A special delivery today brought three beautiful needlepoint and monogrammed stockings from my mother, Diggy, as we all call her.
By my five year old boy's logic, the heartbreaking truth of these stockings is that they belonged to the now late Elizabeth Edwards.
Bedtime. We're saying prayers. Asking for comfort and protection for the folks left out in the cold. It'll get in the teens this night. Asking for comfort and peace for those Elizabeth Edwards leaves behind.
Ziggy: Who is she?
Ms. Booty Homemaker: Well, um, her husband ran for president....
Z: But who is she?
MBH: She was an attorney, and a very brilliant woman, and a mother.
Z: And now she's dead. And so someone doesn't have a mudder.
MBH: Yes. That's true, baby. It's very sad.
Z: They'll have to sell her things.
Z: They'll have to SELL her things.
MBH: Where did you get that idea?
Z: Dad told me that. You know, Eric? Eric Charles Babcock?
MBH: Yes. I know him. He's my husband.
Z: Well, he told me that. That when people die they sell your things. You know why they do that? They do it because... Well, the reason they do it is because.... They do it because the other people might need the things.
(Pause, and a gasp..... )
Z: Those stockings! Those stockings must have been hers!!
MBH: Oh, honey, I don't....
Z: The ones Diggy sent! Those stockings! They were Elizabeth Edwards' and Diggy bought them.