So, unless I’ve yet again been hurled through a space-time distortion and into an alternate world exactly like ours but with one horrible difference (in this world, all steaks are composed of lava and broken dreams), I’m pretty sure that today is Mothers’ Day. And since I’m way behind on my cross-stitch/musical cuisinart present, and it’s Sunday night and the only cards left at Walgreen’s are based on the premise that the intended recipient of said card is black, this one’s for me mum!
Who, when I was but a little tyke, taught me to be both discerning and tough, in part by allowing me to once eat a peach pit, which, to the best of my knowledge, did not kill me, but only made me stronger.
Who didn’t mind too terribly much when I dropped out of soccer after half a season because I lacked all talent on a truly mind-boggling scale, never again to play anything even resembling a sport.
Who was okay with the fact that, I once, as best I can remember, believed myself to be a dinosaur for the better part of 2nd Grade (interestingly enough, this was the year that I apparently impressed upon my teachers that I was gifted).
Who agreed some 20 years ago to live in the attic at some point in the future after my sister became evil and needed to take over the house.
Who did not falter in my upbringing in the ceaseless (and futile) task of trying to make me cooler than I actually am, which on one hand happily prevented me from going to school dressed as Skeletor on more than one occasion, but also brought about an era of enduring infamy known to leading Benologists as “The Year of the George Washington Haircut”.
Who kindly refrained from expressing her true feelings about the manner in which I taught the dog to burp at people immediately before going off to college (me, that is, the dog only did a two year program as an auto tech), despite the fact that I am almost positive that amongst her circle of friends, having a socially burping dog is not quite the status symbol that it is in my own merry little band.
Who could have named me after Great Uncle Nimrod, but didn’t.
Who has always supported me in my never-ending quest to build more effective medieval projectile weapons and ballistic potato delivery systems while all the other boys were off doing summer internships in
Who has always possessed a certain ethereal dignity which keeps her from getting pulled into so many less than honorable ventures, such as the time that everyone else in our family decided to reenact the Hunchback of Notre Dame with hand puppets, in old
Who once, when an alien invasion force parked us into our driveway on the day of my sister’s balled recital, punched a Vorgon Battle Cruiser in the face, just so we wouldn’t be late.
So thanks Mom, for all the stuff what you’ve done for me over the years. Happy Mothers’ Day!
And also, since it is kinda Grandmothers’ Day too, I just want to give a shoutout to a certain grandmother of mine who once pegged our cat in the head with a can of orange juice and suggested, in all earnestness, that when my sister gets married, she ought to dance around in an apron so that all the men there can put money in it. Also, whenever I was little and we were baking cookies, she always let me lick the spoon, even when there were raw eggs in the batter (fortunately, all they did was make my coat more lustrous).
