As you are running around cleaning today, eating tomorrow, and shopping Friday, remember to love.
Here's a little story...
My foster daughter lived with us for the most part from the age of two weeks old to one year (and a few months) when she went to live more permanently with a relative. She came back to us again when she was two years old.
The first day back in our home, she was confused. She'd been bounced around and had experiences that led to a removal from that relative's home. We were so happy to have her back with us, and of course we remembered her, but she had that wary, uncertain look about her that children shouldn't ever, ever have.
She would sit in my lap for hugs. She'd let my husband carry her. She would stand next to the other kids, but her thumb was in her mouth, her smiles were brief, and she was stiff, poised to run. That is until my mother came over.
No sooner had my little foster girl's wide and searching eyes landed on my mom, than her arms were up, asking mutely to be picked up. Mom, still in the hallway and hardly in the house, scooped her little Sissy into her embrace.
She melted into my mother. That moment changed everything. She remembered her Nana. She was safe. Her tiny body finally relaxed as she hid her face in my mother's shoulder. When she surfaced again, peeking at us from the depths of that hug, she was finally smiling. She had come home.
If you ever, ever wonder about what it means to be a grandparent, there aren't any words. Just an image of a poor lost little girl who couldn't quite remember the family who loved her until she was safe again in her grandmother's arms.