Yesterday morning I was ignoring Mr. B (he wanted me to make him chocolate milk, I wanted him to clean up his toys--a classic stand off). The phone rang and Joy! it was my younger sister with her annual Mother's Day rant. She's had 3 kids but hasn't had custody of any of them for at least a decade. She never sees the 2 who live with their dad, the other was adopted by my parents (and that whole situation is another story of Awkward Moments). Anyway, she wanted to whine about how "just because she doesn't have her kids, it doesn't make her any less of a mother." Uh-huh. According to her, biology should be the only criteria for Mother's Day. And she should be treated equally to all other mothers, like, say, I don't know--maybe ME. A mother who packs lunches, remembers field trip money, helps with homework, signs forms, washes clothes, drives to baseball practice, tucks in every night, rouses in time for school every morning, reads stories, bandages flesh wounds, soothes feelings, referees fights, finds missing pieces, cleans up, cooks up, buttons up, zips up, tightens up, cheers up, wipes up, and shuts up 24/7.
Every year I get to listen to her while keeping quiet--because I know if I got started with my rebuttal, we'd probably never speak to each other again.
But this year was special. Her phone call was interrupted by my door bell. I cut her short to answer it. Saved, right?
There stood the Jehovah's Witnesses with the latest editions of The Watchtower and an invitation to their upcoming revival.