Mother's Day Graduation

Yesterday we had a graduation party for Mollie and her roommates. We had it outside at the country house of one of the girl's grandparents. It's actually close to Nick's parents. Mollie was just a little worried that not many of her family would come - I don't know why she felt that way, everyone in the family loves her. As it turned out nearly everyone in the family came, twenty-four of us showed up. Everyone but LJ and Collin and one other cousin who lives out of state. It was a wonderful day, weather perfect, food fantastic - she was so happy and so was I.

I began this blog when Mollie was only thirteen years old. She was still in middle school. I've shared much of her growing up right here. And today, Mother's Day, she graduates from college. I can't began to tell you how I feel about today. Mollie is such a special person. I ran across this post a few weeks ago and decided to repost it today. I think it show what Mollie is really like - her maturity and her ability to grow and move froward while still holding on to what's important - family. 

This was first posted in 2009, and I called it 

Kangaroos Make Me Cry

A long, long time ago when Mollie was just a little thing she could never pass a gum ball machine/toy machine. When she was with her grandparents she never had to. All she had to do was say ‘Please, Granddaddy’ and she had a quarter in her hand. Once when she and my dad were out alone the quarter bought her a little kangaroo no more that ¾ of an inch high. She played with it that afternoon but before she left their house Granddaddy had a request.

He told her “Mollie, I sometimes have trouble finding my car in parking lots these days.” He was at the very beginning of his fight with Parkinson Disease and dementia, but we could already see some changes – having to look for his car was one of them. So he said to Mollie “If you would loan me your kangaroo I’ll stick him on my dash and then I’ll know it’s my car.”

Mollie doted on Granddaddy as much as he doted on her so she thought that was a fine idea and together they glue the little thing to the dash. Over the next few months he would tell Mollie that the kangaroo was very helpful in finding his car and he added “Sometimes he helps me find my way home.” Within a few years, however, dad had to give up driving. But when we took him out he would still find the car by looking for the kangaroo.

When Mollie was twelve Dad passed away. My niece bought his car. After the deal was made Mollie said, “I want the kangaroo back. I loaned that to Granddaddy but it’s mine.” No one, including me, paid much attention to her but she kept persisting. I finally told my sister, “When you get ready to trade that car, get that kangaroo out. Mollie insists it’s hers.”

A couple of years later, my niece got a new car. She told Mollie that she got the kangaroo for her but she couldn’t find at the moment. She was sure it and that it would turn up eventually. Knowing that basically meant it was gone for good Mollie was upset, but what are you going to do? As it turned out her cousin was just messing with her and that Christmas Mollie receiver the little toy back. She was thrilled but I figured that was the last time it would ever be seen. Mollie inherited all her house keeping skills from me. I figured once that little toy disappeared into the garbage dump she calls a room that was it. Gone forever.

I was wrong. A little over a year after she had it back in her hands I saw it. Mollie and I were headed to town for some shopping and she wanted to drive. As I slide into her car something caught my eye. There sat the little kangaroo, bleached completely white by the sun, glued to the dash of her car. She saw me looking at it and grinned, “Sometimes,” she said, “he helps me find my way home.”

Yep, kangaroos make me cry.