"You have grandma's hands", Whitney tells me as she is watching me fix dinner.
I look at my hands, hands that are ordinary. No distinguishing characteristics. Ordinary.
They show some years.
They look like my mom's.
And that is okay.
My children think my mom is awesome. I agree with them.
And if my mom is awesome, and anything about me makes them think of my mom, I can accept that.
Happy Mother's Day!
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