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31 March 2011

Moms do have favorites.


Abbey cleaned the kitchen for me last night. This morning when I went to get my tea cup out of the cabinet, this is what I found:

"Ha!" she half laughed, "does that mean it's no good?"

She continued helping by emptying the dishwasher this morning. We chatted about family names, middle names. She knew grandma's was Anne, Carole Anne. She knew Kiki's was Anne, Kimberly Anne. She knew my middle name, Lynn. She didn't know Nicole's. I told her, "Lea."

She giggled. She usually does, then replied, "Kiki's the lucky one; she has it perfect. The great hair, the good middle name, you can tell she's favorited."

In a reenforcing moment, on the way home from Clemson, we decided to stop in Columbia and have dinner with Kim. She was on her way home from Orangeburg with Alex; the timing was perfect. Filled with excitement to see my sister, Abbey announced in the car that of all the grown ups in her life, Kiki was the best, her favorite.

Jake said, "no offense mom, I have to agree."

Maybe they were expecting disappointment, envy of sorts, but I simply explained, "I lived the first 16 years of my life in the same house as her, and I've been trying to stay that close ever since, and a couple times I worked my way back into her house, I get it. She's my favorite too."

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