My son’s wife had always refused to let anyone hold their baby—until the day of my birthday party.

that she seemed to wear every moment of the day.

No matter where the baby was, or how hot it was, she always wore them.

Family dinners, birthday parties, trips to the park… those little mittens never left her hands. Soft cotton. Fleece. A pair with little flowers embroidered on the cuff. Always pink. Always on Willow’s hands.

During a picnic in July, continue reading …