Counting my Blessings

We had a visit from Little K last weekend. Her mama and daddy, too, of course.

It was perfection.

We did all the favorite things together.

We went for walks…

She helped me tune and “play” my guitar.

Grandpa took us for golf cart rides.

We did a little squirrel-watching…

Normally I wouldn’t let them eat the bird seed, but…

We fed the birds.

We blew bubbles.

We picked up sticks. (I need to get her back here!)

We read books…

Books I held onto for all those years, when I tried desperately not to get my hopes up that someday, by some miracle, I’d be a grandma.

We LIVED.

And now I’m just not feeling it.

The Medium.

I just don’t care anymore what you think of the president.

Or being told to check my privilege.

For the ten-thousandth time.

Because, until I met you, I called it counting my blessings.

A little perspective was all it took…

To get back to calling it that again.

With guidance from her mama, Little K painted this for me for Mother’s Day. A masterpiece! My daughter chose the lyrics from one of my favorite songs.
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