My mother keeps approximately eighteen unused Christmas wreaths in the attic at all times, and over the weekend when I was up there getting decorations down for her, she told me to take one — no, two! no, three! no, twelve! — home with me. So I did. Take one, that is. I picked a plain one that just came with a big red bow, which I unceremoniously ripped off because it didn’t quite match…
The family re-enacted Thursday’s dinner for me today. It was carb-tastically awesome, of course. And then my mom demanded that we go into the living room and take a family picture. So we mustered up all the maturity we could. And now we’re pulling boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations out of the attic. It looks to be a very long night.
My mom called me the other night, crying. I thought something was wrong. Turns out she had just seen this Mother’s Day tribute on my Flickr for the first time, and it moved her to tears. She got all choked up while leaving me a voicemail, and again when I called her right back. “Well, I just have to know. Were you drunk?” she joked. I assured her that no, I hadn’t been. Or well,…
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