Tattooed Baby!

I am the mother of a "tattooed" baby.

My baby, Bridget, is obsessed with markers. I have NO IDEA why her adorable little toddler fingers are constantly searching them out. I wish I could say it's because she has an artistic spirit and an innate affinity for creative expression. I wish I could say it's because she has a true painter's gift.

Mona Lisa's Smile

For as long as I live I will never forget the moment I walked into the Grande Galerie of the Louvre museum in Paris, France.

There was a palpable energy in the air of that magnificent place. It was alive and electric, a hum that seemed to reverberate through the palatial halls. I felt it course through me, from my fingertips to my sneaker-clad toes. Maybe it was the rich history found within the paint and the brush strokes on those canvases that gave tangibility to the energy in the air. Maybe it came from being surrounded by works of art that emanated absolute creative brilliance. Or maybe the energy was originating from one lone masterpiece--mysteriously beautiful and luminescent, shielded behind panes of glass, guarded by several middle aged men in navy blazers—Leonardo Da Vinci's, "Mona Lisa."

It's Okay To Ask

When I die, I'd like to ask God if He would introduce me to Eliza Partridge Lyman. A woman who lived over 150 years ago, who faithfully kept a journal of her trek through an often-difficult life. Her words touch my soul.

She was a pioneer, and in 1846 she migrated thousands of miles west (and on foot) from Nauvoo, Illinois. She gave birth to a baby boy in the back of a Conestoga wagon. Six months later she would bury that sweet babe in the fields beside her new log house.