Little Debbi

My daughter, Abigail, is a mini-me. If her big blue eyes and wild hair don't give her away, talk to her for two minutes. She has my sense of humor, my smile, my sarcasm (not even cute in an eight-year-old). She is, as my husband calls her, a "Little Debbi."

Her sense of style is one of the areas that she takes after me. Often, she will come out of her room ready for church, and I will get the "are you going to let her wear that?" look from Hubby. The answer is, if it's modest and clean, yes. Absolutely.

I am a mom who picks her fights, and this is not one of them. So, her skirt is polka dotted and her shirt is striped. In eternity will it really matter? What? Is God going to give us wings that match what we wore to church the last Sunday before we died? I don't think so. As the Bible says, God looks on the heart. With Abby, I hope he sees a kind, selfless person who desires to please Him.

Another area that Abby is following in my footsteps is her dealings with boys. That became apparent today. She twisted the stem off her apple, "A, B, C, - I got C, Mom. Who's that?" After we kicked around a couple names, I suggested Corey. Her response, "I don't think he'll want to marry me. I beat him up the last time I saw him." Ah, that's my girl.

So, in a few years, she will be chasing the boys - or they her - and making sure her outfits match. Until then, I am going to enjoy the stripedy, polka-dotty tomboy. It will be over way to soon.