Saturday, May 10, 2014

Hey Mom,

Hey. Mom. Pssst. Over here.
Hey so, I already know you're gonna cry over this. Because you're a fucking sap. And lets be honest, you'll cry over just about anything. Except for split pasta sauce. That doesn't seem to bother you too much. (Don't act like you don't remember.) We all remember. It was fucking everywhere.
So I thought about just sending a text. Like, "hey happy Mothers Day!" And then just throw a ton of emojis all over the place just to show you I give a shit. But I already know you know I give a shit. So really it's pointless. So I decided to just make you cry instead. Because you know what... I wasn't a terrible kid... and I didn't really make you cry all that much I don't think. So I'm gonna go ahead and make myself feel better by telling myself that you deserve it.
But all that is really beside the point. The point is this... it's Mothers Day right? Well guess what, it doesn't fucking matter. Because whether or not you believe it everyday is mothers day for you. No matter how shitty your day is. No matter how shitty you get treated one day. No matter who ignores, passes, or bumps into you. Every day is your day. Are you still a little confused?
Literately everyday, and I do mean EVERY day, something happens and even if for just a second you pop up in my mind. Let me just give you some examples. Just in case you still don't get it.
So remember that one time we went to Kohl's and I was being the idiot that I am and I bought the wrong size leggings? Remember how you brought them along with the receipt to me when you visited so I could return them and get whatever I needed? Well, I put the receipt on my bulletin board and I still haven't returned them. The receipt is dated December 27, 2013. I've 100 percent convinced myself that this is far too long in the past to do anything about it now yet I still haven't removed that damn receipt form my board. And to be honest... it's probably going to stay there until I move.
Oh, but remember that one time you killed my sunflower? I was really looking forward to that sunflower having a long happy life. But now it's dead. And ever since its been dead I've been trying to make a helpless sunflower live long and prosper. But I'm almost convinced that you've given me some sort of sunflower killing curse because they just keep dying. I actually just murdered another one last week. But I'll keep on trying.
Every time I want a salad the only salad I want is from Salad Creations. Which in return makes me instantly think of you because I'm almost positive none of my terrible habit like friends have eaten there with me. So you're always the one I drag along. So you are basically forever connected to me via salad.
Any time I open my tupperware cabinet. (Which by the way, can we discuss the fact that I even have a cabinet dedicated to just tupperware!? Also how that is definitely your fault.)
Also any time that my tupperware spills out of the cabinet onto me and I curse to myself, "just organize it already! How is it such a difficult thing to accomplish in your life!?" (I still half expect Somer to come running for it.)
Any time I think about Somer. And that one time she destroyed my Bennie Baby and you made her apologize. And sure as shit she did.
Remember those times I had really shitty dreams and I snuck into your room at like 3 am and nearly gave you a heart attack every time because I wouldn't wake you up. I'd just stare at you until you could sense it and you'd wake up terrified. I still get those fucking dreams. It's starting to get really annoying actually. (By the way it involves me flying over the ocean and then drowning in it. Just if you were ever wondering.)
How about that time you carried me into the ocean and I bitched about it the entire time because I literally thought you were gonna drop me and I would die out there. As if you would drop me and then just suddenly disappear and I'd be stuck to fend for myself.
Any time someone tells me, "everything happens for a reason." Which I still think is bullshit. But you don't. So it still makes me feel like 3.5 percent better. And sometimes that 3.5 percent really fucking counts.
When someone comes over to my apartment and asks me why I have a damn night light in my bathroom. Like I'm some kind of five year old terrified of the dark. My responds is always, "so Sush can see at night. Duh." But really it's just out of habit. We've always had one. I've never not had one. If there wasn't a night light in the bathroom how on Earth would I know that it's a bathroom? I just wouldn't! I might be pissing in the living room for all I know.
Do you even get it now? Do you now understand how everyday is your day? Even if I go weeks without texting or calling. Even if the only reason I call is to ask you about something fucking stupid like what that one card game was called that we played forever ago. But not so I could play it. Just because it would drive me crazy if I didn't know the name of it. (Which I still don't remember. So text me okay?)
I know there have been times and that there will be many more times that I make your life a living hell. I'm sure you've cursed my name at some point asking why. Why couldn't you just be someone else. Someone else in some other time in some other place. Everyone does it. You don't have to be perfect and say you've never wished it. It's okay. I've done it. But I'm glad you're not someone else in some other time in some other place. It wouldn't be the same. I had the best fucking childhood any child could ask for and you really are the best mom that you could ever be.
You're perfect in so many ways that I cannot even begin to count. You're stronger than I could ever hope to be. More courageous than any lion I could ever think up. Way more fearless than any hero I could write about. Most of all you're more loving than anyone I will ever meet. If the time comes that I ever become not me and I decide I want children in my life (yeah, so far you're still not getting grandbaby's out of me) I can only hope to be half the mom you are to me. I can only hope because never will I ever accomplish such perfection.
Your Jax/Tigger/Tweety/Sweety/Twin/whateverthefuckyouwanttocallme

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