The Potty Mouth Granny

  • The Promise I Kept

    He came to me small enough to fit in the curve of my hand—eight weeks old, all soft fur and quiet trust. I didn’t know then how quickly time would move, how seventeen years would slip past like a long exhale. Now his black has softened into brown, and white threads stitch themselves gently into…

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  • A Mother’s Love From the Grave

    In the days leading up to the anniversary of my mother’s death, I am usually filled with melancholy and dark dreary thoughts. But this year, I can smile a little bit because my mother reached out from beyond and assisted me with a problem I have been dealing with for several weeks. I am currently…

    thepottymouthgranny