Two Inches

I'm not ruling out the possibility that hormones have commandeered my life.  I did, in fact, break down hysterically in tears one day when I wasn't feeling well and Ryan brought me a bowl of wheat Chex instead of rice Chex.  Of course we can laugh about it now...months later.  I have, however, recently been feeling soft.  Not just in certain body parts, although there is plenty of that, but soft in my heart.  My heart has been very tender especially towards my children.  I have always loved them, of course that's a given, and I still have a shorter supply of patience than they do of quarrels and complaints, but I think of each of them and what the world holds for them and more importantly what they have to offer the world and I get emotional.

Will they be strong?  Will they find a man who comes even a little bit close to loving them as much as their father and I do?  Will they remember the things we have tried to teach them, not because we are there to enforce or discipline, but that we have helped instill in them an innate  desire to live good, righteous lives?  I am really not normally the worrying type.  Things usually work out, Ryan and I regularly conclude, despite all the worrying with which we hinder ourselves.  But I find myself trying to see into the future, wanting to prepare them for any little bump that will inevitably come across their path.  I see them look to me now, thinking I have the answers to all, and it makes my heart beat a little faster knowing I don't.  I want them to know that I respect them, which doesn't always show like when I find an entire bar of pomegranate chocolate eaten in the corner of my bedroom, on a bolt of fabric.  I want them to feel like they'd rather be here than anywhere else, that it is a place where they are accepted, a haven.  Recently my mom sent out her (almost) weekly family email.  I asked her if I could share it, as it's been on my mind since I read it, and brings tears each time I read it.