As I expected, I love my college class. Interpersonal Communication. I could use some honing up on that one, and it's an interesting topic with engaging reading because of all the case studies. And because of the nature of the class, there's lots of group work and interaction, so I've met many of my classmates. All of whom are much younger than I am, but what the heck.
I'm tired. It's 9:41pm and I'm finished what I'm going to do today. (not that there isn't more I could do, or need to do, but it will be there tomorrow. Or Friday.)
On another note, today is my mother's birthday. A milestone birthday. She was on my mind all day today as I woke up to take Lyns to Seminary, packed lunches, juiced a mountain of veggies and fruit for the morning green drink, cooked breakfast, read scriptures and prayed with the kids, sent kids off to school, showered, went to class, taught piano lessons, did my homework, made dinner, searched for cake ideas for Dylan's party this weekend, bathed the baby, cut the baby's hair, cut Aiden's hair, helped with homework, did some more school reading, read my scriptures, threw in a load of laundry, emptied and loaded the dishwasher, swept the floor, and planned for tomorrow (undoubtedly, more of the same). . .
She was on my mind because she did all those things for me. And for Ethan. And Josiah. And Amanda. And Micah. And Hannah. And Abby. And Noah. And Jonah. All day. Every day. She was always tired too, I think. But happy. And rarely complained. She showed up every day to do the work of mothering, no matter what, showing me the way. And so, as I go throughout my daily activities and chores, I think of her passing the torch (for it is motherhood that lights the world, I'm sure) to me, and I must not let her down. I must show her that all of her efforts, all of her work, and devotion, and sacrifice have paid off at least in some small way here in southern California, and in the lives of my husband and all of my children.
I love Abraham Lincoln's quote:
"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."
I second that notion. Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you. And I know it's really nothing, but. . .