I remember well the hands of my grandmother.\u00a0 Twisted by age and scarred by life, they were the soothing touch of my childhood.\u00a0 They were love to me, and adventure.\u00a0 They were the soft touch on my cheek and the competent strength that created and sculpted toys from random scraps of wood.<\/p>\n
They are symbolic of the childhood I want for my children, safe and protected, and also creative and fun.\u00a0 I wish that my children could know their great-grandmother better.\u00a0 She was my childhood muse and my beloved playmate.\u00a0 She was everything I thought a grandmother should be, and I have thought myself fortunate to have her.<\/p>\n
My own sweet children weren\u2019t blessed with a grandmother like this, they were gifted with an Oma instead.\u00a0 They are not her own flesh and blood, but you would never know that if you saw the spark in her eyes as they run into her house calling her name.\u00a0 The cry of \u201cOma!\u201d bounces off the walls and fills her home, but more importantly it fills her heart.\u00a0 They are her own.<\/p>\n
She can tell you when they walked, first words, favorite dinners.\u00a0 She knows best friends and secret dreams.\u00a0 She has been their family for almost nine years, longer than most of them have been alive.\u00a0 How fortunate we are to have her.<\/p>\n
Yesterday was her birthday, today they gathered around her table and sang the birthday song in their own awful, off-key way and then ate the birthday cake she had made.\u00a0 They gave her red daisies, giant hugs, and the whole of their hearts.\u00a0 I gave her my eternal gratitude.\u00a0<\/p>\n
In a world where children are often lonely and confused, this wonderful woman holds a baby, kisses toddler cheeks, bandages scraped knees, and loves my sweet ones with all the love in her heart.\u00a0 She may not be family by blood, but my babies know better.\u00a0 She is their own Oma, she loves them with a grandmother\u2019s love and in her touch they know the wonder of a grandmother\u2019s hands.<\/p>\n
Happy Birthday, Oma.\u00a0 We are so grateful that you are our own.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I remember well the hands of my grandmother.\u00a0 Twisted by age and scarred by life, they were the soothing touch of my childhood.\u00a0 They were love to me, and adventure.\u00a0 They were the soft touch on my cheek and the competent strength that created and sculpted toys from random scraps of wood. They are symbolic […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1979,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-969","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n