Our family, my father’s side, is in the midst of a week-long family reunion at the Gulf Coast. We have had a week-long family reunion for as long as I can remember.
My father was one of eight children- he was the third oldest- one of five boys. My paternal grandmother, Martha Lee (known by most as simply M’Lee) was quite a character.
As a 16 year old college student, she married her professor 15+ years her senior (forgive me dad, I forget just how much older Karl, my grandfather, was). She had her first child at 18, and her 8th child at age 36. If you are doing the math, that is a span of 18 years. 8 children in 18 years. Whew, my lower body aches just thinking about it.
She always insisted that we call her by her first name- M’Lee. Not grandmother, Granny, Mumsy, Meme, Nana. Just M’Lee.
She said didn’t want anyone to know that she was a grandmother – even though she looked like your typical grandmother- white hair, cheery face, glasses, had that authoratative mom tone to her voice.
Let’s put it this way, she played Mrs. Santa every year for the Jr. league.
Her children, who were all used to a large family, had anywhere from 2-6 children- who now have children. My Aunt Kelly has 6 children- all of whom she homeschools. Where was I going with this? Oh yea, so our family of four drove down yesterday to see everyone and grill hamburgers.
I offered to pick up Big Daddy on the way, which meant I needed to get everyone together and loaded in the car for the trip. I woke up Kenley early from her nap- something new and different- packed PJs, goldfish, formula (yes, my baby still takes a bottle even though I told my pediatrician that she’s “off”), bathing suits, etc.
I was aggravated with something that Britton was doing, as I was lifting her 36 lb body into her new Marathon car seat. “Don’t talk to me Britton“, is what I told her.
“Don’t talk to me, Mommy!” she responded.
Then a couple of “fine””s were exchanged.
We didn’t make it out of our neighborhood gate before I hear a little voice in the backseat say, “Mommy, I foegive you.”
Which I, of course, responded with “I forgive you to Britton. I am sorry for getting aggravated”.
Britton – “Dat’s otay. Jesus foegives you too” (heart melt)
Silence. .. Britton thinking.
Britton- “Mommy, will we always be fwinds“
Mommy- “Yes, Britty. We will always be friends”. (heart overflow)
We must have exchanged this same dialogue about 4 times during the 60 minute drive. And she always ended the conversation wanting the assurance that we will always be friends.