So…disregard my last post.  Apparently, my daughter appreciates and loves me with all her heart.  She even claims to be following in my footsteps in her attempts to be a good parent to her own daughter.

She gave me a beautiful little collection of gifts for Mother’s Day and wrote sweet lines in a Wonder Woman card.  She even went to the effort to have my granddaughter “write”/scribble in a card.  I was moved to tears.

In her forgetfulness, she dropped it off at my house, but accidentally left it in a spare room instead of putting it somewhere I would find easily.  She finally asked if I liked my presents via text and I was quite confused.  Was she joking?  Did her text count as a present?  I’m not even really a present person – or at least I didn’t think I was.  I like words, sweet words in a card, letters, songs and stories, or good conversation over tea.  That is what makes me feel loved and cared for.  That, and acts of service (if we’re talking the love languages.)

Once the confusion was cleared up, I had the best belated Mother’s Day ever.  She quoted the poem “Walk a little slower, Mom, for my feet are small.  I’m following in your footsteps and I don’t want to fall…”  The card featured Wonder Woman and said “Superheroes don’t always have a secret identity…sometimes they just go by Mom.”

She gave me some cute little jewelry items and a plaque that says, “The Best Moms get Promoted to Grandma.”  My favorite is a journal.  Inside she taped ticket stubs of movies we went to over the years as she was growing up.  It was very thoughtful and took some planning.  It was movies like Race to Witch Mountain, various Twilight movies, Harry Potter movies, The Help, Salt, Pitch Perfect, etc.  Then, sprinkled throughout the journal are fortunes from fortune cookies she saved over the years and quotes from wrappers of Dove candies and various other types of saying.  On one page she drew a lovely little turtle mama holding her turtle baby on her back.  I’ve always called her my baby turtle.

I’m still glad I broke down that dilapidated old rocking chair.  It was an eye sore and a hazard.  It is time for rose colored lenses, as one of her quotes says in the journal.  I am ready to start making my life beautiful, and some of that beauty might just come from re-framing my perspectives.