The Church of Gramma and Grampa

Deaglan has left the building.

Metaphorically speaking. He's pulled out of my tight embrace and pledged allegiance to Gramma and Grampa. Abandoned ship.

The mother ship that is.

It's something they don't prepare you for in early-mama bootcamp. You can't prevent it by doing extra chin-ups. It's a part of the training though. And it kinda sneaks up on you.

Gramma and Grampa love. It's Mighty.

Yesterday we gassed up the Odyssey and headed to that holy Mecca of Deaglan's world. Outfitted the backseat with a long enough flick to decrease the number of Are we there yets? Explained that our arrival would coincide with the end of Pocahontas. Had snacks on hand and Raffi as a back-up should she fail to entertain.

I contemplated the act of letting go. The natural resistance to it. How sometimes God steps in and pries your fingers open, leaves you with no choice but to release.

An act that has its inception when their feet are too tiny to carry them. Only, you're blind to it. Busy believing you're the universe, you alone hold the keys to their safety, their joy, their future.

We met our gorgeous new nephew yesterday. Layton. I didn't warn these two about Gramma and Grampa love. I let them enjoy this moment of being everything to him.

I'm pouring my heart out with Shell today.