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Hello, there.

I hope the last week has been as good for you as it was for me. However, filled with the delights of my favorite children in all the world, my week would be hard to beat.

Brody and I made some significant strides in that he is now calling me “Ninnie,” instead of “Nana.” No one can figure out why he was calling me Nana, when he would clearly point to me when asked “Where’s Mimmie?” but Ninnie, at least, is a step in the right direction! He is precious, loving, and all boy, delighting in anything transportation or ball related.

We got some great time with Valé this week, as her mom was traveling while we were there, so she was staying at her dad’s. She’s headed into her “tween” years (which makes me a little sad…why do they have to grow? Why?), and loves music and gymnastics. She’s also a great reader, which I got to enjoy as she read to me for homework. That girl has a very sweet heart, but also has a big portion of mine.

Then, of course, there’s Lilli. My four and a half year old, inquisitive, curly-haired firecracker. She loves her Mimmie and her Mimmie loves her. She plays hard, loves hard, and listens lightly. 😉 We had many interesting conversations, as we always do, but there was one in particular that I’m still mulling over. It started with a question that came out of nowhere:

Mimmie? How many will you be when you’re done?

Um…huh?

How many will you be? You know, when you’re DONE?

After a few questions for clarification, I finally determined that she was asking how old I would be when I died. Because, you know, that’s what all the kids at pre-k are asking these days.

(This is where, if I was texting this to you, I would insert one of those sober-faced emoticons with the eyes as big as saucers.)

You’re probably wondering how I answered her, so I’ll go ahead and tell you:

Well, sweetie, I don’t know how old I’ll be when I go to heaven. No one does. But I hope I’ll be a very old lady; maybe 93.

She seemed satisfied with that, and off she went, leaving me to wonder why in the world she asked me that, and what got her thinking about it. I, however, have not left the question alone. Not that I have any idea when I’ll die, but that wasn’t really the question, was it?

How many will you be when you’re DONE?

That question makes you sit up and take stock.

I don’t know about you, but there are a lot of days when I go through the motions of life. It’s another day crossed off the calendar of my life (which seem to be ticking away at break-neck speed, I might add), and, if I sit back and really look at it, it almost seems like I am done. Like I’ve finished all the important stuff and now I’m just waiting.

What in the world?

Why am I not all in, squeezing the very last drop out of every minute of every day? Why am I not always looking for new things to learn and fresh ways to grow?

How do I possibly have the audacity to waste a single second?

I don’t know how old I’ll be when I die, but, my darling Lilli, I hope I’ll never be done, and I hope you won’t be either.

I sincerely hope none of us will.

 

Teach us to realize the brevity of life,
    so that we may grow in wisdom. ~ Psalm 90:12 NLT