I remember babysitting a lot while in high school. My church had a lot of young families, providing a lot of babysitting opportunities. I remember the fun times, endless candyland games, and various obstacle courses designed in the hours of entertainment. I also remember the first time I met families, that opportunity to smooth over the introductions and read a child quickly to figure out what kind of challenges presented themselves once the parents waved goodbye.

I had nearly completed the fall transfer of clothing. The girls were growing again (funny how that always happens) and the last of the cooler weather clothes needed to make their way into the closets from the boxes. We have been blessed with hand-me-downs from a few generous families and thrift-store loving little ladies from our church. My girls are thrilled with anything new to them.

Maybe it was the way I did her hair yesterday, in her two Laura Ingalls Wilder braids. Or maybe it was the last of the “toddler” style clothing exiting her wardrobe. Or maybe it was her laying on the floor this morning repeating a book for memory, “reading” to her sister. Or maybe it’s in the way she always seems to find an imaginary wayward chick to nurture back to health. Or maybe it was seeing my baby Rachael in Hannah’s eyes.

But suddenly I realized that she is a little girl. The toddler has long gone, never to return. She is one of those little girls I used to love to babysit. That little girl I spent a summer nannying, studying and investing in. She’s like one of those babysitting kids I couldn’t wait to get to watch, only I get to keep her for a little while longer.

She’s on the edge of schooling. Growing. Changing. Independently blooming. And her little browns remind me of the ones I see in old photographs of a small, auburn haired adventurer who used to care for imaginary forest creatures whom had lost their way and needed a mother.

I always thought she looked a little like me. When Abi came along it sealed the deal. Abi is her Daddy. Rachael is a little variation of me. But it’s so odd and amazing and tear-provoking all in one to watch her grow into my most distant childhood memories.

She is brilliant and curious and wild and gentle all in one. She is independent and just wanting to be held all at the same time.

And while three little ones encourages my day to be filled with wiping noses, picking up stray toys, dishes (if I can get to them), and laundry and more laundry, there is something about that smile of her’s. That smirk of delight mixed with a little wild excitement. That smile of contentment and joy in discovering something new. That light in her eyes… she’s just so alive. And I want nothing more than to drink it all in, living in the imaginary world of rescued chicks, fairy cottages, and ballerina concerts.

I adore her. She is such an utter delight.

– thankful and blessed.