So I know it’s Friday and you’re probably expecting to see the Friday Wrapup here. And holy cow there’s a lot to wrap up, so keep an eye out next week!
However, this weekend my family is celebrating two very special occasions since it’s my mom and niece’s birthday on Sunday, so I’d be remiss not to highlight that right here on the blog.
|I teach her only the finer|
things in life.
|And I wasn't kidding about the|
And while my niece is becoming a great reader going into her seventh year here on earth, I thought the sentiment might be lost on her and may be better spent in the form of a makeup kit that she’s been asking me for since the fall. And, of course, an awesome FaceTime conversation that I’m looking forward to so that I can hear all about her birthday adventures and – hopefully – cake-devouring. She's the brightest light, she makes me laugh every time I'm around her, and I honestly don't remember what our family was like before Katie came along. I remember holding her in my arms in the middle of the night when she was only weeks old, rocking her to sleep, soothing her when she cried, and staring at her for hours, unable to believe this tiny little person was finally here.
She's my sparkle partner-in-crime and adds such humor and love and true kindness to our family that I'm just lucky to be her Aunt Becky. Happy birthday, sweet Katie, thank you for making the world brighter.
However, my mom’s been a stellar reader for quite some time now, and so I thought perhaps this blog might not be lost on her quite as much.
So, without further ado………a very special Friday Birthday Post.
So you know how in elementary school you’d have to make various crafts throughout the year in the form of drawings, poems, and – God forbid for my parents – any sort of clay mug or something? Yeah, well, for normal parents, these things were kind of cute and quaint and definitely worth keeping. For my poor parents, those moments when I’d present them with my latest school craft was a time of great restraint, taking a moment to practice the art of asking what the hell it was that I was showing them without crushing my feelings or making me feel inadequate as a potter.
Also, it was the moment that my mom would start crying if I decided to give her one of these made-with-love-but-absolutely-no-talent crafts for her birthday or Mother’s Day or some other event where I’m supposed to show my love via art.
However, her tears were never out of horror or anger or resentment towards me for presenting her with some useless piece of crap that she should be embarrassed to hang on the refrigerator. Instead, they were tears of joy and heartwarming emotion and a bunch of other stuff that leads you to think I’m totally making this up. But, spoiler alert, I’m not. I mean, if I’m being honest, it sort of became a running contest throughout the years for my sister and me to see who could make mom cry first from joy over whatever gift we gave her.
Also, we’re the best daughters a mother could ask for.
But it’s one of the great things about my mom. Ok, sure, everyone thinks their mom is the greatest, but unfortunately for everyone else, they’re totally wrong. You see, my mom is the one who legitimately thought that the stupid stick figure drawing or popsicle stick Christmas tree ornament was just the best thing ever, and proudly displayed it immediately for all to see. She’s the mom who, to this day, cries every time I leave to fly back East after a visit, even though she totally pretends that there’s just something in her eye. She’s the mom who makes you feel special on your birthday and created the monster you see before you today, hanging birthday banners and baking turtle cakes, Miss Piggy cakes, and Hansel and Gretel cakes way into my adult years when I should’ve been ashamed of myself. But wasn’t.
But for real, killer tutu, right?
She’s the mom who would drive me to every single violin lesson, tap lesson, gymnastics practice, and ballet class. Though, to be fair, she’s also the mom who left me upstairs in the lobby while she watched the rest of my ballet class perform when I was little because I was being a brat and refused to go on stage after insisting on the new tutu.
Also, she was totally right. I was being a jerk. My bad, mom, my bad.
She’s the mom who didn’t murder me after spilling red nail polish (more than once) all over my brand new rug or the bathroom floor and would somehow always find me hiding in the really secret spot of right under my bed next to the spill every time. And obviously, she’s the mom who is a total mind-reader with eyes in the back of her head.
She’s the mom who somehow juggled that hubby of her's, two kids, a job, going to grad school, cooking our meals, and remembering which one of us had which field trip that week, all without me ever quite realizing that this was, like, a LOT to do all at once.
Eh, what can I say, kids are kinda selfish.
She’s the mom who I still call to this day when I’m sick, because all I really want is my mom to make it better. And she’s the mom who knew every crush, even if I tried to hide it, every heartache, even when I tried to fight it, and laughs and cries right along with me during each moment to this day.
She’s the mom I’m proud to call mine, and just as proud to call my friend. And she’s the mom that’s made me feel like maybe I can be a mom someday too, though I can only hope to do it half as right as she did. (I mean, if I do say so myself.)
It’s your birthday, mom, so even though you don’t like the spotlight or ever make a big deal over anything relating to you like you do when it’s about me, I’m going to just go ahead and take over that role for you today.
Happy birthday, mom. Eat lots of cake, blow out some candles, and hopefully this post is on par with the stick figure drawings of my youth so that it brightens your day.
And, if nothing else, at least I spared you any sort of craft. Now that’s a gift.
|HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!|