Better than a best friend - a lot

Being a mom of two boys is really special.  I love them.  I love how they look at me and how much they really love me.  They were how the Lord chose them to first teach me about becoming a mommy.  Yet, I had a deep longing to also have a little girl.  Maybe it's because I love my own mom so much and remember sweet times with her as a child.  Whatever the reason, this mom wanted her a girl.  And praise the Lord, a little girl I have.

She's only two yet I swear she's going on 16.  Like the times she dramatically announces that a certain pink shirt is, "boooooooooooooooring!"  Or when she's in trouble and she sweetly tells me, "You so pretty, Mommy."  I am over the moon about this hot mess of a girl.  Seriously.

One of her favorite things to tell me is that I am her best friend.  I love how she lets me know that she loves me.  I also want to set the stage for years to come.  I actually do not want to be her best friend.  Best friends don't usually shepherd and guide girls into becoming honorable, godly women.  Best friends are fun and they aren't much interested in developing character.  See, that's the job for me, my husband and a good number of wonderful people in her life.  I don't want to trade in my mom card when she enters her tweens so that we can be best friends.  She'll have plenty of best friends.  But I'm her only mom.

Listen to our little exchange and her sweetly repeat, "Better than a best friend - a lot."

Election Day

Grief is a funny thing.  Well, actually it’s not funny at all.  Before last August, it had been over 20 years since I lost a close family member.  It’s now nearing the one-year anniversary of my grandma dying.  It feels like yesterday that we received the call from my sister that my grandma had fallen in her little assisted-living apartment.  At 91 years of age, obviously I knew that she was very advanced in age.  But, this was my grandma.  My super spunky, can-do-anything grandma.  Surely she would be okay.  Well, she was not okay and we lost her a week after she fell.

Like probably most people who are missing someone they love dearly, I often think of my sweet grandma.  I can tear up in a nanosecond and I just ride the wave of grief.  Truly, it feels like a wave that takes over.  Thankfully, it’s relatively quick and within a few minutes, I am back to the present and not hurting so bad.  It’s kind of a lather-rinse-repeat thing.  I just do this over and over every couple days/weeks.

So, Tuesday I exercised my civic duty (aka – I voted) and literally had my breath taken away.  I walk to the table and am asked by a lady in her 70s for my name.  You see, my grandma worked every election.  She loved it.  I can just see her now - taking names (literally) and making sure no one broke any rules.  Goodness, Grandma was all about being fair, not cutting in line and overall rule adherence.  

Working election day was one of the many things she always did (just like how she always gave blood).  I loved this about her.  So, back to election day this week - when asked for my name, I had to swallow hard and regain my composure because I had started to tear.  She must have thought this run-off election was REALLY important to me.  What she didn’t know was that I am a granddaughter who really (really) misses her grandma.