When my six-year-old granddaughter handed me a drawing that said, “I LOVE YOU NANA,” I almost cried.
It wasn’t perfect.
The letters leaned in different directions.
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When my six-year-old granddaughter handed me a drawing that said, “I LOVE YOU NANA,” I almost cried.
It wasn’t perfect.
The letters leaned in different directions.
The water was already running when I opened the front door. Not dripping. Running. I stood on the porch with my key still in…