Heather Leigh Burton

Once or twice in a lifetime, someone walks across your path; and you are never the same again. Meeting your dad was one such occasion, meeting Heather Leigh Burton another.

I am twenty-seven years old and the mother of two tiny girls (almost 4, and almost 2). They are beautiful, and wonderful, and very busy; and I don’t quite remember when I last had a full nights sleep.

I think that Cinderella – now married to handsome Prince Charming – is still alive in there somewhere…but a worrying wicked stepmother metamorphosis seems to be underway. My bungalow is about to burst with too much crying and piles of laundry, and bits and bits of tea-sets, and a rainbow of dressing up clothes. I shout sometimes.

I keep endeavouring to take courage from my reading of odd snatches from the Psalms, and the oasis of Hillview Crescent to visit my mother. And there is no doubt that I enjoy my pink Laura Ashley dining room curtains, and singing to giggling girls in a bubble bath. I am muddling along.

She is twenty-one years old. She is in Scotland to have a Grand Adventure and is living with us for a time. I have become used to spending my days with very small people and I notice that there are some differences between Heather Leigh Burton and wee little girls.

Heather does not have a temper tantrum if I give her a carrot
Heather wears a ring, with a promise (Wherever you go, I will follow). She is tempted to neither swallow nor loose it.
Heather can go to the toilet by herself. Without any coaxing or cajoling.
Heather does not cry when it is bedtime or when her hair needs washed.

Somehow, I had forgotten such qualities existed in the world. Is it any wonder that I love her?

One day Heather Leigh Burton tells me that it is her ambition to “raise a Godly family”. I don’t really know what that means…but it sounds a tad more heroic than my current ambition: to preserve a modicum of sanity.

I am inspired for the first time in days, months maybe even years.

Lift up your head. Look at the big picture. Aim higher.

And for pity's sake,

...Brush Your Hair (!).