I had three strong, smart, sassy grandmothers.

Grammie Schulz, my stepmother’s mom, was a wonderfully pillowy, arms-wide-open kind of lady. She took me in as soon as she met me and treated me just the same as the rest of her grandchildren. There were always birthday cards and treats at the holidays, and she and Grampa drove out to visit us at least once a year. She was there at my graduation from high school, she was there at my wedding helping keep everyone fed before and after the ceremony. She always had the sweetest smile, except when she was pissed off - and then she spoke her mind. That’s what I loved the most.

Grandma Mary was my dad’s mom, and she was a pistol and a half. Barely five feet tall and full of piss and vinegar. A southern lady who set an immaculate table and yelled at me for stacking plates when clearing it, who always bought me clothes in the wrong size for Christmas. She smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish, took us out for fantastic meals and trips, and for all her temper was a lot of fun.

And Grandma Claudia. My mom’s mom. I spent the most time with her growing up, and she and I were very close. She was brilliant, and stubborn, and graceful, and so kind. She made me cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches on “thin bread” (that tiny Pepperage farm stuff), and called me every two weeks without fail. When I went to college, she bought a card for every made up holiday Hallmark sold cards for and sent me ten or twenty dollars. I still have some of those cards, and her familiar handwriting makes me catch my breath when I run across one.

I wish all three of these fabulous women could see their amazing great-grandchildren now.

I just can’t quite believe that these thoughtful, smart, kind, patient, and gosh-darn cute kids are really mine. I told them both before they went to bed that I feel so lucky to be their Mama.

I can only hope one day that they feel the same way about me.

[And of course, I finish writing this and we notice Nora supposedly making her way back to bed from the bathroom but mysteriously coming from the kitchen... with a handful of jelly beans.

Yup, that's my girl.]