Spending Time With Our Missing Piece

Eight children, seven raised into adulthood, nine grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren and counting.

An impressive resume for a woman not quite five feet tall, even in heels.

You are invited to call her Nan, as most people do, though her name is Eleanor.

She's my mother's mother, as I am my mother's daughter, all of us far below average height and comfortably curved into softness that makes the perfect lap, though it makes shopping for jeans a struggle. 

Some of my earliest memories are at her house in New York, her gold and red lava lamp lighting a dark room at night, stockings hung from her staircase at Christmas, possibly part of the reason I was so drawn to our home, with its staircase aching for stockings.

When she and Pap moved to Nashville, we created new memories, the country music my grandfather adored the new soundtrack for our family vacations.

Though we still visit Nashville, her extended visits to my mom's house mean Abbey and Dylan can really bond with her, and I feel so blessed each time I hear she'll be coming to stay for a month.

She draws and paints with them, does puzzles with Abbey, and helps Dylan build sandcastles, her patience never wavering.

This year she'll turn 81, yet she recently made the kids painting smocks, complete with eyelet edging and whimsical buttons.

As her last visit drew to a close, Abbey started routinely talking about going to see "Grandma and Nan," and her face crumpled a little when I gently explained that soon Nan would be back in Nashville.

Her voice is gentle and kind, her hugs and kisses freely given, her smile easy and warm.  Everyone's grandmother, she's the person to sit next to at a party where you don't know anyone but the hostess. 

By the end of the evening, you'll know her and love her and hope to be a grandmother just like her one day in the future.

I know I do.

 Join us at Lauren Nicole Gifts to talk about someone inspirational in your life!