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She’s back.  But she’s always back.  Really she’s never gone, my Mom.  My parents are in town for some classes she’s taking for her job.  Earlier today, my dad dropped off the living and dining room curtains that she fixed for us.  They hang beautifully.  The hem is impeccable.  It’s how she sews.  Every stitch is perfect.

She called to say that they were going to dinner and stopping by Target for wine and nail clippers.  Maybe they’d stop by because she didn’t get to see our new carpet and she’d iron the curtains she just fixed.  “I can iron them!  And it’s just carpet, Ma.  Plus I need to get ready for Indy tomorrow” I told her.  She said she’d see and call me later.  Mark came home and saw my curtain “fix” for the kitchen.  He answered what I already knew, pure shit.  So I texted Mom.  “If you come over, I’m sending you home with more curtains.  I have wine.  ;)”  She responded with, “Do you have nail clippers?”

Tonight, she left with measurements and material for new kitchen curtains and our family room curtains that need to be lengthen.  Moms never stop mothering.  Ever.  I sat on the floor while she ironed by curtains.  I talked about my son and his school.  I drank wine and discussed some possible new ventures.  I was being an adult.  But on the floor, I still felt very young because she’s my Mom.  And Moms have a way of making you feel no where close to 36.  Because still at 36, they can’t stop protecting, nurturing or mothering.  Not in a smothering way, but in a “Hey, this is what I became the second the Doc pulled you out of my uterus” sort of way.  An undeniable and unflappable characteristic of all good mothers.  Believe me, I’m taking notes.

Day 14: My Mommy.