We are all outside; Chad is cleaning the garage and I am spray painting my latest furniture makeover. Bekah and Porter are coloring on the porch while still wearing their bike helmets. Christopher is begging for yet another treat while Oliver sits in his stroller eating treats of his own. It is hot. Extremely hot for a mid September afternoon, but we are enjoying this extra little bit of summer that mother nature is treating us to.
Chad's phone rings. He looks at the caller ID and his face lights up and he says, "Hey there!" before he even answers. The way his eyes sparkle and the grin that spreads across his face tells me it must be Publishers Clearing House or at the very least Santa Claus.
I was way off.
It's Ryeleigh.
Ryeleigh his 12 year old daughter, whom he has desperately tried to get a hold of for months. They keep missing one another's calls. He didn't have anything particular he needed to tell her. I think he just needed to hear her voice. He needed to hear that she missed him and loved him even a little bit as much as he misses and loves her. He needed to hear that she still needs her daddy.
He listened proudly as she listed off her present achievements, intently as she told her story of the most recent dog escapade and nervously when he asked if she would want to spend time with him over Thanksgiving week.
I don't think even Santa Claus could have given him a better present than her saying that she would love to.
That little blue eyed girl that had him so very tightly wound around his little finger when I met them 10 years ago...hasn't unwound that string one bit.
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