Belated suggestion: if you are in graduate school and thus, have zero dollars, make your mom a mix CD. She can play it in the car on the way to yoga or dropping her donations off at the food pantry, or you could finally teach her how to use the iPod she got for Christmas and put it on her iTunes. Maybe remember how to do the four things you know how to do in Photoshop and design an "album cover". Maybe slip the CD in a 45 sleeve and tape the "cover art" on the front. Really anything to save her from the Josh Groban and Michael Buble CDs she's gotten her hands on.
My mom is awesome. Her muscle memory from 13 years of Catholic school is still intact: she tells me that sometimes when she sees a parked police cruiser with a speed gun, instead of slowing down, she instinctually swallows her gum. Sometimes when my dad teaches late, she has a huge bowl of ice cream for dinner. She and my dad own the dance floor. She has a raging herb garden. She never wanted me to shave my legs or wear makeup or dye my hair. (I did them anyway) At the time, I thought she was trying to squash my individuality, but now I can see that she wanted me to think for myself.
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