If there’s one thing I’ve noticed growing up with my mom, it’s that she always seemed to be on her way somewhere. Whether it was to work, the store, school, one of our softball games, the bank, back to school because someone forgot something, and then back home to cook dinner, go to bed, and do everything over again the next day. Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of women like this, both in my life and in those adjacent, the likes of which inspired me to write this letter. So, if you fall into any or all, or some other category that I mentioned, I’m looking at you. (And that obviously means to you too, Mom.)
First off, let me say hello, hey, how are ya? Good, now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, let me just say that I’m completely in awe of you.
I’m in awe of your 15 arms that are holding a grocery list, an eco-friendly water bottle, someone else’s shoe, a juice box, a small child, and a cell phone that is currently connecting you to another child. (Be it the small kind or the husband kind) Not to mention your purses, which always manage to house exactly what anyone in a 20-foot perimeter might need.
I’m in awe of your hair—no matter how crazy you think it is—because every single straightened, rubber-banded, rush-curled, frizz-infused, high-stacked bun you’ve got going on says the same thing: I got shit done today. It says I had places to be, kids to feed, goals to accomplish and I wasn’t going to let this mane hold me back. As far as I’m concerned, any hairdo you have is like a damn crown on top of your well-deserving head and I salute it.
I’m in awe of your outfits, every single combo you put together. The yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt. The kickass jeans and blazer. The hybrid sweatpants and whatever shirt you found first. Whatever it is you’re rocking, just know you are in fact rocking it. I’m no stranger to the days when nothing is clean, or I’m in a hurry, nor am I unfamiliar with the days when an extra hour goes into self-preparation. That said, I know that you have both kinds of days, both of which include the presence of other humans you are in charge of dressing, feeding, and loving and that’s absolutely mind blowing to me.
I’m in awe of your emotions, the whole range of them. How is it that you can make us kids feel loved and beautiful and brave and strong and appreciated and completely terrified of breaking curfew all at the same time? It’s remarkable.
So as this Sunday, the designated day to say an extra “thanks, Mom,” draws nearer, and us kids scramble around Target, Pinterest, and Hallmark looking for the perfect way to do so, I wanted to write this letter to ask you for a few favors. (I figured since you already do everything, a few more requests couldn’t hurt.)
1) Tell yourself that you’re beautiful more often, because you are.
2) Continue to be like you as possible, no matter how many times you might be told you’re embarrassing. You’re not, you’re hilarious.
3) Treat yourself more. Even if it’s just with a nap, some flowers, or a pat on the back. You are legitimately kicking life’s ass, and you deserve it.
4) Get away from us occasionally, for your sake. We know that we kids have a tendency to, for lack of a better term, be little shits sometimes. Grab a drink with your friends and complain about us for a few hours. (But then obviously call me when you get home so you can help me fix everything that is wrong with my life.)
5) Teach me EVERYTHING and I mean everything there is to know about mom-ing, because at this point I’m convinced I will lose/emotionally scar/accidentally dye pink like my whites/ruin any future child I might have, and I desperately need to know how it all came so damn naturally to you.
6) Accept these compliments, damn it. You deserve them.
Happy Mother’s Day!
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This post was syndicated with permission to BonBon Break Media LLC.