I have a book called "Special Memories". It is a journal of sorts. In it there is a decorated pretty page for "Mother" and across from it is a page for "Daughter".  The pages are blank and the idea is to write in it and record special memories with one another. I have saved the book and had it tucked away for quite some time because I have thought my daughter was too young and would "mess up the book" with scribbling or misspellings or doodlings, etc. 

 How I detest my perfectionsitic nature!  In truth, there is no way any kind of marking or scribble made by her is going to mess up anything.  A time spent together writing or drawing or doing anything together is precious and can not even be described by words. It runs deep into the soul and into the very core of your being. As I look into my little girls' eyes I see brightness and yet, my own "self" way deep inside is pained because I tend to think the world is flawed. I find myself looking ahead into a future that she is in, loose and alone out in the world. And the future- any future-hasn't even arrived yet. I am not really seeing the sparkly beauty and light in her eyes. I tend to see it evaporating and getting cloudy. Instead of seeing her smile and her bright happy eyes I worry too much about future details I have no control over. My ridiculous way of being who I am, is interfering with taking a step back and standing still long enough to really see my little girl and appreciate who she is at the age she is now.

 I am thankful that a few years ago, I FINALLY recognized my perfectionistic tendencies and other faults that I wrongly thought I would have to live with for the rest of my life. I am so glad that I have been and still am working on growing and developing myself further. So, when I look in her eyes and my old nature seems to start looking past those beautiful eyes- I remind myself quickly that those tendencies are unwanted in my life. I stop the process as quick as I can and I take in all the sparkles, and bubbly laughing smiles that I can. 

 I don't mind that she is young, I am going to get out that journal and let her write in it to her hearts content. I am cherishing her childhood and will do the best I possibly can to not let myself get in the way. I want to  savor  every single moment of each of my childrens' lives and of course of my own life as best as I possibly can. 

Along with the journal is a piece of paper that I dated in 2004.  I remember writing down things that she said. This particular day she said she was going to write me a song and since she was only four years old at the time , she said the words and I wrote exactly what she said. I wonder why I wrote it on the paper and not in the actual more "permanent" journal. I suspect my ugly habit of thinking it wasn't "perfect" enough, got in the way that time. I looked at the paper today and read the little song. I found nothing imperfect in it !

 Here is the song:

The Quiet Angel

 One, Two, Three count with me.

Once upon a time there was a little angel

everything was made of ice.

She was the prettiest, she was the prettiest.

The little angel grew up high-

but she was not big enough

so she went home.

She grew and she grew and she grew.

Then she was big enough.

She was so happy and happy!

She tried and she fell

her legs hurt but everybody told her

She is beautiful.

Oh yes, she is a beautiful ballerina, a quiet angel.

She is big enough.

Oh Yeah!