It was Mother’s Day and time for the youngest grandchild to descend the path and touch his reflection within the gently trickling waters of the special place I take every grandchild to on their very first “hike” with me.
Years before, another:
And so it goes. It might not be the Blarney Stone, but it is a right of passage.
Silly, nutty Grandma!
It’s’ what I do.
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It’s so nice to have family traditions and a rite of passage, so to speak, with nutty Grandma! 😊😊😊
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