Part of the Job

"Mom. ...Mom? Mom?! Mom! MOM!"
You turn the corner, and there she is, on the phone again.

Every day it's the same.
"Hey mom, I need new pants."
"Later."
(Later means "there is the slightest possibility in the far future")

"Hey mom, can you take me to the library?"
"I need to do a food order."
(Let me tell you, there are a lot of financially challenged people in my ward. I have no idea who they are, I just know there's bajillions of them cause Mom is ALWAYS doing a food order or three.)

"Hey mom, didn't you say we'd go swimsuit shopping today?"
"Maybe this weekend."
(Weekend comes... doesn't happen.)

"Hey mom, let's go spend some quality mother-daughter time together!" . . . . . . .
. . . . . "Nah, I'm off to work."

The older I get the less time I have with my mom. She's always working. Laundry, bills, grocery shopping, cooking, her four different book keeping jobs, being Relief Society President, coaching Kayla for motherhood, couching Janell for dieting, running errends, making important phone calls, doing interviews. When you think about it, her life is just one huge hideous job. And the older I get, the less I feel like I'm part of her job. The more I feel kind of alone.
I miss you mom. And I love you.