The times, they were a' changin'.
Gall bladder surgery.
I mean, isn't that for people who already have their AARP cards?
Ferris Bueller warned me in my teens that life moved pretty fast. I should have listened.
Instead, I casually laughed my way through the movie, coveting Sloan's hair and cool fringe leather jacket; slurping down soda with no thought as to what copious amounts of sugar would later do to my thighs, and wishing I was Jennifer Grey's character, locking lips with the once-gorgeous, pre-tiger blood Charlie Sheen.
Who knew that John Hughes was a prophet? Certainly not me. I was sixteen, immortal, and destined for greatness.
And then, I blinked.
Suddenly it was my fortieth birthday, but instead of being treated to tacky over-the-hill gag gifts lovingly selected by my family and friends, I was in a hospital watching my 19-year-old daughter give birth to my grand-daughter.
A grandmother??? ME???
Trust me, THIS was not in the original plan.
(Actually my whole life after high-school was not in the original plan but that's not exactly the point of this blog.)
So, I did what any self-respecting shiny-new grandmother would do in that situation. I cried.
Then I looked at my little Butterbean as she came into the world, and lost my heart. Irrevocably and forever.
That was six months ago. Life, as I knew it, is over. Joy comes to me now in unspeakable bounty, all wrapped up in pink and covered in whatever food she's been eating that day.
She is Butterbean. I am Mimi. Together, we're figuring out this weird, yet wonderful turn of events and allowing God to heal, restore, and renew. This blog is our attempt to document it all.
After all, life does move pretty fast. If you don't stop and