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Happy Mother’s Day

It’s Mother’s Day people, and I’m feeling all these strange emotions of affection  and appreciation about me mum.  I thought I’d try to find a poem to express how I feel about my mom in honor of Mother’s Day, but of course, everything out there is way too maudlin and sappy and just not realistic.

So instead I’ll just walk the road of simple, straightforward, honesty.  Which is this:  I love you Mom.  Very, very much.  And I know that you love me.  Very, very much.  And regardless of the moments of irritation and frustration that will inevitably arise in the coming years, nothing will change those two facts.  We are two very different people, and yet we are also so very much the same.  So the next time you think I’m being flippant and you just want to slap the grin off my face – remember that I love you.  And the next time I think you are being irrational and I just want to roll my eyes and ignore everything you say – I’ll remember that you love me.  And you know what?  We’ll be okay.

And lest anyone get too verklempt over my uncharacteristic outburst of emotion (HA!) here’s a few things to keep you laughing:

“For weeks, a six-year old lad kept telling his first-grade teacher about the baby brother or sister that was expected at his house. One day, the mother allowed the boy to feel the movements of the unborn child. The six-year old was obviously impressed, but made no comment. Furthermore, he stopped telling his teacher about the impending event. The teacher finally sat the boy on her lap and said, “Tommy, whatever has become of that baby brother or sister you were expecting at home?” Tommy burst into tears and confessed, “I think Mommy ate it!”

While assembling furniture, my friend Debbie asked her roommate’s five-year-old son to bring her a screwdriver.  “Do you want a ‘Daddy’ screwdriver or a ‘Mommy’ screwdriver?” the little boy asked.  Confused but preoccupied, Debbie absentmindedly said, “Bring me a ‘Mommy’ screwdriver.”   The child came back and handed her a butter knife.

As a working mother with an office in my home, I pride myself on maintaining a professional image. One key to that image is my answering-machine greeting, which is often the first contact clients have with me. I worked on making it sound upbeat and enthusiastic, and thought I had succeeded until a friend left this message: “Judy, this is Pam. I love your greeting, but do you know that you can hear your little boy in the background saying, ‘Mommy, I gotta go potty’?”

Mom

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