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Not everyone has a mom, or a good relationship with their mom. But those of us who do, we have it good. Moms are pretty amazing. Think about it. They carry us around for nine months--and we get pretty freakin’ fat. Then they spend the next two or three years taking us everywhere with them and obsessing over us. They make us breakfast, help us brush our teeth, get us dressed, take us to work or stay home all day with us, take us to the store to run errands, make us lunch, show us off to their friends, make us dinner, watch our favorite show or play with us, help us brush our teeth, kiss our chubby cheeks and get us ready for bed, tuck us in and maybe read us a story. Then we go to pre-school. Nothing really changes except we have a few hours less with our moms every day. After we start kindergarten things are a little different. Our moms come to our art shows and open houses and tell us how much better our scribbles look than the year before. They pick us up and drop us off, get us ready for soccer practice, pack us snacks, make sure we have water, come to our school plays, take us to summer camp, tell us how much they missed us when we were gone. Then middle school happens. And we hate them. We hurt on the inside and on the outside. They bring us advil and ice packs and heating pads and bake us cookies and rub our backs. And we thank them with “I hate you” and “I don’t need you.” Then highschool rolls around. And we’re
slammed with deadlines and work and boys and girls and friends and drama. And we realize how much our moms do for us. And how they’ve never left our sides. And we thank them with “I love you” and “I appreciate you” and “You mean the world to me.” Sophomore year gets a little rocky, because we fall for people our mom doesn’t approve of. And she ends up being right about them, but she never says “I told you so.” By junior year, they become our friends. We cry on their shoulders when someone says something that breaks us a little bit inside. They make us a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and tell us to forget about the calories for once--they sit with us on the couch and we finish the whole thing while watching our favorite movie. Senior year, they’re with us for almost the entire way. They sign permission slips and checks and write us notes when we need a mental health day after an all-nighter. We cry on their shoulders when we don’t sign the NLI because we’re in love with a different school. They tell us it’s okay when we get rejection letters because it wasn’t meant to be. They hold our hands when we take the loss of their mom even harder than they do because Christmas will never be the same. They walk us onto the field at senior night and cry while the AD talks about how significant our last home game is. They help us pick out our outfits for all of our events--proms, awards dinners, senior boards, athletics interviews, honors college luncheons. They take too many pictures. They hold us for longer than they need to when they hug us goodbye in the morning. They attempt to kiss our cheeks in front of our friends and end up poking us in the eye when we try to escape. They help us pick our colors for our bedding and decor for the new place we plan on living in. They convince us that even though pink is our favorite color, green and black will be much more practical. They watch us walk at graduation and tell us how proud they are and how far we’ve come. They help us pack up our rooms to leave for school and give us uncomfortable advice on how to avoid STDs in college. And then they do the hardest thing they will ever do. They say goodbye. They let go of all the hard work they put into raising us, watch as we disappear into the rearview. They miss us the moment we aren’t in their arms anymore, knowing that even though we’re a phone call away, there are hundreds of miles between us. And they knew it would happen--they’ve seen it coming for 18 years, even if we haven’t. And so I’d like to say thank you to my mom and to everyone else’s mom who has been like a mother to me. I hope that one day I can be as good of a mom to my kid as you were to me. |
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