Adulthood Achieved

I open the mailbox and give a little squeak of delight as I see the new issue of Real Simple awaiting my careful attentions.  But once I start pawing through the rest of the mail during my saunter up the driveway, the real joy comes.  For there, amidst the statements and the junk mail, is a hand-addressed card.

Ooo, I think.  Real mail!

And I recognize the hand, as well: it is the elegant penmanship of my old-world grandmother.

Hmph, I think.  I wonder what this is all about.

And then I realize what I'm looking at.  Because the card is not addressed to "Mrs. R" or even "Mr. and Mrs. R".  It is addressed to "O-R"

My face splits into a giant grin.  What miracle is this?  Has my grandmother finally accepted that I kept my surname?  After less than three full years?   Hot diggity!

So I go inside and open the little card up, and do you know what it is?  It's a thank you card.  A thank you card!  Now, maybe this is not a big deal to you, but to me?  Oh, this is huge.  You see, I've been sending thank you cards to my grandmother for as long as I've been able to hold a writing implement, because they are important to her and I don't want to make my mother look like she can't raise a properly courteous daughter (in time I came to enjoy writing thank you cards for their own sake, but that is another story).  But never once in all that time have I received a thank-you card for any of the gifts or cards I've sent to her over the years.

Until today.

It's a lovely little card, full of sincere gratitude for the photos I'd sent and compliments for the house, and  it just makes me feel so very, very happy.  Because now I know that I've finally made it; no longer am I a little girl in my grandmother's eyes, too frivolous to know what I want.

No, now I know I'm adult, with all the honors, rights, and privileges pertaining thereto (including my own name).