It’s been a rough couple of weeks for my roommate (and best friend) Aly and I. We’re in the middle of moving to a new apartment and that decision alone has spiraled into a mess of chaotic events.

We were a mere 24 hours late putting in our 30-day notice saying that we did not want to continue our current lease. Due to that mistake, we got stuck paying rent for our current apartment as well as the down payment for our upcoming apartment. Needless to say it was a double whammy that hurt our fragile bank accounts.

Aly and I both eat really healthy (with the exception of ice cream, our current weakness) and are diligent about buying our own groceries. The sight of our fridge right now is a different story, though. We have a half of a red onion, an old artichoke, one hard boiled egg and a package of hot dogs that I stole out of my mom’s freezer when I was home for Mother’s Day. We legitimately had a discussion last night over who would use the last two pieces of bread for their lunch today. Aly won since I used the end pieces for toast on Saturday morning. Oh, life.

The events of this morning were just the cherry on top of a comical few weeks. Aly called me at about 7:20 and nonchalantly asked what I was doing. “I had a really bad nightmare last night so I’m still lying in bed with Rosie,” I told her (Rosie is my bear. I hate nightmares. Judge me.) I asked her what was wrong because she should have been at work by this time. She explained to me that she ran out of gas and was pulled over on the 90 with her flashers on.  “Do you know anyone with a gas can?” she asked. After brainstorming and failing to come up with other options (and somewhat-scolding her for driving with her gas light on), out the door I went.

Of course Delta Sonic was conveniently out of gas cans, so I kept driving down Main St. until I found Auto Zone. Little did I know that a piece of hollowed out plastic that only holds 1.25 gallons costs $15. I bought one, headed back to Delta Sonic and put a measly $5 of gas into the can and hit the road. I legitimately started laughing out loud when I got onto the loop for 90E and saw Aly’s Honda just chillin’ at the end of the lane with its flashers on. I pulled up behind her and continued to laugh as I realized that the door for her gas tank was conveniently on the same side as traffic. At least I’ll die helping my best friend, I thought.

The sight of the two of us trying to deal with this situation was nothing short of hysterical. It was freezing out, Aly didn’t wear a jacket and had wet hair because she showered late this morning, I looked like a lion right out of the cage because I had 2 minutes to get ready before I left to get her and we were both standing over a puny red plastic gas can trying to figure out how to get the gas into her car. It was a messy transfer, but we got it done. Aly broke out the hand sanitizer, I told her to not let this ruin her whole day and after hugging, we parted ways.

Just a typical Monday.

As frustrating and stressful as these past few weeks have been for us, we never let it get us down. Instead of spending our money going out, we used a promo code I had and rented a movie from Redbox for .76 cents, used a coupon I had to get a free container of ice cream and then turned our living room into a fort. We split the last four slices of bread, rescue each other off the side of the road and never fail to laugh every single day. That’s what best friends are for.

Dave Matthews said it best:

Hey my friend, it seems your eyes are troubled, care to share your time with me?
Would you say you’re feeling low and so a good idea would be to get it off your mind.

See you and me have a better time than most can dream, have it better than the best, so we can pull on through.
Whatever tears at us, whatever holds us down and if nothing can be done, we’ll make the best of what’s around.

Sometimes all you can do is look at a crummy situation, accept it for what it is and then laugh your way through it until things get better. And if you’re lucky like me, you have a best friend who will be laughing right there with you through all of the ups and downs.

I call my mom “Mama Saint.” I don’t remember exactly when this nickname for my mom started, I just remember it was a long time ago and that my twin sister and I dubbed her to be Mama Saint. It caught on quickly, likely because it suits her so well.

If I grow up to have even half of the upstanding qualities that my mom showcases every day, I will be more than proud of the life I live. I consider myself to be truly blessed to have two parents who I am proud to call my friends, though I tend to get more sentimental and sappy with my mom (if you spend 10 minutes with her you’ll understand that I get it from her.)

Mama Saint is compassionate. She’s never too shy to help someone in need or offer a kind word to someone who looks like they’re having a bad day, whether she knows them or not. She has become a mother-like figure to my closest friends and will always be my biggest cheerleader.

Mama Saint is selfless. When I was in high school I wanted to go to Italy. My school was planning a 14-day trip to visit the country from top to bottom. Some of my best friends were going, I had taken the language since 5th grade and I had never traveled outside of the U.S. But it was expensive. My mom didn’t allow money to be a troublesome factor. To this day, I still don’t know how she sent me to Italy on such short notice. Sure, I did a little fundraising, but it accounted for the amount of maybe two meals. Times have always been tough in my family and I know without a doubt that the money could have been better spent elsewhere. But she sent me on my way, made sure I had cute outfits to wear, a little extra money in my pocket, and a birthday cake to blow out the candles on when I turned 17 while I was away from home. She’s a gem of a woman.

Mama Saint is candid. My mom is the spectator in the stands of my school’s basketball game who shouts, “BEAUTIFUL!” every time a player makes a basket. If they’re on the rival team my mom will respond to crude looks from fans by saying, “What? It was a really nice shot!”  You can recognize her laugh (one of many that she has) from a mile away. She never hesitates to go, “Oh my goshhhh, look!” and slow down to half of the speed limit when she sees a deer (or any other animal) off to the side of the room. She’s adorable.

Mama Saint is genuine. When I would be sick with the flu back when I lived at home, I would walk down the stairs to the kitchen looking like a hot mess. Wild hair, flushed cheeks and on the verge of tossing my cookies. My mom would look up at me and say, “you are so beautiful.” I laughed in her face. But what’s funny now is that I know she really meant it. She sees a certain beauty in people that others are quick to glance over, a trait that I believe is too scarce these days.

These qualities about my mom used to embarrass me when I was younger. I’ll be the first to admit I was a little brat when I was a kid. I’m not embarrassed anymore, and I wish I would have realized what a little shit I was much sooner. Not only am I blessed to have such a caring woman as my mother, but I get to have her as my friend, too. She frequently says to me, “Kate, God hand-picked you to be my daughter.” As far as I’m concerned, she was hand-picked to be my mother, and I thank God every day for the positive impact she has on my life.