Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul Read Online Free PDF Page A

granddaughters’, her personality didn’t. She was easily offended. Minor teasing sent her sobbing into her room. I had roughhoused with my little tomboys since babyhood. Lauren cried if I even tickled her. It was easy to compare her to my granddaughters, and she always lost in the comparison. Wimpy. Touchy. Too sensitive. How could I love a child so alien, one I didn’t even know?
    The Lord whispered, “Rachel, Lauren needs your love.”
    â€œHow can I love her, Lord? Every sentence out of her mouth starts with ‘I want.’ I can’t even play with her. She cries over every little thing. I can’t get close enough to love her.”
    â€œHow can she learn about me if you don’t show her?”
    â€œI don’t know! I’m trying, Lord. But all I do is make her cry!”
    â€œYou don’t want to love her.”
    â€œOkay, you’re right. I don’t want to love her. I’m tired of tiptoeing around her feelings. But I am willing to see her with your eyes.”
    The thought came unbidden. “She has to share her mother with two other little girls.”
    He had me there. Lauren had not complained when she became the middle child after being the only child all her life. In fact, she was delighted to have ready-made playmates.
    â€œShe loves to help.”
    I had to give God a nod on that one, too. Lauren loved to “cook” and set the table and even clean up. In fact, when dinner was over, my granddaughters vanished, while Lauren happily cleared the table and helped me rinse the dishes.
    A few weeks later my son called. Could I possibly watch Lauren overnight? My granddaughters were with their mother and he had won a weekend stay in a hotel. He and his bride had never had a honeymoon.
    Lauren arrived with her doll and pajamas. We spent the weekend playing dominoes, watching old Disney movies and eating popcorn. Lauren was enchanted. Spending time, not money, was a new and exciting concept. The weekend passed much too quickly. I began to see her in a new light. She was a loving child. As she became more comfortable with me, she blossomed, chattering about all kinds of subjects.
    Lauren’s seventh birthday arrived a few months later. I blinked twice and she was ten.
    The phone rang. “Hi, Grandma.”
    â€œHi, Lauren. What’s up?”
    â€œOh, nothing. I’m just kinda bored.”
    â€œWhere are your sisters?”
    â€œWith their mom.”
    â€œIsn’t this your weekend with your dad?”
    â€œYeah, but he’s on a business trip.”
    â€œAre you lonely?”
    â€œYeah. There’s no one to play with.” Lauren hadn’t been an only child for a long time.
    â€œDo you want me to come get you?”
    â€œYes!”
    We stopped off at Target on our way back to the house.
    As we walked up and down the aisles of the housewares department, Lauren happily chirped, “My Grandmother Houston loves pretty china.” She pointed at the picture frame display. “My Grandmother Willy loves picture frames like those.”
    Grinning down at her I asked, “And what does this grandmother love?” I hoped she’d say “Jesus,” but she didn’t.
    Smiling shyly she answered in one word: “Me!”
    Rachel R. Patrick

And Then There Was Hailey
    T he future destiny of the child is always the work of the mother.
    Napoleon Bonaparte
    It was a hot summer afternoon just before my daughter Julia’s senior year in college when she called long distance.
    â€œMom, I’m . . . I’m . . . pregnant.”
    Dumbstruck, I could barely breathe, let alone talk.
    My mind raced. She’d only been dating her latest boyfriend for six months. How could this happen? How would she ever finish college? I took a deep breath and listened to what Julia had to say through her tears.
    Her words tumbled out as if she were a defense attorney addressing a jury. “His mom thinks we should get