Home is where my mom is

While my parents were in Nauvoo on their mission, we went to Nevada a few times.  My sisters graciously hosted us and we were happy to stay with Marianne and be fed by both of them.

There's just something about a mom though.  It was nice to have her back and be staying at her house.  Since college, I have never stayed at my parents' house without my mom making me French toast on my visits.  It's my favorite breakfast and my mom knows it.

At one point in our visit, my mom lamented, "I don't know why there's never enough time to do anything while you're here."

Here's my mom's version of "not doing anything:"

Every day and every meal we ate like kings.

She took Liberty and Emma to town to teach them an organ lesson.

She and Emma sewed an apron.

She read to some of the little grandchildren.

We took walks together.

We sat on the porch and visited a little.

She listened to Mark's long and detailed descriptions of apps he likes.  She didn't act bored at all.

She squeezed in a little time working for my dad's business and checking in with her mother.

She and Braeden talked politics.

She had Adam teach her a lot about her new ipad.  (Here's a key difference between my mom and me.  I don't want to know how things work and she does.)

She taught piano lessons to her local grandchildren students.

She knit me a scarf.

We talked about good books to read and she loaned me a few.

That's just all I can think of right now and that is probably only half of what she did.  My mom is a force to be reckoned with.  She's a terrific mother and a fabulous grandmother.  None of her children or grandchildren doubt she loves them.  When I consider the quote by Oscar Wilde, "All women become like their mothers.  That is their tragedy.  No man does, and that is his," I think that if only I could somehow, possibly, through some miracle, become like my mother, I would be one happy girl.

Fingers crossed that is my tragedy.