Merry Momma K here.
Today I want to let you in to a little part of my childhood and one of the first times that I "got" how much a note in the mail can mean to someone.
My own momma, Gigi is her preferred title these days, was very clear about the rules when it came to writing thank you notes. The rule was - they weren't optional. We wrote thank you notes for birthdays, Christmas, Easter, Valentine's Day, and basically any time anyone did something for one of us.
I don't know that I hated it, but I do know it wasn't my favorite.
But something happened that made me realize how much this one small gesture can mean to somebody.
I had just celebrated a birthday and my Godparents had mailed me a fabulous present. Because that's what they were - fabulous. So, I got out my trusty sundae stationery that I adored and wrote a note. Put the note in the mail and didn't think much of it after that.
(I tried to find a picture of said stationery and probably spent too much time searching google but you should know it was adorable. It was striped paper with a picture of an icecream sundae that was also striped. Sounds weird, but trust me, it wasn't.)
Summer arrives and we make one of our many visits to Baton Rouge to visit our entire family. (My parents grew up in Baton Rouge and moved to the great state of Texas when I was in utero.) We of course made the rounds and made, what to me, was the best stop of all - a visit to my Nanan and Renee's (Re-knee) house. And that's where I saw it. My note. My hand-written, little insignificant note of thanks. Framed and hanging in the hallway of their house. Right alongside the pictures of their wedding, children, grandchildren and other important artifacts.
I couldn't believe it. I had made "the wall". I was special. My note was special. I can't really tell you how this made me feel. You see, I idolized my Godparents. I adored them. There aren't two people in the world that can hold a candle to just how spectacular they were.
My Renee (also known as Uncle Mitch) is maybe the coolest person to ever live. He always had candy. He was always on the phone. He wore the most adorable jump suits. He cooked crawfish at 10am. He owned a restaurant. And he had a slight resemblance to Marlon Brando circa The Godfather. In fact my eight-year-old self thought that's who he was. (Maybe because he also had a picture of Marlon Brando hanging in his restaurant and I didn't realize it wasn't Uncle Mitch for a long time). He was kind of your stereotypical Italian mafioso. (I mean, kind of.)
Aunt Faye was such a godly, gentle woman. To this day, if I "misbehave" I wonder what she would think of that. I pray for guidance. I strive to know Jesus as well as she did. She shopped QVC like nobody's business. She always had access to the greatest, hottest toys. She took me on shopping sprees. She let me play in her makeup. She talked to me about how important it is to know and love Jesus. To worship Him. And she put up with Uncle Mitch. ;)
They have five kids of their own, and so many grandchildren that I can't count (20 something) and they still made me feel special and loved and like the most important part of their lives at times. And the day I saw that note, framed, hanging on their wall - I felt like I made them feel important and loved too. That the small amount of time I took to write that note was more than worth the effort.
So, thank you, Mom... for teaching me to take the time to show my gratitude. For sharing the merry with others, may turn out to make you feel more merry than you know.
Don't forget about our giveaway. All you have to do is leave a comment on this post - we will pick a winner on Monday evening.