I have loved five aliens.  Yes, that's right. Those creatures from outer space invade our planet on a regular basis.  The trouble is, depending on the species, they can only stay for five to seven years. Just when you finally decide you wouldn't trade them for the world, (because you figure you're owed far more than just planet Earth for everything they've put you through), they're gone.

Let me explain.

My youngest daughter's eyes still shine when she kisses my cheek each night and says, "Sing my song, Mama."

Jumping into bed, she spreads out her special blankets, tucks her doll beneath one arm, and closes her eyes. 

I kneel beside her, stroke her head, and sing:

"Goodnight to you, goodnight to you, I love you very much.

Goodnight to you, goodnight to you, I love you very much.

You are my beautiful girl, my special, precious angel.

I love you so very much and I always will.

Goodnight to you, goodnight to you, I love you very much,

Goodnight to you, goodnight to you, Mama loves you, 

Daddy loves you, and God loves you so very much."



By the time the song is over, she is sleeping. I kiss her once more, turn off the light, and leave the room.

She is the sixth angel I have sung to sleep, over the course of the past twenty-five years. It started with my sweet stepdaughter, Melinda, and continued throughout the younger years of my five biological children. 

Amber loves to sit beside me at the table each night for supper. We play games, read stories, go shopping, and make dolls' clothes together. She helps me cook and I help her to grow up, knowing how much she's loved no-matter-what.

"You're the best Mama I've ever had!" she exclaims, throwing those sweet arms around me.

"You're the best daughter named Amber I've ever had," I say, but I already know my days are numbered. 

The day will come, out of that blue, clear sky, when I'll kneel down to sing her song, and she will say, "Not tonight, Mom."  

The alien pod will land, snatch my beautiful princess and leave me -- a  teenalien. 

I hate it when that happens.

The unconditional love of my eight-year-old girl will change into the tempest and sultry uncertainty of a pre-teen. That's alien slang for hormonal imbalance, and when it does, watch out!

Overnight, I'll be transformed from the love of her life to the bane of her existence. Time will crawl by like a snail in a tub of molasses.  The space-time continuum works differently for alien children. Each day of drama is seventy-two to ninety-six hours in length, and it's at that point, you realize you might be dealing in Light Years.

You have to admire the ingenuity of these incredible teenage-alien life forms. Their effortless ability to be as cold as ice one minute and breathing fire the next, is a spectacular display. I bet those aliens back on the home planet sell tickets and set up stadiums in the stars, just to watch the reality show -- teenalien clashing with earthling parent. They don't even need a sound system, as anyone who's raised one knows. 

Like all good stories, though, this one has a happy ending. I know, because I finished the first four books in the series. I'm still reading number five and it's action-packed! A different cliff-hanger every week.

So, one day, just when I've given up all hope of my daughter ever loving me again, she'll come up and surprise me with a hug.

When I recover from the shock, I'll say, "Welcome home," and wrap my arms around her.

She might fuss, and say, "Mommmm," but she'll smile.  I'll touch her arm for the first time in seven years, (alien children do not like to be touched by human hands) and breathe a sigh of relief. No more prickly cactus needles growing from her skin. 


It will be at least four more wonderful years before my last teenalien arrives, so I'm going to make the most of each day I have left with my beautiful girl. 

Perhaps, the parent aliens have already reached their quota for this century and I'll never have to stop singing good night to my littlest angel.

Meanwhile, I'm going to try and figure out where they hid that alien pod.  Maybe then, I could get my fifteen-year-old son back a little sooner.  He's been out there, somewhere, for the past three years now.

Sigh. 

Only a few more Light Years to go.