This? This Is What Matters.

The chaos, the cookies, and the conversations that will stay with me forever.

There’s no manual for this kind of love.

You just show up—arms open, snack bag in hand—ready for whatever they throw your way.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows.

Sometimes the rainbow cake collapses.

Sometimes someone pees in the ball pit.

But you laugh, clean it up, and do it again.

Because the joy is real, even when the mess is, too.

They won’t remember if the cookies were homemade.

They’ll remember who let them lick the spoon.

And suddenly you realize—this is what you were made for.

That’s what makes it unforgettable.

Some of my best childhood memories smell like chocolate chip cookies and the sound of shuffling cards. Grandma Alva’s house was the best—the place where fun wasn’t scheduled, it just happened.

We were spoiled in all the best ways—with soft cookies, favorite meals, and the kind of attention that made you feel like you were the only kid in the world. Her very favorite. Her kitchen was always open, and so was her heart.

We played a lot of cards at Grandma Alva’s house. Her favorite? 65. That was our high-stakes game, the one we played for money. We’re talking dimes and quarters, but back then, it felt like hitting the jackpot. Truth be told, no matter who had the lowest score, Grandma always let us keep the coins left in the middle. We’d scoop them up, and she’d just wink at us.

She made cream chicken and mashed potatoes—a family favorite—and always let us help stir the gravy or sneak a taste. We baked pie tarts from leftover pie dough and played cards into the wee hours of the night. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t expensive. But it felt like everything.

And then I watched my own mom become a grandma.

She turned errands into adventures and chaos into memories—birthday lunches, golf course outings, movie dates, and squirt gun fights that left everyone soaked. And don’t even get me started on the baking: cookies, frosting, and enough sprinkles to give Pinterest a nervous breakdown.

I was lucky enough to witness firsthand how intentionally my mom loved my children, and I remembered what it felt like to be adored by my own grandma. Together, those moments painted a vivid picture of the kind of legacy I wanted to carry forward—one rooted in presence, laughter, and unconditional love.

I’ve been lucky enough to be a grandma for over 20 years. I didn’t say yes to glitter, but I did say yes to flashlight Easter egg hunts, late-night UNO games, homemade gingerbread houses, and an unforgettable rainbow cake.

We learned to laugh at our epic failures—like the time we tried to bake a rainbow cake. The layers slid off, the frosting melted, and it looked like a colorful landslide. But we didn’t give up. We tried again, knowing we’d do better the second time. And we did. That cake came out perfect—and the memory did too.

We piled into the car for road trips—sometimes chaotic, always memorable. They got to decide what we ate, what we did, and where we stopped. We took pictures at every goofy landmark, answered “Are we there yet?” a thousand times, and laughed until our cheeks hurt. By the time we pulled back into the driveway, we were already wishing we could leave again and do it all over.

Traditions

Cookies? Always. Games? Definitely. Sleepovers? Absolutely! That was a non-negotiable.

The activities shift as they grow up, but what’s important never does—show up, say yes, and let them lead.

Sometimes it was gingerbread houses and late-night laughs, sometimes bowling or baking.

Sometimes Chuck E. Cheese (and don’t even get me started on the prize counter escapade).The real win wasn’t what we did—it was that we did it together.

They remind me it’s perfectly fine to eat chocolate cake for breakfast or take an adventure I never saw coming. They teach me new things, make me laugh at silly things, and amaze me with who they are. Our conversations bounce from superheroes to YouTube clips full of fun facts I’ll never need, to heart-to-heart talks I’ll never forget. Every single one of them is so different, and that only makes loving them more fun. I’m proud of who they are, and even more proud of who they’re becoming. Holding the title of Grandma means the world to me.

Some families pass down recipes.

Some pass down traditions.

If you’re lucky, you get both—along with the wink that says, this is what matters.

💬 Quote of the Day:

“They won’t remember if the cookies were homemade. They’ll remember who let them lick the spoon.”