“I love you mom, you’re the bomb!”
And the never fail:
“You’re beautiful inside and out, let’s go fishing for some trout!”
“You’re racist and an ex-druggie, now let’s go shopping and scream profanities at assholes who can’t drive!”
“Remember that one time you asked if I bought you and dad porn for your 31st anniversary? Next time I promise!”
Come on Hallmark! What the fuck? Whose the one mom you are writing all these God damn cards for? My mom was never the cookie-cutter type, Hallmark. Time to expand your rhyming schemes.
Why can’t you write a card about the lies our mothers tell:
“I have the two most beautiful children ever.”
“Really? Cause I’m fat and Nathan’s ugly.”
“Go watch The Simpsons.”
With my father an officer in the Army, often spending months overseas, I became very dependant on my mother. We’d go everywhere together, hand in hand; unless I was being a little demon, which, not going to lie, was often.
“Remember, when we are in the grocery store, call me Sharon. Not mom.”
Sharon has always been there for my brother and I. Even willing to die for us. One time when I was seven there was a chillingly scary noise outside of our front door. Dad was in Bosnia. Nathan and I crept out of our rooms to find my mom clutching a rifle, ready to shoot, in one of my dad’s oversized shirts and no pants.
“Stay in your room.”
It was the most beautiful display of white-trashness, I had ever seen.
She’s beautiful, hilarious and classy. She’s not a Jackie O. She’s a Gilda Radner. Free and beautiful; without that whole bulimia thing. A Madonna gap between her two front teeth which as she likes to say:
“You’re father finds it sexy. Don’t you, my big man.”
Discretion is always key with her.
“You probably shouldn’t give head until your married,” she said nonchalantly one summer day by the pool. “You’re generation is too fixated on oral. Just have sex.”
I was 14.
Her only two rules for my brother and I have been: 1. Don’t lie. And: 2. Don’t drink and drive. Sadly, I have broken both, too many times than I am willing to admit. And every time she discovered the “slightly bent truth” the sparkle would leave her piercing green eyes, but just for a second. And every time I would beat myself up. How could I have no soul? How could I lie to the person who has been so truthful to me (with the exception of my childhood weight)? How could I hurt my best friend.
But like any great mom, she has always forgiven and always continued the previous conversation before our epic screaming battles.
“Now if you do do ‘shrooms. Do not do them in the woods. You will think there are bugs crawling all over you.”
“I love you, mom.”