Sing, sing a song

There are some moments too precious, too priceless to accurately articulate. Some moments make your heart so full you feel as though others can see it swelling through your chest, frightened that it might truly burst. It’s those times you want to freeze permanently in your mind and you find yourself begging your Creator to help you remember.

It was simple, really. Mary Mac was sitting in my lap the other day, her pudgy legs draped over mine, and we were singing joyfully at the top of our lungs to a song we both knew. Her happy face reflected my own as we enjoyed a moment over a silly song, one of the many pieces to the puzzle of memories that embody my daughter.

Near the end of the song, Mary Mac suddenly stopped singing and looked me straight in the eye with a look I can only identify as puzzled.

“Mommy, is that your good singing voice?” she sweetly asked.

“Yes, it is,” I replied.

“Oh. That’s okay, you can’t really help the way it sounds,” she responded, and then continued with her song.