When it’s time to get merry, and carve the roast beast, hearts will grow bigger—by 4 paws at least. 💗
Grinchy Greetings and a Happy Who-Year from Winnie and the Mayor of Meat-ville (both very full of holiday cheer)!
I remember my mom taking me to Medicine & More to get a card for my grandmother. I can’t remember what occasion it was for, but there were cards for Grandma, Nana and Granny, but no Maw-Maw card. There was never a “Breanne” souvenir in any vacation gift shop either. Both of these things left me feeling sad. I wanted Hallmark to recognize how wonderful my Maw-Maw was. A “Grandma” card didn’t feel right, because she never was a “Grandma,” she was always Maw-Maw.
There have been a number of times in my life that I have had to reflect and define who I am as a person. I have struggled with this a lot, but the one thing I feel most confident saying about myself is that I am an artist. Maw-Maw was a lot of things—a lot of people know her for being a legendary swim coach—but she was an artist as well. We had one of her paintings in my house growing up. It was a white and pink iris on a bright green background. I would stare at it all the time. My immediate family (despite being very supportive), are extremely successful left-brained individuals. This, among other childhood and tween events made me feel different, alone, and I struggled a lot growing up making sense of really overwhelming and complicated emotions. Despite being loved beyond measure by my family, I struggled to feel understood. Every single time I felt at the point of implosion, I would call Maw-Maw. Maw-Maw made me feel like the brightest star in the sky. She listened, she always took my side, (sorry, Mom), and she would talk at length about how proud and impressed by me she was. She kept pictures in her pocketbook of my artwork and a cardboard chair I made in college without glue.
She loved telling the story about how she was visiting back when I was probably 8 or 9, bought me paper and paint and was teaching me to paint flowers at the kitchen table when I turned to her, straight faced, and said “I’m better than you.” I am mortified by this story, but she always laughed when she told it. She said she loved it “because you were right.”
[Continued in comments]
She’s the one I love
She’s the one I need
She’s the only one I see
Come on, Bey, it's you
She’s the one that gives her all
She’s the one I can always call
When I need to make everything stop
![I remember my mom taking me to Medicine & More to get a card for my grandmother. I can’t remember what occasion it was for, but there were cards for Grandma, Nana and Granny, but no Maw-Maw card. There was never a “Breanne” souvenir in any vacation gift shop either. Both of these things left me feeling sad. I wanted Hallmark to recognize how wonderful my Maw-Maw was. A “Grandma” card didn’t feel right, because she never was a “Grandma,” she was always Maw-Maw. There have been a number of times in my life that I have had to reflect and define who I am as a person. I have struggled with this a lot, but the one thing I feel most confident saying about myself is that I am an artist. Maw-Maw was a lot of things—a lot of people know her for being a legendary swim coach—but she was an artist as well. We had one of her paintings in my house growing up. It was a white and pink iris on a bright green background. I would stare at it all the time. My immediate family (despite being very supportive), are extremely successful left-brained individuals. This, among other childhood and tween events made me feel different, alone, and I struggled a lot growing up making sense of really overwhelming and complicated emotions. Despite being loved beyond measure by my family, I struggled to feel understood. Every single time I felt at the point of implosion, I would call Maw-Maw. Maw-Maw made me feel like the brightest star in the sky. She listened, she always took my side, (sorry, Mom), and she would talk at length about how proud and impressed by me she was. She kept pictures in her pocketbook of my artwork and a cardboard chair I made in college without glue. She loved telling the story about how she was visiting back when I was probably 8 or 9, bought me paper and paint and was teaching me to paint flowers at the kitchen table when I turned to her, straight faced, and said “I’m better than you.” I am mortified by this story, but she always laughed when she told it. She said she loved it “because you were right.” [Continued in comments]](https://sp1.picnob.com/p/pt_6768102410377010167029_0_4ed44f5442aba8c1e91b93c19107eb56.jpg?o=aHR0cHM6Ly9zY29udGVudC1hdGwzLTIuY2RuaW5zdGFncmFtLmNvbS92L3Q1MS4yODg1LTE1LzQ2Nzk1NTkyOV8xODQ2Nzg3Njk2ODA2MjYzNl8zMTcyNjY2NjUzMDk3MzYyODc1X24uanBnP3N0cD1kc3QtanBnX2UxNV9zNjQweDY0MF90dDYmX25jX2h0PXNjb250ZW50LWF0bDMtMi5jZG5pbnN0YWdyYW0uY29tJl9uY19jYXQ9MTAwJl9uY19vYz1RNmNaMmdIZml6T1hBUUtpOGZBdlcyWmZQaXp6c2RYU0RpYkdsVlZIMkphWW5aXzdFTmtpZlgyMjA2VXg2RzZfOXppSVRtdzVva282TTBRelZxeUhXMmtBQ3QySiZfbmNfb2hjPVl5Skgxd2cwa0VvUTdrTnZ3SDcyWTctJl9uY19naWQ9UHkwY1VVdldMbGlPZGRmWnpPTXNMUSZlZG09QVBVODlGQUJBQUFBJmNjYj03LTUmb2g9MDBfQWY3dnZhQ1FsZnVFTWtULVVHckVtcUFfWWJEYUNvOTF5djhBWVRBSDBzSS0tUSZvZT02QTBGNkRDOCZfbmNfc2lkPWJjMGMyYw==&h=d8667b6d0b88e9fb712060c6a04e79e7)
