very Livia. Not one to spare a moment for great drama, Liv is caught here in the moment before letting out a shriek to wake the dead. She got, are you ready for this?, SNOW on her FACE. COLD snow. VERY COLD snow. Yes yes, she had been playing in 7 degree weather for close to 20 minutes and nope, that totally wasn’t any issue. But the COLDNESS of the snow on her FACE caused great anguish, now heard by all residents within one square mile, and that ended our play outside.

Fine with me. I wasn’t thrilled with the cold either.

Sometimes it’s not the best photo you post. It’s the one that captures a memory you don’t want to forget.

My daughter at age four. Her determined jaw and curling tendrils of hair. The fact that she’s snipping cubes of paper even though we started cutting strips for paper chains. Her still-chubby fingers learning to twist the paper just so, then wrap small pieces of sticky tape around them. Her sweetness in crafting with mom, and wanting songs for bedtime, even though it meant going to bed right away rather than staying up late for more play.

Sometimes a photo is so much more than a picture.

When real life and Kung Fu Panda play meet:

Jeremy: Do you need to go potty, Shifu?

Shifu-Livia: I might. But my kung-fu bladder’s not full.

On Mondays, dance days, I try to keep you down and low-key as long as possible in the afternoon. Today you watch a Sesame Street video while silently sucking your fingers beside me. I try to sleep and feel like I could drift away into hours of rest.

Half an hour before class I rouse you from your dream-watching, enticing you to full awake status with brand new dance tights and a long-sleeved black leotard. You are alert almost immediately and jump eagerly on my bed while I attempt to catch your active toes in the sleeves of white. You pause only momentarily to point your toes—dancers know how to do that after all—then lose all focus with your giddy excitement. The tights are up, the leotard squeezed into and the hunt begins for your ballet slippers. We run to the kitchen for a quick snack of chips and juice, dinner will have to wait until after the oddly meal-timed class is over. You spill the small bowl, I envision cheese powder all over your outfit and give a warning to be careful. Hair pulled up into a bun on the top of your head, bright pink clip in place. You slip on your sneakers, take one last gulp of juice and out the door we go. Without ballet slippers. Once I’ve run back in to get them, we’re on our way across the street and down the block to the old brick building at 8th & D Streets. You bend to the sidewalk and pick up a wrinkled leaf, spotted with caterpillar eggs. It is my treasure to hold and save while you’re at dance. Before we even walk in I know we’ll be greeted by tired moms waiting on the stairs, young toddlers with sticky faces climbing and playing and grabbing legs. We greet our friends, you telling me how much you LOVE Pete and Elsie, and I pull up your tights one final time.

The door opens. You walk in with the others, ready for class to begin. I give one final admonition to be a “good girl” and you nodded with affirmation, as though you never would consider behaving otherwise.

In less than 45 minutes you’ll be at my side again, walking home hand in hand, my adorable ballerina girl. I love you now and forever.

(This is my snapshot of Livia at age 4.)

Me: And you were reading your Bible this morning because why?

Liv: I want Winnie to stop biting me.

Me: How was reading the Bible going to solve that issue?

Livia: God gonna speak to that dog.

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The conversation above came after Jeremy found Liv in bed reading her little pink Bible. She had gotten sick in the night and this morning I told her to stay in bed until I had brought her a drink. While I was downstairs, Liv was reading her Bible to figure out right and wrong. She said that the next time Winnie is sick, Livia will read the Bible to her—apparently to teach the wee dog that biting is wrong. My favorite line, though, is “God gonna speak to that dog.” Love. it.

I realize that I’ve been burning the candle at both ends recently, running back and forth between various responsibilities without much pause for reflection or rejuvenation. I was beginning to treat every activity as an obligation… not a great way to live and definitely not a way to enjoy life! On the heels of the realization comes some small stomach virus that has Liv laid up in bed and me kept at home on a sunny and cold Friday. And you know what? I’m thoroughly enjoying the day. My calendar is cleared, we’ve got groceries in the cupboards, and I have an excuse to go slow.

Most enjoyable of all was thirty minutes of reading Little House in the Big Woods to my daughter. Livia laughed at the story of Pa playing Mad Dog with his daughters, and urged me to keep reading the chapter on Christmas. I love connecting her to a series of books that has brought me so much pleasure over the years.

Livia, with great enthusiasm: Why the moon didn’t eat his lunch?

[grand pause] 

Jeremy & Rebecca: I don’t know. Why?

Livia: You supposed to laugh!

Jeremy: You have to finish the joke first!

Liv, still with great enthusiasm: Oh… Why the moon didn’t eat his lunch?

Jeremy & Rebecca: I don’t know. Why?

Liv: Because he a FULL MOON!

[great laughter]

Thanks, Pastor Keith, for teaching our daughter about humor. She learns more than Bible verses when she goes to AWANA.

Charity has her word of the year. Livia has her word of the year, too:

Lightricity.

As in, “Wow, look at that ceiling fan with six bulbs. It must use a lot of lightricity!”

Very smart, my girl.

I’ve noticed that mothers like photos of their children that others may not understand. I am no exception. There are other shots in this series that are easier to like, but I absolutely love this one. Livia has an air about her, a tousled-hair-tired-kid expression that makes me look at her in a new way. I snapped this shot 18 months ago on Father’s Day (note the tattoos) when Livia was, apparently, all tuckered out.

Liv keeps talking about how we’re going to “SLICE THEM UP.”

And then I have to remind myself about the Pumpkin Carving we’re hosting tonight.

Slice ’em, dice ’em, cut ’em up. Let’s do it.