For a few days in August, we had something akin to a miracle occur right at my dinner table.  Most people would think that I am waxing poetically, but for me, it is a moment that I will treasure forever.  While I was on my train trip with Mr. Jimmy, my parents arrived for a visit with my family.  A few days after my return, we were also expecting the annual Grandma & Auntie Vacation visit from my other mom (Daniel’s mom) and sister.

We live in a humble-sized house, but like my husband’s ancestors, there is always room for one more in a bed, one more plate at the table, and one more chair for visiting at our home.  The problem with this scenario, due to the craziness of travelling and raising a busy family, was we neglected to tell either mom they would be here at the same time.  That task fell to my husband as I was soaking up every bit of wonder in a great place called Kentucky.

To most people, this wouldn’t seem like such a big deal, but I will be honest, our moms would have never met had their children not fallen in love. By never, I mean like that scene in Mall Cop where Paul Blart says at the intersection of “Ne and ver”.  That kind of never, as opposed to the never Hollywood uses when it tells us there is never going to be another sequel to a million dollar movie franchise. Yeah, right! (more on this thought on a later post)

It isn’t that our moms dislike each other; it simply is that they come from vastly different backgrounds and lifestyles.  Each one has her own “thang”, and no one should apologize for being herself.

They have been at some events together (our wedding, one baby shower, Reed’s services, and the laying of his headstone). Other than when Reed died and one time during a Reed’s Run, our two moms have never stayed in the same house together.  It just never happens. Even though they don’t normally hang out (which is geographically impossible with one being a native Floridian and the other being a North Dakotan), they do share one colossal common interest.  Both adore their grandchildren.

During one of the days of the “Grandma Invasion”, our littlest one says, “Hey Grandmas! Let’s play a game!”  Since the old standby preschool game, Ice Cream, a favorite of Grandma L, is soon to be outgrown by Cloie, we settled on a favorite of the big kids in our house.   Although neither had ever heard of the game, both grandmas were willing, if may be a little reluctant, participants.  There we were, seated around the table, two grandmas (well technically three grandmas as sister Rita had recently become one herself), one mom, and one spunky, little, eight-year-old girl.

It took a while to recall the directions for the game, but once we did, we settled into a routine of fun competition with a whole bunch of cooperation as we cheered each other on.  At one point, I distinctly remember wanting to scoop up my little Clo, holding her freckled cheeks in hands to breathe these words into her soul.

“You are the luckiest little girl in the world!  This moment – right here, right now – is one so many little girls never experience.  You are blessed to have both of your grandmas play a game with you.  Capture this moment! Cherish it forever because this will be one of the best days of your life!”

I am certain my far-away, captured-in-my-thoughts-look was not noticed by anyone present, but in my bottle of memories it will always be stored in the library of my heart.  I have a few of those moments with my own grandmothers, and every once in a while, I dust off its jacket and pull it out to revisit.  Every time I do, it is precious time well spent.

Someday, when Clo wants to revisit the amazing time she shared with Grandmas L and S, my heart library will always be open, and she is welcome to check this treasure out as many times as heart desires!

For this, I am so thankful!