I bought some new nail polish recently – you know, for the fall season. It got me to thinking… my sister and I always joke about having hands “just like mom.” By that, we mean a bit meaty – no matter how thin (or not) we are. It must be hereditary, because we both have them.
I should clarify… I don’t mean this in a negative way. It’s actually quite the opposite. I am honored to have hands that look like my mom’s. They are the same hands that tucked my sister and I in. The same hands we held, when crossing the street or walking in a strange place. They are the same hands that picked us up every time we fell, and the same hands that cleaned and bandaged up the boo-boos we got. But, most importantly, they are the same hands that now to those same things for my son. I love the relationship my son has with his “Gigi.” (They are so much alike – in personality and looks – that it’s scary.) I love that the same hands that so lovingly picked me up when I fell, are the same ones that now help him.
Happy birthday to a mother who is one-of-a-kind. I am ever so grateful to have hands like hers. I only hope they’re up to the task.