Dream Weaver

I often wonder about the nature of dreams. How many of our aspirations are the product of environment? How many were sent here with us, a part of us as thoroughly as the breath that moves us forward? Last night before bed, I asked Margaret what she thought Viola dreamed about each night. She thought for a moment and answered very seriously, "Well, Mommy. Viola dreams about bottles, crawling, how much she loves me and her favorite baby food."

Three more stories, a prayer, JUST ONE MORE STORY, PLEASE MOMMY!  and I kissed the girls goodnight.

Margaret is probably right. Viola's world is still as small as the places I take her. Perhaps her dreams only extend to pureed pears and the smile of her big sister. But then, there are quiet moments when she is in my arms and everything is still. And her eyes meet mine and I am broken down and built back up again by the depth I see there. The darling girl was sent to us with so much already contained in her little pink body. I think perhaps her dreams, the ones that will move her, shake her, give her a reason to wake up each morning, are already there. It is my blessing to help her discover them.

I can do that.