“…or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” –Abraham Lincoln
My mom is my best friend. There, I said it. I say it a lot, actually. My dad is pretty amazing, too, but he has his own holiday. Today is just for my mom.
I’m an only child, and wasn’t an easy one to raise. I don’t think anyone could match five-year-old me for sneakiness, bratty-ness, or just being overall embarrassing. One morning, I poured a bag of shredded cheese all over the carpet because I didn’t want my mom to leave for work. I used to walk down the aisles in the grocery store singing “There’s a Tear in my Beer” (a song to which I no longer remember the words or the tune, fortunately). There’s a picture of three-year-old me throwing a tantrum on the kitchen floor in the middle of a pile of Cheerios, which I no doubt spilled everywhere for some reason that seemed really important at the time. It’s really a shock that I’ve turned out to be such a well-adjusted, normal, even-tempered adult.
Except it’s not. My mom responded to all of my shenanigans with love and patience. She raised me to be kind. She raised me to value education and learning. She raised me to value my friends and family. She taught me to read. She taught me to cook. She taught me to drive a car (and somehow we’re both still alive). Above everything else, she taught me to love.
I would like to think that I honor her by spreading that love to others, and by living in this sometimes hard, cruel, hateful world with the kindness and patience she always showed me.
They say that a mother is love. For me, that’s true. And man am I ever grateful.
Love you, Mom. Thank you for everything, always.