My Grandma Blogs

So there's a little known fact I like to brag about occasionally: My mother was texting before me.  Not many of my friends can say that.  My mother also blogged before I did, and she does so more frequently than I do or ever will. (She also loves followers and comments...like they are her crack, so do a soon-to-be empty-nester a favor and brighten her day by following or commenting on her blog here.)

But I have another fact that I can brag about too!

My grandma blogs. 

In fact, here's a link to a post about me, and I'm gonna copy and paste that entire post here for you.  If you like it, visit her blog too.

But a note on the content first: the post I'm quoting is a story about me (brittany) when I was younger, my mother (connie) and my grandma (cecily).  Kim is my younger sister.  My absolute favorite blog at the moment (Chester the Bester) recently did a post about letters to yourself, and that the past versions of you can be full of wisdom that you didn't even know was there.  Younger versions of yourself can tell you exactly what you need to hear.  Check it out because it inspired me, and then read this story, because I think it's good to listen to the children (mind the child in this story is me, but i'm not trying to brag, *wink wink).

Connie asked Brittany several weeks before my birthday what she wanted to give me. "Doggy Bones."
Brittany was not yet four. Still, she certainly had her own view of the world. And it mattered not that I had no dog.
A month later, when Connie asked again. Brittany still remembered. "Doggy bones."

Connie asked if she was really sure that was what she wanted to give me. Yep. Doggy bones. No explanation of why. Just firm resolve.
Connie called me to tell me I was getting rawhide dog bones for my birthday. She said she had waited a month to go shopping for that birthday gift, and even so, Brittany had remembered and insisted. I laughed. And laughed. Cute. Such determination was just cute. The choice....I couldn't understand it. I still had no dog. Fortunately, I was done laughing before I came face to face with those dog bones, so I could give them and my granddaughters the respect they deserved for such a unique gift.
I was handed the wrapped gift by two very excited little girls. Brittany could hardly wait for me to open it. Kim was bouncing up and down repeating, "Goggy bones. Goggy bones. Goggy bones. Goggy bones." She could finally stop saying it after I had all the wrapping paper off.
The day after giving me the dog bones, Brittany was riding in the back seat of my car, when she launched into her own chosen topic of conversation, unprompted. When she and her sisters played house, the most fun thing to be was the dog. Being the doggy was the position of delight and honor. So she gave me dog bones so I could do the thing she thought was most fun---with props!
Then she said she had chosen the package with three dog bones so I could share "because when you share it becomes love."
Brittany gave me everything she had to give. Her excitement, her experience, her wisdom, and her love. To want to share with me so I can then share with others...what a cool gift. I still have those goggy bones. When ever I see them or think about them, my soul feel fuller. Sometimes I think about framing them so I see them more often.

So is it the thought that counts? A definite, emphatic "yes"! Something else counts, too.
The mom. See, the mom let her children give me dog bones when I had no dog.

She didn't insist that Brittany choose something that would make more sense to an adult.
Brittany did not share her reasons for dog bones with her mom. Yet Connie was respectful of her daughter's heart. She allowed. She didn't crush.
Connie might have deprived me of that experience. If she had viewed everything her children did as a reflection on her parenting, if she had been more concerned with what her mother-in-law would think of her, and less concerned about her daughter's gentle heart, there probably would be no rawhide dog bones in the cedar chest with the other things I treasure. And my soul would not feel so full.

I am very grateful for all mothers who do not keep their children root bound in a tiny pot on the window sill, but allow and encourage them to flourish and grow in the garden of life.
I really love and respect you, Connie. A lot.