Sunday

I'm waiting for Milo to wake up so I can go to church. There are books and toys and clothes on my bed and no meat in the oven. When I think about Sundays growing up, I think about mom in her slip, browning the roast before church. I think of sitting in the pew waiting for Crystal Bell to get up and bear her testimony and hoping mom will play with my hair. I think of racing to change my clothes when we finally get home and hoping mom won't make me do the thickening for the gravy because I always messed it up.

Usually I got assigned to peel the potatoes and Katy too. Mom made sure at every meal we had meat, two vegetables, a salad, fruit, maybe a jello, bread or potatoes. And then dessert. Mom always made a dessert on Sundays. Sometimes that chocolate cake with the chocolate chips in it and nuts on top. Sometimes the better than you know what cake with the pudding and walnut crust. The pears and raspberries, the sherbet mixed with bananas and berries too, the tapioca with whip cream on top, the cookies and ice cream.

I never make dessert like that.
I never make roasts.
I never make gravy.
I never brown the meat in my slip.

In fact, I don't wear slips. Mom would be so disappointed.

Jake got married on Friday and some of us were standing outside the temple waiting for the he and Liz to come out. I told Karen I liked her outfit and she said, well yours is inappropriate.
What?
It's inappropriate for the temple, young lady. You should be wearing nylons.
Sandy said, that's right. We're both bad.
She and I were wearing sandals, our toes poking out.
Well, I said, Mom's not here to get mad at me.
I am, Karen said. I'm doing it for her.

Mom came to the wedding reception late with Sam and she looked beautiful. Dad went right to her and the two of them held hands. She was smiling and she was wearing a short dress that showed her tiny waist, and she danced with Dan and asked me, Where do you think you're going? when I walked by. I'm looking for my little boy, Asher, I said.  She smiled and said, you're a good mom.

I wonder if I am a good mom.

Milo is starting to fuss and I have no idea what we're going to have for lunch or dinner or anything else today. Maybe one day I'll get it together like Mom always did. Or maybe not. But at least I know how it's supposed to be done.