Sunday is traditionally the day we all act nice to our mothers. I say that because, as I have learned the hard way, you never really appreciate a parent until you are one.
You see, I used to think my mother was an old-fashioned busy body who wanted nothing more than to teach me her way of living life. And now that I have my own child and I have morphed into an old-fashioned busy body that wants nothing more than to teach Junior my way of living life, I think it's time to thank my mom.
So Mom, in no particular order, here are the things I am thankful for:
Thank you for trying to teach me to cook. I know it took all your patience. I know your insurance premiums suffered because of all the fires. And I know that more than once you despaired of teaching a literal child the magical world of preparing a meal. Remember the time you told me to put the pot roast in a cooking bag and I thought that meant a plastic garbage bag and then the bag melted into the pot roast? Yeah, me too.
Although you have to admit, that was a nice new oven the insurance company bought after discovering that once a plastic bag melts into the oven walls, it can't be removed. Anyway, I want you to know that after all these years, I still don't cook. But every once in a while I open the oven and look inside. And I will never, ever put a plastic bag in there.
Thank you for always asking me who my friends were. I hated you for it, especially when my friends were not acceptable. But at some point I did realize that if I was lying to you about my friends, then maybe I should get new ones.
Thank you for always making me wear clean underwear. I want you to know that it's a rule in our house too. And I'm sorry about the time I told you that if I were in an accident it wouldn't matter if I had clean underwear on, because they'd be dirty after the crash impact. And you were right. I've been in lots of accidents and my underwear has always miraculously stayed clean.
Thank you for attending all my plays, including the musical you suffered through because I am tone-deaf and the teacher pitied me. Thank you for reading all my writing, even the truly stinky poems I wrote that were filled with too much teenage angst. Thank you for accepting the torture of my "athletic phase." I now understand that some people truly aren't meant to be on a soccer field, especially when they can't remember which side their goal is on. And thanks for never bringing that up again.
Thank you for all the work and effort you put into making clothes for all of us.
I hated the matching outfits more than I hated eating brussells sprouts, but I know they were made with love. And whatever fabric was on sale at Fabricland.
I can't pretend now that I liked wearing puke green dresses with little apples on them, but at least I have a weapon to use against Junior when he wants to wear something inappropriate. "Oh, yeah, well if you think making you wear clothes without weapons on them is so bad, you should see what Grandma made ME wear!"
Thank you for taking me camping. I hated it. I hated it. I still hate it. But at least I know that if I had to, I could survive a weekend in some godforsaken place in a stupid tent drinking water that has been boiled. But I would still hate it. On the other hand, it has made me appreciate hotels. And things like clean sheets and room service.
Thank you for not telling Dad about the time I snuck out of the house and took your sports car so I could race it against the idiot boys who boasted constantly that they were faster than girls. And thanks for only taking half my winnings.
Thank you for being a great mom. I loved you. I hated you. And I love you still.
Laurie Sontag Laurie Sontag is a Gilroy writer and mom who wishes parenthood had come with a how-to-guide. Her columns are syndicated. You can contact her at Laurie@lauriesontag.com.
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