Every night we have the same routine: Roenne takes a bath, brushes her teeth, tons of hugs and kisses, lots of books, hop into bed, and then prayer.
We pray every night and pray for the same things, for simplicity’s sake.
We pray for “Umma,” (mom in korean) “Appa,” (dad in korean) “Roenne,” “Green Elephante,” (my daughter speaks a bit of spanish) “Grey Elephante,” (there’s a grey elephant in her bible story of noah and the ark) and then we pray for specific items that happened that day.
A few months ago we started adding one more person to the list: “Baby.”
Tonight I prayed with her and left out the last part.
Roenne picked up on it and asked:
Appa, what about baby?
I looked at her, through my now blurry eyes, and said:
You’re right sweety, Appa forgot. … Dear God, thank you for baby.
She nodded, rolled over calmly and whispered:
No sweety, thank you.