bright smile, dark eyes

The morning starts out tense. I rush and she interrupts. She bothers. She spills and makes her brother cry and makes a mess and puts her clothes on incorrectly and fusses when I comb her hair. She wants to help but she just makes more work.

And I shout and I correct and I shriek and I yell and I discipline.

And on the way to the festival I say a little prayer: "God, give me patience for this girl."

The afternoon she finds a friend. And she plays and she dances and she beams and she smiles and she laughs and she bounces.

And I say another prayer: "God, make me worthy of this girl."