Please understand that I love my mom the most

And if anyone else talks smack about her they're gonna get clobbered. But Jenny and I realized last night that neither of us have told this story and it's too good to keep in.

A couple years ago we were all together at Christmas. Jen was finishing up at BYU and had switched over to some touchy-feely new Family Life major because it was the one that would get her graduated the fastest. At this point she already had one baby and didn't want to be in college for 15 years.

Understandable. I guess.

Slacker.

She and her classmates were being asked to help develop the major and give input about the kind of things they'd like to learn. Jen was frustrated because she wanted the program to be more academically rigorous and address some of the sociological issues associated with the family. Her classmates wanted it to be a continuation of really bad Young Women lessons--the ones where all you really learn is that children are a precious, precious gift and that to save money you should feed your family canned soup. (It's also a good way to give them scurvy. You know, if that's what you're after.)

When Jenny brought up her points and pushed for a more challenging curriculum, the other girls gave her the stink-eye. They were a bit younger than she was and lots of them just wanted to coast through to get their degree because they had zero plans of ever working. This always stuns me because to get into BYU nowadays you generally have to be quite the academic achiever. But I guess the point for those girls was just to get there and then they didn't want to work on anything but their "Mrs" degree, as it is called by old men who need a smack across the mouth.

Anyway, Jenny was venting to Mom about this while I sat nearby, reading smut and filth. Jen was saying how much she hated her new major but she needed to finish now or she never will, and she just hates being surrounded by these girls who think she's a freak for wanting to learn something that she couldn't get from her own common sense--or a trip to the grocery store. ("Guess what, girls? Canned vegetables last longer than fresh! You'll want to remember that.")

Mid-rant, Mom interrupted her and said in a very slow and serious voice, "Now Jenny, you know you have what all those other girls want. You have a husband and a baby."

Blink.

Blink blink.

I had just barely lifted The Eyebrow and began to uncoil from the couch to assume Strike Position when Jenny did my freaking out for me. And since this was Jenny, it was loud and involved many words and a little bit of sputtering.

"MOOOOM! What the heck?? What does that even have to do with anything?? You can't just say crap like that!!" Etc etc.

It felt quite gratifying to have Jen come to bat for me, even though I feel bad afterwards when we've bawled out our poor sweet mom who is just trying to help.

So now whenever Jenny complains about the latest expensive thing her children have destroyed or the ways in which family life is generally sapping her soul, or cries when I tell her I'm going to Prague, I say, "Yes, but Jenny, remember. You have what Every Woman Wants."

And then she feels better. As well she should.

Posted in: being a Mormon,dating or not so much,The Eyebrow