I’ve long found joy in small things. Situations, sights, words, or experiences which might pass unnoticed by others delight me. As a parent, this gift for celebrating what others might view as insignificant serves me well. As a foster parent, I would be utterly lost without it. It’s the whisper of some minor triumph or the hint of potential growth which sustains me on the days when I feel like I might as well be spitting in the wind for all the good I’m doing for my girls.
This week, I am celebrating nightmares because her mind is working to process the past rather than denying or ignoring it and the confession of nightmares because it means she trusts us. I am celebrating the mention of sharing a dinner years from now with spaghetti made the way she prefers it rather than the way I make it because it means some progress toward attachment after a major setback. I’m celebrating Christmas lists with enormous, no-wish-too-big requests on it because she still believes her wishes will be granted. I’m celebrating a hand held while roller-skating because she is learning to lean on us rather than solely relying on herself or her sister. For these reasons and so many more, I’m celebrating the myriad tiny gifts my girls give to me every day just by being in my life.