The 24 Hours My Heart Needed❤️

The 24 Hours My Heart Needed

Okay y’all, I’ve had time to calm down.

And that’s probably a good thing, because tonight I really wanted to write about something good. I wanted to tell y’all about the 24 hours I got to spend with my little girl and just how badly my heart needed them.

But I guess to explain why those 24 hours meant so much to me, I have to explain a little bit about how we got here.

My feelings have been hurt since August 2, when we had Elliot’s little birthday party. I’ve already talked about all of this, and I’m not going to keep dragging it out because at some point you have to quit reopening the same wound.

But the truth is, I was hurt.

Elliot was born on my birthday. August 3 belongs to both of us, and in my heart, that made our birthdays incredibly special.

And here’s a little side note that probably explains why birthdays mean so much to me in the first place.

I was actually born on my biological father’s birthday, too.

You would think sharing a birthday with your father would create this really special little bond between the two of you. But for me, it didn’t.

There were years when he didn’t even call to tell me happy birthday. And what made that especially painful was knowing he couldn’t have simply forgotten what day it was.

It was his birthday, too.

So something that should have felt incredibly special never really did. And yes, that hurt. It probably affected me more than I realized at the time, but that’s a whole other story for another day.

Maybe that’s part of why birthdays have always been such a big deal to me.

I know people say, “They’re little. They won’t remember.”

And maybe they won’t remember every cake, every party or every little detail.

But I remember.

I remember what it felt like when my birthday didn’t feel important to someone who should have made it important. And because of that, I have always tried to make sure my kids felt celebrated on their birthdays.

So when Elliot was born on my birthday, it meant something enormous to me. Maybe even more than I knew how to explain.

That’s why, when our birthday came and there were no plans involving me—and I wasn’t going to be spending our birthday with her—it crushed me.

Now, I want to be fair because there are always two sides to everything.

After I got upset, I was told I could pick Elliot up for a couple of hours.

I chose not to.

That part is on me.

I was hurt, angry and emotional, and I knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Looking back, maybe I should have gone and gotten her. But in that moment, I didn’t think it would have been fair to her or to me.

Then finding out they had gone to dinner with Taylor’s parents on our birthday sent me into another orbit.

And again, there was an explanation. Taylor had to leave town for work, Jake had things he needed to do, and her parents were there helping with the girls. They didn’t do anything wrong.

But emotionally, at that particular moment, I wasn’t interested in the logistics.

I was hurt.

And hurt people don’t always react beautifully.

I certainly didn’t.

Then I was supposed to have Elliot last Saturday, and some things happened that changed those plans.

What bothered me most wasn’t even necessarily the decision. It was the way it was communicated—or really, the way it wasn’t communicated.

I would much rather someone call me and say, “Mom, we’re angry. We don’t like what you did, and because of that, we’re not comfortable with Elliot coming over this weekend.”

Would I have liked hearing it?

Hell no.

But I would have respected the honesty.

Instead, I found out on the internet that I wasn’t going to get her.

And I’m not going to lie—that hurt.

I may not have liked the decision either way, but it would have been really nice to hear it directly in a phone call instead of having to figure it out online.

That’s something I’m still working through because I believe respect has to go both ways.

I know I don’t always handle things correctly. I know my mouth and my emotions can get ahead of me. I can own that.

But I also need the people in my life to communicate with me directly, even when the conversation is uncomfortable.

I’m still hurt.

I’m still resentful about some of it.

And it’s probably going to take me a little time to get completely past it.

But yesterday, I got my girl.

And y’all…

I walked into that house, and Elliot was in the back getting ready. She heard me and came running as fast as those little legs could carry her—in nothing but her diaper and her shoes because she wasn’t even dressed yet—screaming my name.

LOVIE.

Y’all.

My heart absolutely broke.

In the best possible way.

Because let me tell y’all something else.

For the longest time, that child would say:

Pop Pop.

Pop Pop.

Pop Pop.

All. Damn. Day.

Lovie?

Nope.

Apparently, I did not exist. 😂

And I’m not going to lie, it was a hard pill to swallow.

Well…

NOT ANYMORE.

That child can say my name now, and she says it like she’s been training for the Lovie Olympics.

I am officially somebody. 😂

We got her dressed, loaded up and went straight to Star Rover for dinner. Then we had ice cream, came home and baked cookies.

We played hide-and-seek, and let me tell y’all, she is the cutest little hide-and-seek player I have ever seen.

She’s also a cheater.

But she’s two, so we’re letting it slide. 😂

Then we had trash-can lessons, which I realize sounds absolutely ridiculous unless you know Elliot.

We have one of those trash cans where you wave your hand over the top and the lid opens automatically. She LOVES throwing things away, but her technique needed a little work.

So Lovie held class.

Every single time she got that lid to open and successfully put something in the trash, she acted like she had just won a gold medal.

I have videos of all of this, and I swear they are some of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

And then there was Paw Patrol.

So. Much. Paw Patrol.

Normally, she goes to bed around 7:30 or 8:00.

Not at Lovie’s house.

We stayed up until 10:30.

Don’t tell her parents.

Actually, never mind. They read the blog. 😂

She slept in the bed with me, cuddled with me, and we woke up around eight the next morning.

She’s potty training, so I put her cute little Paw Patrol panties on her.

We’re just going to say that experiment did not go according to plan and move right along. 😂

We made a big breakfast—bacon, eggs, sausage and toast—and then, naturally, we had chocolate.

Because beside my bed I have a drawer, and Elliot knows EXACTLY what’s in it:

ChapStick and chocolate.

She knows where the good stuff is.

We had chocolate milk, took a bath with all of her fun bath stuff, and for once I practically had to beg her to get OUT of the bathtub.

Bath time hasn’t always been our favorite activity, so y’all, this was progress.

Then we curled up on the couch for—you guessed it—more Paw Patrol.

And she got so tired that she climbed up on me and fell asleep right on my chest.

I just sat there holding her.

And honestly, that may have been my favorite part of the entire 24 hours.

There is something about having that little warm body asleep on your chest that makes everything else disappear for a minute.

All the anger.

All the hurt feelings.

All the family bullshit.

All the things you’ve been replaying over and over in your head.

For that moment, none of it mattered.

It was just my little girl and her Lovie.

After her nap, we headed to Chuck E. Cheese.

We ate pizza, french fries, cotton candy and Dippin’ Dots, and we played games.

She found this little car she loved, and then there was this football game where she couldn’t quite get the ball into the goal—but she figured out how to get it over the little fence.

Y’all.

You would have thought that child had just won the Super Bowl.

She was SO proud of herself.

And watching her be that happy made me that happy.

Eventually, though, we had to take her home.

And y’all, I needed those 24 hours more than I even realized.

That little girl brings me a kind of joy I don’t really know how to put into words. Whatever complicated grown-up relationships may be happening around me, my relationship with my grandchildren is incredibly precious to me.

Yesterday reminded me of that.

It reminded me that sometimes you can be angry and hurt and still have an absolutely beautiful day.

Both things can be true.

You can still be working through resentment and also recognize something wonderful when it comes running toward you screaming “LOVIE!” in nothing but a diaper and a pair of shoes.

And maybe that’s where I am right now.

I’m not pretending everything is magically fixed because I had a wonderful 24 hours.

It isn’t.

But my heart feels a whole lot fuller than it did before.

And I needed that.

Of course, apparently the universe decided I had experienced enough peace for one weekend. 😂

After we dropped Elliot off, I had some things to do at the Galleria and met one of my girlfriends there.

And y’all, let me tell you something:

Shopping with a wealthy person is a completely different sport.

Something I would stand there debating for 45 minutes—calculating whether I really need it and convincing myself that spending $100 is ridiculous—she’ll spend $3,000 on like I’m buying toothpaste at CVS.

And yes, she’s probably reading this because she’s one of my really good friends and she reads my blog.

Girl, you know who you are. 😂

The problem is, when I’m shopping with her, I temporarily forget my tax bracket.

Suddenly, I’m a Rockefeller.

“Sure! I’ll take that!”

Ma’am.

Put it down.

You have bills. 😂

Before we went home, Welton and I stopped at La Tuli for a few appetizers because, listen, I love my granddaughter more than life itself, but Chuck E. Cheese pizza is Chuck E. Cheese pizza.

We bought it because Elliot loves it—not because Welton and I were sitting there thinking we had stumbled upon Houston’s newest culinary destination.

So we ate some actual grown-up food and finally headed home.

And THAT was when Alfredo started sending me all those screenshots and text messages about the woman commenting on my post.

And just like that…

There went my peaceful little Paw Patrol, chocolate-milk, trash-can-training state of mind.

Straight out the damn window. 😂

I thought, You know what? I should’ve just gone somewhere and drank my life away tonight.

I’m kidding.

Mostly. 😂

But the truth is, I didn’t want that to be what I wrote about tonight.

Because what I really wanted to write about was this:

My little girl ran to me.

She screamed my name.

She played with me.

She laughed with me.

She cheated at hide-and-seek.

She learned how to use a trash can.

She ate entirely too much sugar.

She stayed up entirely too late.

She slept on my chest.

And for 24 hours, I got to just be Lovie.

Everything else could wait.

Because right then, that was exactly what my heart needed.