Picture it, the Valley, 1978. Yeah, Sophia is my hero. Two little girls with ponytails and ribbons, little sneakers with jingle bells on the laces-so I could keep track of them-picture perfect angelic loves of my life. When we are in the moment of diapers and bandaids and potty training and trying out independence we have no idea what the future holds in store for them. We read to them, take them on hikes up Red Hollow, four wheeling on the sand dunes, dutch oven cook-outs, getting firewood for the winter, PTA and playdates. Coloring books, learning to make beds, pick up toys, say I'm sorry, take in every stray that comes along, indescribeable joy that they bring to my heart. Still now, even when I recall certain memories, forever etched upon my heart. Even tears are now a part of the beauty of the tapestry that was woven by being family. One night I had the most intensely vivid dream which is still a replay, sometimes even when I'd rather not think about it. I dreamt that I was walking up a fairly steep and rocky road with a deep ravine off one side. Shauna was walking with me as I drug the wagon behind me. Sami was in the wagon. I turned to look at her and the side of the road was breaking off and the back of the wagon was sliding into the ravine. I was desparately trying to find a way to save her, my baby, and all I could do was hold tightly to the tongue of the wagon, and then I woke up. In a cold sweat. I could not shake the feeling of doom and horror for a couple of days afterwards. Several years later, real life hits. No dreams to wake up from. My baby is falling into an abyss and nothing I can do will save her. No matter how much I love her, no matter how hard I try (and cry and sometimes yell), no matter what experiences I have had to gain in the school of hard knocks can never, no never, change the fact that she will make her own choices, experience her own consequences (and the ones of our own making are sometimes the most bitter) and gain her own wisdom at her pace, in her way. And I still love her. And that's what momma's do. And that's what my momma has done through all she has endured with four daughters and a son. And a lot of grandkids and great grandkids and a few great great grandkids! I admire my momma for that. She still has an open and welcoming heart and home for all her family........I want to be more like her. I want to grow up to be "momma". For all of them.