To My Mother
Mom, you rock.
I'm pretty sure you know this already. In fact, I'm positive you know. I think you told me as much last week. However, at the risk of being sappy and sentimental, I think you should know exactly why you rock.
You rock for putting up with my father -- and outright loving him -- for the last 33+ years, even when he's a total butthead. (Yes, Dad, you're a butthead sometimes. And I feel quite comfortable saying that because I'm more like you than either of us wants to admit.) You've given the three of us a fantastic example of the kind of relationship that can last for decades -- one where each person makes it work, regardless of day-to-day irritation. One where the two people involved are on surprisingly equal footing most of the time. And yes, one where the people involved occasionally make out in the kitchen to embarrass their children.
You rock for raising three independently-minded kids and, what's more, for letting us continue to be independent without guilt. We know you would like it if we stayed closer to home, but you have never tried to impose your ideas about what you "really think" we should be doing or given us a hard time for going after what we want, whether it's a kayak or a move to Korea. (In fact, I'm not sure exactly what you'd rather I'd be doing at this stage, which is probably a good thing.)
You rock for teaching us to be self-sufficient. You particularly rock for passing on both the love and know-how of cooking and for letting us help from the moment we could stand on a chair and reach the counter.
You rock for getting us all into books, starting with Dr. Seuss when we could only recite along and tell you when you missed a page.
You rock for teaching us about the finer things in life, from fresh-baked cookies to appreciating a good wine to finely honing our sarcasm.
You rock for holding it together when we -- particularly I -- insisted on making life difficult.
You rock for dancing to the Beach Boys every Saturday while cleaning the house -- and for both making us help clean and letting us dance along.
You rock for somehow not letting us get away with anything without yelling and making a scene. As much as we might have wanted to fight sometimes, we knew how things stood and what needed to be done to rectify a situation. To this day that astonishes me.
For all of these things -- and about a million more that I just can't think of right this moment -- thank you. While I'm sorry I'm not home for Mother's Day (again -- sheesh, it's been years since I was home on M-Day), I'm glad that Shorty was at least around. And I'll see you soon.
I love you, Mom!
I'm pretty sure you know this already. In fact, I'm positive you know. I think you told me as much last week. However, at the risk of being sappy and sentimental, I think you should know exactly why you rock.
You rock for putting up with my father -- and outright loving him -- for the last 33+ years, even when he's a total butthead. (Yes, Dad, you're a butthead sometimes. And I feel quite comfortable saying that because I'm more like you than either of us wants to admit.) You've given the three of us a fantastic example of the kind of relationship that can last for decades -- one where each person makes it work, regardless of day-to-day irritation. One where the two people involved are on surprisingly equal footing most of the time. And yes, one where the people involved occasionally make out in the kitchen to embarrass their children.
You rock for raising three independently-minded kids and, what's more, for letting us continue to be independent without guilt. We know you would like it if we stayed closer to home, but you have never tried to impose your ideas about what you "really think" we should be doing or given us a hard time for going after what we want, whether it's a kayak or a move to Korea. (In fact, I'm not sure exactly what you'd rather I'd be doing at this stage, which is probably a good thing.)
You rock for teaching us to be self-sufficient. You particularly rock for passing on both the love and know-how of cooking and for letting us help from the moment we could stand on a chair and reach the counter.
You rock for getting us all into books, starting with Dr. Seuss when we could only recite along and tell you when you missed a page.
You rock for teaching us about the finer things in life, from fresh-baked cookies to appreciating a good wine to finely honing our sarcasm.
You rock for holding it together when we -- particularly I -- insisted on making life difficult.
You rock for dancing to the Beach Boys every Saturday while cleaning the house -- and for both making us help clean and letting us dance along.
You rock for somehow not letting us get away with anything without yelling and making a scene. As much as we might have wanted to fight sometimes, we knew how things stood and what needed to be done to rectify a situation. To this day that astonishes me.
For all of these things -- and about a million more that I just can't think of right this moment -- thank you. While I'm sorry I'm not home for Mother's Day (again -- sheesh, it's been years since I was home on M-Day), I'm glad that Shorty was at least around. And I'll see you soon.
I love you, Mom!
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