Interrupting this regularly scheduled blog post to address something long overdue: an apology to my mom. Mother’s Day is approaching and I have been thinking a great deal about the torment my own children put me through and how often things they do remind me of my childhood. So, to my mom, and all moms who have kids that make them want to pull their own hair out, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, Mom, for talking back to you. I was too immature to understand what you were trying to teach me when I thought I already knew the answers. I was wrong. I get it now.
I’m sorry, Mom, that you sat up awake, imaging the worst, when I was late coming home. Though it only happened a handful of times, I now know the feeling of having a kid not home at the appointed time.
I’m sorry, Mom, for all the nights I woke you from a dead sleep because I was sick. When I was young, I couldn’t understand why it was so hard for you to instantly go from unconscious to haz-mat clean up. Motherhood has caused me to realize that the disconnect between mind and body at 2a.m. is not a valid excuse for failing to render aid to a child in need.
I’m sorry, Mom, for the fights I had with my brother. Wait, let me amend that… I’m sorry for the ones you knew about that upset you. Siblings have to work through things sometimes and occasionally try to choke each other.
I’m sorry, Mom, for the damage done to our childhood home as a result of fights with my brother. Although I must say, there is no greater bonding agent between siblings than the intrinsic desire to save each others’ lives when a door needs hung back on its hinges before a parent gets home. I’m glad you can laugh about it, now.
I’m sorry, Mom, for the meals I complained about/refused to eat. I might not have always liked what was put on the table, but I appreciate what you went through to get it there. Nothing is more frustrating than cooking a meal you don’t want to cook and having a house full of ingrates turn their noses up at it.
I’m sorry, Mom, for all of the panicked phone calls from me as an adult. “What do I do when…” has started all too many conversations. I can’t help it. No matter how long I have been a mother, you have been one longer. So I call on your years of experience that exceed my own.
Thank you, Mom, for putting up with a heinous pain in the neck like me. You always told me that I would understand when I became a mom. You were right. I understand. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day!