a memorial day.

Sometimes my heart catches a little when I realize that they might not remember any of this. But it happened. And this morning, I want her to know that her daddy played guitar over and over and over while they danced and lined up cars.

Sometimes I complain because we are self employed. Budgets and benefits and planning don't look the same for us. Sometimes I feel a tiny bit sorry for myself when friends describe paternity leave.

Other days, I notice how he doesn't have to rush out of the house each morning, but lingers over coffee and another story and another song. We get to live a life full of provision. And I wouldn't change a thing.