On the top right-hand corner of my glowing screen, it reads:

“3:06am”

WTF? That can’t be right. My phone needs to resync or something. Then I look at my laptop screen:

“3:06am”

I’m losing my mind. Why am I awake?  Why did I wake up? I had to have been up since 2:30am based on what I accomplished so far. The bars just closed and I woke up. I’m not Mark Wahlberg. I shouldn’t be out of bed at this time. Maybe I dreamed I heard my alarm and woke up not realizing it was a dream?

I recount the time I actually had time to myself during the day, away from my clingy 1-year old. Sure, my legs went numb, but those 10 minutes were glorious.

I’m sitting in the guest chair of the dimly lit optometrist room watching my oldest daughter, Gianna, prepare for her exam. Gianna, at the perfect age of 14, is sitting in the patient chair directly across from me, getting ready to cover her eyes and read the first line of bold capital letters. As I watch her there, my mind snaps back to a time when she was much younger.

In my mind, I see Gianna as she was almost 10 years ago, dressed in her signature style leggings with a short jean skirt over top, her thick blond hair framing her cheeks that still had a little bit of baby chub left in them. She wasn’t a baby anymore, but the whispers of that time were still there on her little face. She was sitting in the chair, reading that same row of black letters.

Seeing her there, my heart squeezed. Like her little hand came out from that memory and grabbed my heart like she used to hold my finger to fall asleep at night. It wasn’t just the memory of her being smaller. What tugged my heart was the specific memory of her legs.

I’m sitting in the 1960’s style cushioned seats of my high school auditorium as I watch the curtains part. I’m a freshman, attending my school’s spring musical, “Pippin.” I don’t know it yet, but the next 2 hours will end up putting me on a path that changes my life.

The beginning piano chords ring out and the audience around me fades as “Magic to Do” begins.

Front and center is a girl with dark hair, dressed in black, her face lit up by the spotlight. She looks confident, her voice is perfect, and I think she puts a spell on the entire audience. Or maybe it’s just me.

For some reason, I feel connected to this girl. I know I’ve never met or even seen her before. She goes to my school of course, but I’m a freshman and I think she must be a senior. She has that “senior look” about her. Mature, confident, with one foot in high school and one foot out the door. She’s basically everything I’m not at the moment.

No, I know I have never seen her before. Plus, it’s not like I’m a part of the musical theater crowd. Really, I’m not part of any crowd. I don’t have interests, aside from reading books. I don’t really do anything. But as this girl sings out on stage, I feel myself being compelled to “join them”, as the lyrics say in the song. To sing on stage.

To be just like her.

Is my toddler a musical prodigy or are my standards just that low? 🎶 Watching Evie sing along in the bath, I couldn’t help but wonder. Parenthood definitely has a way of making even the smallest moments feel genius… or maybe I just need more adult friends.

I was sitting at my desk, staring at the Southwest website, realizing that a trip to Pittsburgh for Christmas just wasn’t going to happen. The cost of airline tickets was too expensive to stomach for a family of five, especially this time of year. Kids’ wish lists for gifts are funny – the items get smaller but more expensive as they get older.

I had spent enough hours researching flights and airlines at this point to know that it just didn’t make sense to fly up north this Christmas. Which was a bummer, even though I really never desire to leave the warmth of Florida to freeze my extremities off in the Pittsburgh winter.

But there’s something about this time of year that calls for a bit of cold.

The holidays are a wonderful time. There’s music, celebrations, decorations….so much to love. But living away from family, this happy time can get tinged with a little bit of sadness. It’s our fault, of course. We are the ones that chose to move away. Don’t get me wrong, we love where we live and have no plans to move back to Pittsburgh. But that doesn’t mean we don’t miss spending this time with our large and loving family circle and sharing in the traditions we’ve grown up with.

The girls, mainly my 10-year-old Scarlett, are saddened by the distance between us and the rest of the family. Scarlett has had the hardest time adjusting to the long distance. She cries every time we leave from a visit and has said numerous times that she wants to move back. It hurts my heart to hear her say that. I don’t want to make decisions that intentionally hurt my kids, but roots have been established here over the past 5 years.

We can’t go back and none of us really want to…only Scarlett.