So what if maybe I finished the dregs of a box of wine tonight and watched TiVoed Gilmore Girls and then cried gasping dramatic sobs because of Mothers and Daughters? My mascara is all streaky. Maybe I spent the weekend making "yo mama don't love you" jokes with my sister, and maybe when Shoushan called me from Armenia and asked me "Mamad vonts a?" I freaked out and said too much in my toddler Armenian that I haven't spoken in years. Maybe all fucking day I work with these children, these beautiful children, all of the them straight tore up with mother love. Maybe, just maybe, I can't stop thinking about my mother, and being too honest and talky when people ask me about my mother, and maybe I can't shake the feeling that part of what makes me so desperate to love and be loved is that I was raised by a fantastic and mean and sad and dishonest and desperately loving woman who has beaten me and would give up her life for me and has told me 80% of the terrible and wonderful things I believe about myself TO THIS DAY? Goddamn holidays and mothers and women and love and sisters and boxes of wine. Foster care and hurt people and honesty and screaming sermons at St. Sabina church. Every beautiful thing I take in just amplifies all the pain and the needs we have. I think that I just want to say that I'm hurting, and let that sort of lay with all the hurts and loves out there tonight, in Chicago and otherwise.