Mrs. Weeda
Lauren (8yrs) and her friend Cirsten were sitting at the snack bar eating a piece of Jack’s pizza after school the other day. They were engaging in their usual tantalizing conversation about things like lightning bugs and how many times they could burp after drinking a whole can of pop. Lauren wanted to ask for more juice but instead of saying “Mom?” She said, “Mrs. Weeda?”
Mrs. Weeda is her teacher. She loves Mrs. Weeda and so do we. She has been teaching for many years, she’s a pastor’s wife and has volunteered much of her time at the school. She is a gem. Our small Christian school is very blessed to have her.
So I turned around and just to be silly with the girls asked her, “Mrs. Weeda? Do I look like Mrs. Weeda?”
They both giggled because she and I look nothing alike.
I said, “I’m much taller than Mrs. Weeda!”
Lauren laughed and nodded as she announced, “oh yes, and you have a lot more meat on your bones too!”
I threw a pie at her.
NO, I cracked up and thought about how I just had to tell you all about it.
More meat on my bones. Sigh. Yup, I sure do.
Here is a picture of Mrs. Weeda and I. If I didn’t love her to pieces I would have to throw a pie at her too. 🙂
Reading about Mrs. Weeda instantly took me back to my grandmother’s kitchen, where the scent of fresh bread and the soft hum of an old radio were constants. She had a way of stitching together stories while we kneaded dough, each anecdote slipping into the rhythm of the rising dough like a secret ingredient. I remember once she paused mid‑story to point out a tiny crack in the wooden table, insisting it was a sign of the house’s character, and then she’d laugh, saying the crack held more history than any fancy wallpaper https://adstandards.com.au/issues/wagering-advertising That blend of everyday observation and gentle wisdom feels exactly like what you captured in your post. It’s funny how a simple name can unlock a…