date.

we stop the cart and i turn the heavy globe upside down.  glittery goodness sparkles

and i turn the music on.  her eyes light up and she asks to hold it.  i consider and think

to myself that the shattered snow globe that might happen is worth the risk of these stolen

few minutes away with my littlest baby. as a nurse, i evaluated risk vs. benefit all the time.  

i never realized how often i'd do that as a mother, too. 

we listen.  she stares in wonder.  then i do, too. 

i encourage her to tell the star inside the globe goodbye..that we will see it next time.  

she easily chatters away to it.  buhbye! see ew next time! as she leans

down to give it a kiss. 

i wonder who will end up with that christmas snow globe in their 

home and if they will feel the pure, little love that came with it and her lip marks on the glass.

i marvel at our ease.  remind myself [again] to slow down like this more and take her lead.  it

makes everything easier when i'm not too busy to hear her.  see her.  why should

i ever be too busy?  

we open virtually every lid on each candle displayed.  i smell and

then it is her turn.  she wrinkles her nose and declares the pine one her favorite scent.

i persuade her into the red velvet cupcake one and some of the pumpkin harvest.

these candles are one my favorite kind--in a clean, plain, straight lines cylinder jar.  yet, 

the labels bothers me the whole time.  we unwrap them as soon as we're home.  she sits

on the island, legs dangling over as i arm myself with goo-gone and a razor blade.

i just don't like labels.  all confining and judge-y.  

i light the candle and she cheers.

and i do, too.