Olympic Torches.

On Saturday afternoon Robs and I went on a one mile run. (Half mile to the slide - down the slide twice, monkey bars once - half mile home.) From our house to the church parking lot we talked about everything that popped into Robs' mind. The day. The weather. The weekend. Her book. Her school. Her friends. It was awesome. After we crossed the street I took a turn - and listed off some of the things I find completely great about her. It was all tailored specifically to Robs - seeing as I had her undivided attention, and as I finished I could see her grinning. Her little arms were swinging and her little feet were slapping the ground as she casually asked "so is there anything else you're proud of me for?"

I loved it.

Because she felt loved. And it was so obvious.

I had a friend, one time, who described mothering as carrying the torch. It rang true. In my mind I saw myself as one of a long line of people. A long line of mothers, specifically - because a lot of what I choose for my family, came from the people before me, who were passing on what the people before them had chosen to pass on.

Kind of wordy, but basically - I believe I must be deliberate. (And I'm trying my darndest.)

These pirates of mine, the very ones God so kindly gave to me - are the ones receiving the sum total of my mothering. (I like to think of it as an Olympic torch.)

And I am the torch bearer. Which means that almost every single day, for the very short next couple of years, my responsibility is to instill all the good, truth, and light I possibly can into these pirates. Because at some point I'm going to pass this along...

It's a big deal, this torch-bearing thing.