This was my fancy straight hair today.
The only problem with trying to be cool with flat hair is that then my implant magnets show up more instead of just hiding under my hair.
So instead of looking like I didn’t brush my hair, I looked like I just unplugged from the matrix.
That was fun, for a day.
In other news, this was the best mother’s day ever, thus far. Mom went to church with me, Jess decided to join the choir, and I got out of sacrament meeting without having to take the motherly gift.
And and and, the people who spoke simply thanked “mothers and mothers-to-be”, which was a genuine and tender way to include all of us.
And and and, my ward and friends get bonus points for all making sweet and awesome comments.
And and and, having confronted my own fears and grief before church meant that none of it bothered me during church. Sacrament was lovely, the marriage class peeps helped with discussion, and I was excused from third hour to help with another project.
This was all the Savior’s way of protecting me from myself, so that I did not self-destruct and instead focused on the real purpose of today, which is honoring my mother.
I am glad she is here, and so appreciate this sacred time with her. It truly is sacred time, a gift of time, and I love her so much.
We talked about her mother, too, and shared good memories of her. Seeing my mom miss her mom makes me all the more grateful to have her with me.
Grateful enough to make her some pizza for dinner! Yummy!
Straightened hair and magnet and pizza may all seem like superficial topics for such a special day, but they are the kinds of things a mother teaches you: how not to dress like a street ruffian, how to cook fun food, and how to embrace miracle magnets without being embarrassed by them.
There are many more emotional, sappy, lovely things I would write about my mother, but that’s the best I can do while a five year old with plastic neon green monster teeth is standing beside me asking when the pizza is ready and how many snacks she can have until it is ready.
That’s motherhood, even if it comes shaped like an aunt.