To Do List

I shouldn't be blogging.  I should be:

1.  Folding laundry
2. Grading Kumon books
3. Preparing for mutual: Cupcake Wars, I'm in charge
4. Collecting donations for the Highland High Choir--Do you have $500.00 to spare?
5. Shaving the dog

I even wrote a prioritized list on my cracked-screened iPhone, but lists only get me so far...

I bellyached all morning about how my only purpose in life is to be a laundry digger, baseball uniform finder.  "Is that all you need me for?" I grouched at Sam while he brushed his teeth.

"No, Mom.  I need you for more than that," he said.  I still have not found his baseball shirt.

Last week was Spirit Week at Sam's school.  He's my first homie to have ever shown interest in displaying school spirit.  I didn't pay attention to the theme of each day, and half the time I wasn't even home to see what he wore because I was subbing at the high school. After school on Wednesday, he came through the door, hair spiked like the lead singer of the Flock of Seagulls.  He was wearing Bryce's Neil Diamond T-shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted mesh athletic shorts.  I laughed out loud.

"It's the 80s today, right?"  I guessed.

That was all I knew about his participation in Spirit Week until the Beehives came over Wednesday night.  They said, "Did Sam tell you he dressed up like Ichiro from the Mariners baseball team?  He wore the total getup: cleats, socks, pants, authentic Ichiro jersey, and hat. It was really good."

"That's so awesome," I told the girls. "He's been loving Spirit Week, I guess."

"It's not awesome, Sister Suzuki.  You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it was Western Day and Sam thought it was Sports Day."

"Oh, boy! What happened next?" I asked.

"It was so embarrassing, he made the Grizzly News, and he had to tell the whole school how he mixed the days up."

"How's his reputation now?  Nerd Herd status?" I asked.

Then the girls laughed and we changed the subject.  But, when Sam got home that night, I asked him all about it.  I was concerned for his mental health.

"Sam...Sam, tell me about Ichiro.  I'm the worst mom for not posting the Grizzly Spirit Week outline on the cork board. Tell me what happened--all details."

"I just got messed up on which day was what, so I wore my baseball uniform on the wrong day.  It's not a big deal, Mom," he shrugged.

"What did you do when you got to school and realized the realness of your wardrobe malfunction?"

"At first I told the kids that I had practice after school, but they were all like, 'Then why don't you just change in the car?'  So, I knew there was no way around it so I just said: I messed up."

"Do you need therapy?"  I asked, half kidding, because, let's be honest, jr. high can kill a child's soul.

He said, "Mom, it's fine.  Let's not talk about it anymore."

So that's why I just blogged about it, and now I will be the cause of his therapy.

Now, let's go get our lists done!

P.S. I did ask Sam's permission before I wrote this post.

Look Up: Girls' Camp

We just returned from a 2 1/2 day stake girls' camp, an event that took me and a legion of women a year to plan. It was a successful camp: spiritual, fun, and uniting.  We sang "Mormon Boys," danced, and ate delicious food, minus the beans.  But, amongst all the success, I was preoccupied with how we could have done a better job: Don't scratch the crafts next year; Next time, have the girls perform a skit with their bishops on Bishops' Night; Have a YCL fashion show; Go to the temple more before you come to camp so that you're more spiritually prepared for these girls.  I found it impossible to live in the few days that took a year to plan.

We chose the theme "Look Up!" based on Carl B. Cook's conference talk: "It Is Better to Look Up."  Our committee spent a year deciding what it means to look up: don't compare, never fear, create holy places wherever you are, look to God, doubt not, and live.  But during camp I struggled to "Look Up."  I questioned whether our efforts were what the Lord wanted, even after receiving confirmation that we were doing exactly what He wanted. After plaguing my brain with doubt, I finally said to myself, "Katy, put all you've done on the alter as an offering to the Lord.  You've done your very best." I stood in the middle of the lodge pictured above, and I visualized myself in a barren desert--is that redundant--placing the suitcase of "My Very Best" on the alter.  For maybe the first time in my life, I felt the Lord take my offering.  He makes up where we go wrong, and I physically and mentally felt him lift my gaze upward.

P.S.  Mi Madre came and helped me make all the value banners pictured above.  She's the very best.  Also, my homgurl let me take a picture with her.  The church is true.

To This Day

Yesterday I subbed in Mrs. Horton's class, and I know her students well.  I enjoyed spending the day with them and during her senior AVID class, the students asked if they could read aloud some poems from their senior English class.  I, of course, said, "Heavens, yes!"  One girl read Shane Koyczan's, "To This Day."  Have you heard it?  After she was done reading, I asked her all about the poem, and she told me how Koyczan's poem is being used as an anti-bulling campaign.  I was so interested.


Here are my favorite lines from the poem:
"and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit."

Name Dropping

As I walked out of the gym yesterday, a friend from my ward said,

"I have to tell you what Josh did during sharing time."

"Stop!" I said.  "I don't even want to know!"

She didn't listen and went on with the story.

"Well, he really, really wanted to be picked to find the hidden Easter Egg, so instead of calling out the typical, 'Me, Me! Pick Me!' he started calling out, "Do you know my mom?  Do you know who my mom is? She's Katy Suzuki.  Katy Suzuki is my mom!"

I started cracking up, and I asked my friend, "Did my name influence the teacher's pick?"

"Nope."

Are you embarrassed for me?

When Josh got home from school, I said, "Sister Johnson told me about you calling out my name during sharing time."  He blushed and while he hide behind his sheepish grin of embarrassment, I said, "Nobody has paid me a higher compliment.  You're my biggest fan, and I love you to the moon and back and to the moon again, buddy."

Moms are powerful.

The end.

P.S. Here's our Christmas card picture.  Some of my friends say we look like we're running for office.

Becoming

I spent last semester teaching at Highland High.  At the beginning of the school year I was sure that becoming a teacher was what I was born to do.  But by the end of the semester, I had changed my mind.

 I loved the students, the literature, and all that comes with teaching teenagers how to find their best selves.  I dreamed of becoming like Mrs. Bennet, my polio stricken 11th grade English teacher, who hobbled back and forth between her podium and the rows and rows of desks while moving us through a canon of classics: The Great Gatsby, The Scarlet Letter, and Romeo and Juliet.  Sitting at my desk, I repeatedly promised myself I'd become a teacher like her.  It was the only way I could pay forward.    

And, as soon as my littlest went back to school, I began working on my Master's and gathering  experience through substitute teaching. I would become like all the Highland High Greats:  Mrs. Schless, Ms. Divine, Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Horton, and Mrs. Wayne (There are too many to list).

Through a series of experiences I had this last semester, I decided my focus needed to be more at home, not at school.  This realization was shocking, and it has left me reeling.  Now what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to focus? And where do I start? In a weird way, the video below helped me begin a list of what I should do next.  Have you seen it?

video via Dubuh Du

Rockstar Cords

Just the other night I told Bryce that I wanted some cords and a denim shirt.  He said, "Don't go manish on me."

"Manish? I said. "Please! I've been wearing that look, on and off, since we kissed seventeen years ago in the denim stockroom at the Gap.  Didn't seem to bother you then.  Manish.  You've lost your sense of fashion."

Then the next day I went to lunch with my friends, and Shannon said she just bought some cords.

"Where did you get them?" I asked.  "We must be going to the same Circle K for our Diet Cokes, because just last night I said I needed some cords."

"Well," she said, Old Navy has the best cords right now, and I don't usually buy my pants from there, but they are the best, especially since they are 30 bucks.  Just be warned: they run really, really small, so you"ll have to go up a few sizes."

Last night I took her advice and I trucked it over to Old Slavy (that's what you call it if you work there), and bought some cords.  I took this picture so you could see what they look like.  Do you like my contorted and mysterious pose?  I couldn't fit my whole body in the picture, but it doesn't matter since I know you're not judgin' me.  And,  from the looks of it, Bryce likes the pose and cords, anyway.  Do you see him peeking from behind my shoulder?  Not so manish, right?

P.S.  I never worked at Old Slavy, but Bryce did.  Too bad I couldn't kiss him in their stockroom.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi

Have you watched "Jiro Dreams of Sushi?"  We started watching it on Netflix last night and I'm enthralled.  Here's a trailer if you want to know about it.  Maybe you'll be the next greatest something...

Farmhouse Obsession

Down the street from us there's a farmhouse for sale.  I'm obsessed with living in it.  Each day I come home from school to check the MLS to see if it's sold yet.  And last weekend I drove past it 20 times and even drove up to stare through its windows.

"It's not going to sell," I placate myself.  "It sits on the edge of a busy street and was built in 1952, so hellou, money pit.  The house sits on an acre lot whose land is to the side of it instead of in the back.  Who has a sideyard for a backyard?  And the land in the back houses somebody elses cows.  Unless there's free milk and cheese involved, who wants to smell all that?

This is what my rational brain tells me.  But over breakfast this morning I told Bryce,

"Maybe we should move there. Let's ask Travis, the owner, if we can just rent it from him--see if we like living there, on a busy street, in a county island.  Living on an acre has it's advantages, you know.  We could play baseball, plant a garden, get chickens and goats, compost, even build a better house when we're rich and country fancy.

"It's a money pit, Katy, I'm telling you.  But, maybe it's worth looking into.  It may have some potential."

He's giving me the green light, I think.  I'll keep you posted, but if you're interested in the money pit, you can look here.  Also, living here would allow me to inherit some super cool neighbors.

Constructive Criticism: Can You Take It?

I'm a good substitute teacher, maybe top 10 in the district if there were a contest.  But just today, some students shared with me that a teacher, for whom I subbed, was talking a little trash behind my back.  The students said:

"Mrs. Krantz said you have sucky handwriting, and so she couldn't read any of your notes you left her.  Also, you messed up a bunch of stuff, so, yeah, she was kinda bugged."

I stared at them in utter horror.

"She really said that?  About me, The Katy Suzuki? That's OK, girls.  I'll talk to her to make sure things are all right.  I feel horrible if that's really true.  Thanks, girls."

Of course I was nice about it on the outside, but my inner-me wanted to take the situation to the back fields.  Sucky.  My handwriting?  I've never heard that one before; and who uses that word, anyway? Especially in front of teenagers?

I texted her and asked if all this was true and she said the handwriting part was.

"I had a hard time reading your writing, and that was difficult for me."

"I'm so sorry," I said.  "I hope it didn't cause problems."

"Don't worry about it; it's fine.  Everything else was fine. Thanks."

"OK, thanks:)"  I texted back, leaving a smiley to let her know I put my dukes in my khakis' back pockets."

All day I've thought about my handwriting and how I thought it was actually quiet pretty.  I even wrote a little note to myself using the same kind of writing I always use, "Don't forget to pay the pest control guy."  The words and letters were legible, and I stood back to see if I could still read the note from a distance.  Crystal clear.

But just seconds ago I went outside to get the mail and in the stack there was a letter stamped "return to sender."  In perfectly printed writing above the address was written, "No such address."  I double checked the address to make sure I had written it correctly, and I had.  But a closer look to the street name revealed a truth that I might have to inhale (or suck).  When I had written Flower Rd., my F and L connected, forming an A: Aower Rd.  Now, on any other day, I wouldn't have thought twice about the returned letter.  I would blame the returned letter on the mailman's ineptitude and move on with it.  Instead, I readdressed a new envelope, printing FLOWER in all caps.

Maybe what looks perfectly fine to me is chicken scratch to somebody else.  Yes, Katy, your writing sucks.  Work on it.

P.S.  I also cut my bangs.

Sweet Is the Work

Here is the video of the activity day girls doing the dance.  They hooted and cheered after each time we shook it like a Polaroid.  Some girls said, "I'm doing this dance at my school talent show," and others said, "I'm going to teach this dance to my little sister when I get home."  I think a love for dance is universal, and I thank Savannah Harrison for helping us move like this!

Shake It, Homeboy

My homegurl and I spent yesterday trying to come up with a dance for the stake activity days activity.  Thanks to my cousin Meghan, we ripped off a few of her dance moves and put together the dance in the video below.  Although the video shows the dance in a very premature state, (I'll show you a perfected version next post!), I want you to watch my homeboy preform his own version of the dance.  He's the one in the red shirt, in case you're wondering, and I didn't even know he was there mimicking us.  I seriously busted a gut, and I had to watch it about a billion times so I could catch his every move.  Enjoy.

P.S.  I know my house looks like I've given up.  I haven't.

5 Things I Didn't Do This Summer

 1.  Eat a healthy breakfast.  Every morning we drove to Jamboree and Alton Parkway and ate pastries at 85 Degrees.  Have you heard of it? If not, click on Yelp's reviews here to read all about it.  The four of us ate like we were in France, all for under seven bucks a day.

2.  Read Fifty Shades of Grey.  Instead I finished rereading Romeo and Juliet and left the romantic parts to my imagination.

3. Exercise.  Remember how I was getting into my personal fitness?  Well that ended three days after I bragged about it to you.  Summer kind of got in the way. But at least once a week, I cartwheeled along  Newport's sandy shore.  Does that count?  That was right after I had a red velvet cupcake from Susie Cakes.  Have you had one?

4.  Yell.  OK, maybe I yelled once or twice, but that's a major improvement for this passionate, crazed chica.  This summer I trapped my swamp witch and loved on my homies until they said, "What's wrong with you, Mom?" :)

5.  Listen to Spotify.  Have you downloaded it onto your computer yet?  They're going to put iTunes out of biz, I tell ya!  You can download and listen to any song for one low monthly price.  Or, you can be like me and listen to the free, but commercial filled version.  Still LOVE IT, and as I'm typing this I'm tapping my toes to Erasure's "Respect." Then next up is a little Skid Row, Smiths, and Santigold.

P.S.  Cali was worth every Benjamin I spent.  Just take a look at my homegurl.  Did the teachers at Maple do a good job or what? She's the very best.

My Girl and Pizza

Yesterday my homeboyz went to a D-backs game.  Since my homgurl and I didn't want to eat peanuts and Crackerjacks for dinner, we decided to stay home and do our own thang.  Instead of staying home and eating leftover potato soup like I had promised myself I would do, we hopped in the car and headed to Pizzeria Bianco.  If you're an Arizonian, you know this pizza joint is infamous for its 2 hour wait times.  We've attempted eating there before, but there isn't a pizza on earth worth that wait, not even Oprah can convince me otherwise.

When we pulled up to the valet  I said to my homegurl, "If it's more than a 30 minute wait, we're going to eat bean and cheese burritos at Del Taco."  She curled her lip and stuck her tongue out at that idea. "How about Cheesecake?" she said.

I rolled down the window and asked the young man, "What's the wait?"

He flung his hands in the air like I had just handed him Wonka's Golden Ticket.
"Lucky you," he said.  "We're dead tonight."

My girl and I looked at each other in disbelief as the valet excused us from our car.  In the eight years we've lived in Arizona, we had never been closer to sinking our chompers into food fit enough for Arizona Royalty.

The Pizza We Ordered

Our First Bites

Diet Coke in a glass bottle

Homgurlz Por Vida (for life)

 We gave the pizza a 7 out of 10.  We've had better, in NY, of course.

Myers-Briggs Personality Test

image via 

My sweet friend sent me this link to a Myers-Briggs personality test.  Have you ever taken one?  I took a similar test during my freshman year in college, but I couldn't remember its outcome.  Curious to see if my personality was similar to my friend's ENFP, I took the test.  Turns out I'm an ENFJ, just like Ronald Reagan, Ashton Kutcher, and my cousin Darcy.

What are you?

Put a Bird On It

Mi amor introduced me to the show Portlandia.  Do you watch it?  It's a satiric sketch comedy similar to SNL, and It's been on TV for two years, so you probably know all about it, and me sharing this video will be like seriously, chica, step into the now already.

While some of the sketches are not suitable for pious gals like you and me, some of the skits provide an insightful commentary about people, like me, who grew up in the nineties.  Hellou, lovers of Nirvana and everything grunge, am I describing you?

I made sure mi amor only showed me rated G clips, and now I'm sharing my favorite one with you.
After watching this video, you may agree that I should update my blog's banner.  The bird is so 3 years ago, right?  Why do I love birds on things?  And why do I still crank Kurt Cobain's "Smells Like Teen Spirit?"

Be Strong and Summer Reading

I just walked in the from the gym and took this gratuitous picture of myself.  Are you grossed out at the sight of my pits? Wipe the throw-up from your chin and be glad that I'm once again recommitting myself to physical fitness.  Unlike moi, you're probably already working-out, and you don't need to sweat all your swamp witch out before your homies awaken in the morning.  I really am a better person when I exercise.

We're spending most of our summer living with mi abuelo in Santa Ana, CA.  My homegurl will be dancing here while my homeboyz and I will be reading books from Arizona's 2012-2013 Battle of the Books reading list.  Between books we'll be hittin' up D-land and teaching ourselves to catch some serious waves.  I may even do back handsprings along Newport's shore.  What will happen to my c-section scars, though?  I will keep you posted.  In the meantime, I can't wait to hear and read about what you're doing this summer.

I've linked all the books from the list in case you're interested:

Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher

by Bruce Coville

Pictures of Hollis Woods

by Patricia Reilly Giff

Running Out of Time

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Rules

by Cynthia Lord

Battle Two

Chasing Vermeer

by Blue Balliett

Hatchet

by Gary Paulsen

Poppy

by Avi

Riding Freedom

by Pam Munoz Ryan

Battle Three

Because of Winn-Dixie

by Kate DiCamillo

Captain Nobody

by Dean Pitchford

City of Ember

by Jeanne DuPrau

Ella Enchanted

by Gail Carson Levine

Real Simple Essay Contest

Ryan Mesina

Are you entering Real Simple's fifth annual Life Lessons writing contest?  I'm thinking about entering, and I even have an idea of what I'll write about.  Here's the writing prompt if you're interested, too:


If you could change one decision that you made in the past, what would it be? No, you can't go back in time, but here's the next best thing. Think of a decision that you regret—anything from a ridiculous choice of prom date to a serious lapse in judgment—and tell us what the mistake taught you about yourself.


Go here to read all about it.

Mother's Day Getup Continued

 Eric, the one with the short hair, was my 11th grade nemesis. 

I covered my face and listened as the principal's voice fought through the speaker static, "This year's senior student body officers are as follows: Treasurer, Rita Hanks; Secretary, Megan Biggs; Vice President; Laurie Valroy..."

The new USB officers were all girls.  What was Eric going to do with a room full of intelligent, smart, and talented girls?  I belong in there. Pick me.  Pick me, everyone.  I hope you picked me--my last internal plea before the verdict was announced.

The principal paused, clearing his throat, "Ramona High's new student body president is...Katy Ballantyne!"

My class turned to look at me.  One boy started clapping and the rest of the room joined in.  I had won.  I, Katy, had defeated The Eric Ferguson!  But had it not been for mi Madre, I would have bowed out the day I came home crying.  Word to mi Madre!

P.S.  My homgurl said, referring to Eric's picture and all the trauma he caused, "Him, Mom?  He looks like he's missing a tooth."

"He's not missing a tooth," I said.  "It's just the way the picture looks.  But the guy next to Eric is my friend Matt.  He voted for me."

"That was high school, Mom.  Why are you talking about it now?"

"Good question."

Mother's Day Getup

I paid 40 bucks for this outfit, including the necklace--a gift to myself for my b-day and Mother's Day.  Although the picture doesn't show it, the black bowed pencil skirt barley skims the tops of my knees. (The model's is much shorter, FYI.)  I battled to keep it covering my legs throughout yesterday's Sunday service. I told my Primary girls, "Sorry if you see too much of Sister Suzuki's varicose veins.  It's what happens when you cross your legs while turning into an old lady like me."  They smiled and said, "You're not old, yet, and what are varicose veins?"

I said, pointing to the inner backsides of my knees and calves,"They're these spiderweb looking things all over my legs.   Maybe next Mother's Day I should get a black widow tattooed in the middle of this veiny webbed mess.  What do you girls think?"

"Eeew, Sister Suzuki, tattoos are so ugly and gross."

"Just kidding, girls, you know Sister Suzuki would never get a tattoo."  And then I said, "Never let me talk about myself in third person again, OK?"  They all agreed and then we talked all about the Anti-Nephi-Lehis.

I thought about mi Madre all day.  I remembered the time I came home bawling my brains out because Eric Furgeson had decided to run against me for Student Body President.  He was so cute and all the girls loved him.  I was not as cute, and all the girls just liked me.  I couldn't compete, and now my chances of getting into BYU were ruined.  I was counting on that leadership position to erase my inconsistent GPA pattern.

"Stop crying, honey.  We'll think of something," she said while hugging me and patting my back.  I went to my room and cried in the mirror.  Isn't that weird of me?

My mom peeked her head through the door and said, "In the morning before seminary, let's plaster the school with posters.  I'm talking hundreds of copies in every hallway, and then one big poster above the auditorium.  We'll write, "Vote for Katy; She's your lady," all over the place.  Eric won't put that kind of effort into it; he's a boy."

We got to work printing hundreds of fliers and making about 20 posters.  One of the posters was 10 x 20 feet long, and in big black block lettering it said: VOTE FOR KATY.  Like a super hero duo, mi madre and I flooded the campus with hundreds of posters.  By 6 a.m., the school was a billboard: VOTE FOR KATY; SHE'S YOUR LADY.

The poster campaign was a hit.  Students would walk by me saying my campaign slogan, but Eric rebutted, offering girls dates and an glossy 8 x 10 glamor head shot of himself.  Girls put the pictures in the covers of their binders, idolizing and kissing his face during lunch.  I was disgusted.  Didn't these same girls remember I had been their loyal class president for 9th and 11th grade?  The nachos and pizza they enjoyed during lunch were because of me, and I was the one who fought for Prom to be next to Disneyland.  Eric had never been on student council in his life!  But a pretty face can get you far in high school, and I was sure his looks, and nothing else, would catch their votes.

Mi madre continued making posters and treats for me to hand out during the week, and all along she'd say encouraging things:  You're a winner.  Don't sweat that jerk-face.  Be strong.

On election day, resigned to losing, I waited to hear the results during 4th hour.  The principal announced the winners, starting with 9th grade.  As he neared the senior class I shuttered to think how prom, pep rallies, and fund-raising would culminate under Eric's reign.  I hated him for running against me.

To Be Continued...I have to clean the bathrooms and fold the laundry or else my homies won't find their clean socks. Then mi Amor will wonder what I did all day:)

Mother's Day Eve

Are you getting ready for Mother's Day?  Do you have a new summer dress to wear?  Or are you skipping it because you think Mother's Day is a commerical holiday?  I, of course, bought a skirt and shirt at Forever 21.  I will post a picture of my getup for tomorrow's special day (like you even care about what I'm going to wear to church tomorrow).  But until then, I'm reposting this story because I think about Alvin and su madre from time to time. 

 May, 2010

You may think you're staring at Sugar Lips the Drag Queen, but it's just me. I'm doing this glamorous pose just for you, and I'm hoping you're having a wonderful Mother's Day. Mothers are the best, you know, especially that mother who goes by the name of Mi Madre. Anyhoo...

On Friday I was invited to hang with my littlest homie and his classmates at an exclusive mommy makeover event.  As I walked into room A-3 the kids sang in unison, "Josh, she's here! Your mom is really here!" They made me feel like Queen Elizabeth, and so I graciously sat in my throne sized for Goldilocks's littlest bear. I began nibbling (like, inhaling) a sugar cookie while my homie sat on my lap and chatted in my ear about recess, corn dogs for lunch, and how we just saw Kent Grober pick it and eat it. All the while, the kids in A-3 continued announcing each mom as she entered, "She's here. Your mom is really here!" Within minutes, the room was overflowing with the lilting sounds of moms' kisses and best wishes.

As Mrs. Harnish stood to began explaining that day's event, my homie and I could hear coming from behind, "sniff-sniff, sniff-sniff." We synchronously turned around. "Alvin!" Josh said, concerned. "What's the matter, Alvin? I know what's wrong. Your mom is not here yet, huh? Where is she, Alvin.  Where is she?"

Alvin lowered his head and we watched as his hot tears dotted his tan corduroy pants.

"Guess what, Alvin?" Josh said, wiggling Alvin's shoulders back and forth. "My mom has two eyes and she has two cheeks and she likes kids and so you and me can share my mom. You put makeup on this eye, and I'll put makeup on the other eye. We can share, Alvin, just like when we share our scissors."

Alvin said, "No thank you, Josh," and began crying even more.

"Where's his mother?" I said in desperation, while flagging down Mrs. Harnish. "Where in the world is his mother?"

"I have no idea," she said. "And I'm, like, dying right now." She leaned over Alvin and began rubbing his back. The whole class of kids and moms sat staring at Alvin who was now beginning to curl on the floor in the fetal position.

Just when we thought all was lost in Alvin's 5 year-old world, the door to room A-3 swung open. Like the angel of hope, peace, and joy, Alvin's mom stepped through the door. (She had wings.)

"Alvin, she's here! Your mom is really here!" we all sang like the Mo Tab choir. "Hallelujah!"

He ran and jumped into her arms, and while she rocked him back and forth she said, "You were the only one without a mom? The only one, huh? I'm so sorry!"

She kissed him head to toe and then sat in her throne sized for Goldilocks's littlest bear. A queen. An angel. A mom. She made his world new. Just like that.

P.S. Beauty by Josh is taking new clients. So if you'd like an appointment, just drop me a line, chica. Makeup artistry doesn't get better.

P.P.S In that top picture, do you see an arm that looks like a Madonna arm? Just wondering.

Happy Mother's Day!