I made it back to my mom’s arms. Is there anything greater? When you’re inching up to your late twenties and still wandering the country/world, the answer is yes – your own place.
Don’t misunderstand me. I adore my mother. There is no person more inspiring in my life. She’s the strongest person I know. That woman is amazing. This isn’t a gripe about her.
What I mean to say is, I can’t find my stain remover. I need to do laundry because I dripped melted chocolate on my jeans because I made ultra-decadent s’mores with drippy melted dark chocolate over the weekend while staying with girlfriends in a cabin in Friendsville, Maryland. My other jeans are covered in bits of feather and chicken entrails… another story entirely. I’m leaving for the west in 36 hours and my jeans are covered in guts and chocolate and my mom’s living room floor is covered with boxes and bins of my stuff.
So my point is, if I had my own place I would know where my stain stick is.
You know what, though? My mom just ran to the store to get me some stain remover. That woman is the gosh darn best.