When I was in high school my mom made me a teddy-bear for Christmas. What a weird present for a teenage girl, right? But actually, I remember asking for one, which is even weirder.
This is what I love about this crazy thing we call life. So often the good work we are doing we don’t fully understand until years later.
My mom took the time to sew and stuff a bear for me and she got to experience the joy of watching me open her.
I have the extreme joy of watching my darling daughter love and adore that same bear.
Y’all. She LOVES this bear. She sleeps with her, she is constantly dragging her around, she even talks through her half the time.
and OH, it brings me such joy.
All on her own my Little-Love named her bear, “Honey.” and I can’t even…
My mother was not a super lovey-dovey-cuddly woman. And she definitely wasn’t a pet-name type of mother. (Side-note. I TOTALLY am.)
No, she called me Trina. Almost exclusively.
I was Trina,
unless I was sad.
If I was sad, hurt, angry. If I was in a state where I NEEDED my mom, she was always there to wrap me in her arms, or on the other end of the line, to offer me comfort and whisper the phrase:
I can’t get over how beautiful it all is. My girl playing with this bear that was fashioned with love by her grandmother. Her naming this bear the same name her grandmother used to comfort me.
I love it.
Brings me so much joy.