Mirror, mirror

Last week we needed handsoap in our little corner of the Phi Mu house. Since I'm a perfect roommate who never sheds like a cat all over the room or leaves her makeup scattered on the counter, of course I sought to remedy the situation. Enter Dial White Tea soap with Little Pearl Things. Which smells way better than the lilac junk we'd been using (imagine a hospital + rotten violets).

So today at home, I need more soap for my bathroom. But I don't know where anything is kept anymore. Mom directs me to her room where I find - gasp - Dial White Tea soap with Little Pearl Things. Um, I am my mother's daughter? Am I the only one who finds this slightly creepy?

Speaking of which - my mother does not have cancer.

On Tuesday night, I heard the word "biopsy" and started crying (this does not bode well for my future mothering skills, by the way - I can see it now, bursting into tears every time little Johnny skins his knee. "Really, Mom, it's not that bad this time!").
This is the mother who does not get sick, who has the pain threshold of some badly calloused old soldier, who is always visiting the sick/bereaved and stuffing their fridge with banana bread and chicken casserole.
And so Wednesday I prayed and tried not to think about it and had a minor freak out session when I was trying to study on the quad in the gorgeous, gorgeous first-of-October weather. And when I went back to my room, there was an email and the results were negative and I exhaled.

Thank You.
***
So I came home today, and spent the day with my mom. I cannot completely silence the voice that whines about the paper I need to write, the poetic analysis due Tuesday, prep for Pledge Bash tomorrow night - and then I remember "biopsy" and I am glad I spent today sharing salad and pizza and a garden tour and "What Not to Wear" with my mother. Because it could have been so different.