Pollyanna.

I love Pollyanna.  Ever since I was little, she has been my heroine.  That has been my movie.  Before I got old and crabby, people used to comment how much I reminded them of her.  It was more than a story, it was a choice, and a way of life.  My mom even had the original book that her mother had given her, which was given to her by her father (my great grandfather).  It's such a huge part of who and what I am for so many reasons that I won't explore here.  The book itself has an extensive, emotional history.  When I was little, I knew where she kept the book, and I'd sneak up to take it off the top shelf in her sewing room, out of his hiding place behind all of the household books, just to hold it.  It was falling apart.  Several pages had been amateurly taped back into the binding.  You could tell it had been read many, many times.  I loved to just look at it's worn pink cover with the faded gold embossed lettering.  For the longest time, I was determined to name one of my daughters after the heroine.  Bryan wasn't so keen on the idea for obvious reasons :)  My mom had  asked a few times if there was anything meaningful of hers I ever wanted.  I told her many times, there was nothing.  One time, though, I let it slip, and joked that if I could end up with that book, I wouldn't care if I got anything else of hers and my dads.  Well, I guess if I'm honest, I really wasn't joking.  Although those big oversized spoons and forks she has are enviable ;)  But seriously speaking, knowing how special that book was to her, I didn't give it another thought.

So, my mom and sister came to celebrate my birthday on Friday.  The kids were suffering from some major cabin fever, but even that didn't scare them off :)  I spent most of the time listening to my sister entertain my troops and my mom polish of my laundry from the comfort of my squishy couch.  Silly baby sickness anyway.  It was so nice to have them come, and even more nice to just sit and veg for a minute.  It must have been nice, because I was 10 minutes late picking up my kids because I completely forgot they got out early that day, and then a few hours later I got a call from my poor stranded Mom in law that I had forgotten to pick up   (she had been waiting for over 45 minutes...I'm awesome).   My brain is a wash these days.  I really, really hope I get it back someday :S

So back to our visit, when it was time for gifts, my sister gave me a new, much needed journal, and a really fun card game that has already gotten lots of use.  I was feeling pretty gross, but playing was a fun distraction from all of the gunk.

In all my nearly 34 years, my mom has never made me cry with a gift until now.  And I don't even think it was because I'm pregnant :)  So, she gave me this cute box for storing pictures with a little book about the year I was born.  The highlight in the book was a picture of a bunch of athletes from 1977 (including Pete Rose) in their skivvys.  Pete Rose had one awesome haircut!  Wow.  She also gave me some makeup (also much needed these days).  But the reason for the tears came from what lied at the bottom of the box.  There was a card and another wrapped gift.  As I went to open it, I could tell what it was.  I tried several times after opening it to not accept it, but obviously not very hard, because it is sitting on my mantle as we speak :)

The book felt the same in my hands as it did when I was little...like a mini-time machine.  At a time when it has felt difficult for me to find the good, the beautiful, and the happy, I can now lie in my bed and can see that book, a physical reminder of the kind of person I want to emerge from these experiences.

Thank you, Mom, for one of the most meaningful, precious gifts I have ever received :)