My husband's grandmother and I met seventeen years ago. We shared an instant connection. She was warm and welcoming just like I had heard grandmothers to be. She is also just the perfect amount of quirky. It is this quirky part that made me feel like I belonged in her family.

Grandma is ninety-five. In the last few years she has given me little things that she treasures. A bracelet. A pin. A tray for deviled eggs. On a recent trip she gave me a very unusual item. At first glance it appeared to be a glass, smaller than a juice glass but larger than a shot glass. As she gave it to me she explained that it was the perfect glass. \"It holds just the right amount.\" She continued to inform me that it wasn't a glass at all, but a jar that had once held jelly. Back when the little things still mattered. I thanked her and brought it home with me.

It's not been an award winning week for me in the parenting department. I've been frustrated. I've been stressed. I've been sad. And after a day of meetings, arguing, and a tears on Thursday I was feeling like an epic fail mom. Standing in my kitchen late that night I was drinking out of that little glass and cleaning up from the wreck of my day. Paper towels found their way to the trash, dirty dishes to the dishwasher. Left on my counter was a empty jelly jar from jelly filled valentine cookies. As I picked it up to toss it into the recycling I felt the raised impression of glass on my fingertips. Words. Bonne Maman. French for \"good mama\". On a jelly jar. At just the time I needed a little encouragement. I guess maybe these jelly jars are Grandma's way of telling me that the little things still matter.