In addition to Not My Email, I think I could create a Not My Missionary blog series.
I get periodic text messages--with pictures--of a few missionaries that...aren't mine.
Both the other mothers are responding to the texts, so it's not like I'm taking someone's place. It is a number from VA and one of them is apparently an Elder Davis, but why am I involved?
Life is mysterious.
Speaking of my missionary, he has done everything he can (doctor approval plus proved his stamina) toward getting back on his mission. It is now in the hands of the mission department and for someone like me, who is a planner, I'm a little antsy to know what is happening.
In the meantime, I'm dry cleaning ties and washing sweaters and replacing exceedingly worn white shirts and holey socks.
And buying milk.
Last night we went to the art museum in Springville. When we were walking in, Braeden looked around in wonder and said, "I love art museums."
There are plenty of times when I feel like a sub par mother, but in moments like that I think I must have done something right.