I can clearly remember the day. When this beautiful, brown-eyed, curly-haired child – simply bursting with personality – walked into our home.
As if she owned the place.
I think she might have been all of four-years-old, but that didn’t seem to matter much. At least not to her.
Normally, such behavior would have greatly bothered me. But not this time. To be candid, I was charmed by the child.
But, oh, did this little girl dominate the room the moment she entered it.
My husband observed her for a mere few minutes before quietly pronouncing that she could "probably run a small country by the time she was ten."
And he was right.
She could have done it.
After Miss President-of-a-Small Country had run outside to play, I turned to my friend – the mother of said child – and asked how she did it. How she managed to be the mom of such a powerhouse.
And I'll never forget her reply.
"I am the brick-wall in Anna's life."
An answer which puzzled me.
What does being a "brick wall" have to do with anything? And more importantly, what does it have to do with being a mom to this child?
But I was about to find out.
Because I watched our young president run into her Brick-Wall mom throughout the afternoon.