Happy Mother's Day
Yes, it is officially Mother's Day.
I wish I had something profound to say, but I've stayed up late to eat some baked Lays and drink alone. Which much different from my younger, chlidless days when there was no such thing as late, I, myself, was baked, laid and rarely alone.
WELCOME TO MOTHERHOOD!
I say that completely tongue in cheek. I rarely, if ever, got baked. Wasn't my bag. I'm Finnish Irish for Christ's sake! We're drinkers. It's true, look it up. Look it up in your gut.
Motherhood does have it's advantages. I look at it this way, I've got this fella who makes me jewlery with his own two hands (glow in the dark Sculpey jewelry!), shares sweets with me, sings songs to me, writes me illegible love poems and will always find a spare moment in the day to say, "Mommy, guess what!" To which I am required to reply, "What?" and he says, "I love you." Then I'm supposed to say, "HEY! I was gonna say that!" and we laugh. Today he sat on a park bench and kept repeating to himself, "If Momma ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy." Hmmmm, wonder where he's heard that one?
My kid is a good kid. My man is a good man. They make me insane and I am completely outnumbered, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Occasionally, Sullivan will test the waters and call me "Bree". So I sat him down and told him that anyone can call me Bree. It's my name and I've been called that for 31 years. But he's the only one on the planet that can call me "Mom" and I wish that he'd see just how special that is for both of us. He flashed his sweet little dimples at me and said, "Mom, I want to whisper something in your ear." To which I immediately presented him with my ear. He hesitated then leaned in and...
SCREAMED "ARRRRGHHH!" REALLY FUCKING LOUD IN MY EAR AND RAN AWAY!
Little boys really don't appreciate sentimentality. I'm learning. I'm learning.
Like I said, Happy Mother's Day and much love to you and your little demons.
I wish I had something profound to say, but I've stayed up late to eat some baked Lays and drink alone. Which much different from my younger, chlidless days when there was no such thing as late, I, myself, was baked, laid and rarely alone.
WELCOME TO MOTHERHOOD!
I say that completely tongue in cheek. I rarely, if ever, got baked. Wasn't my bag. I'm Finnish Irish for Christ's sake! We're drinkers. It's true, look it up. Look it up in your gut.
Motherhood does have it's advantages. I look at it this way, I've got this fella who makes me jewlery with his own two hands (glow in the dark Sculpey jewelry!), shares sweets with me, sings songs to me, writes me illegible love poems and will always find a spare moment in the day to say, "Mommy, guess what!" To which I am required to reply, "What?" and he says, "I love you." Then I'm supposed to say, "HEY! I was gonna say that!" and we laugh. Today he sat on a park bench and kept repeating to himself, "If Momma ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy." Hmmmm, wonder where he's heard that one?
My kid is a good kid. My man is a good man. They make me insane and I am completely outnumbered, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Occasionally, Sullivan will test the waters and call me "Bree". So I sat him down and told him that anyone can call me Bree. It's my name and I've been called that for 31 years. But he's the only one on the planet that can call me "Mom" and I wish that he'd see just how special that is for both of us. He flashed his sweet little dimples at me and said, "Mom, I want to whisper something in your ear." To which I immediately presented him with my ear. He hesitated then leaned in and...
SCREAMED "ARRRRGHHH!" REALLY FUCKING LOUD IN MY EAR AND RAN AWAY!
Little boys really don't appreciate sentimentality. I'm learning. I'm learning.
Like I said, Happy Mother's Day and much love to you and your little demons.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 12:03 AM
2 Comments:
You make me laugh. I bet the Sculpey jewelry is beautiful. I have boys. Always thought I wanted girls, but since I'm slightly make-up/hair/style/whatever challenged, I probably would have passed that on to them. God obviously had other plans for me. Now my sixteen year-old looks at me and says, "Mom, that blouse doesn't really look good with those pants," or "Mom, don't you know denim shirts are out?" Of course, he's the one who got a mohawk and bleached it blonde along with several others on his soccer team because they made it to the semi-finals. Of course, that wasn't quite enough of a statement for Evan, so he shaved off his eyebrows, too. I told him if they didn't grow back we could use my eyebrow pencil to draw them on. I guess I do have someone to do girl stuff with.
I had (and have) a lot of guy friends and they certainly do a fair amount of preening themselves. It just tends to be less sparkly- with the notable exception of my own son who, at teh age of two, cried for a pair of red, sparkly mary janes. Which, I might add, he like to wear with a pair of camoflauge pants and a plastic cutlass tied to his belt. Boys rock.
I was relieved that I had a boy, frankly. Mostly because I didn't think I would know what to do with a girl. I'm a bit sparkly-challenged, you see. So was my mom. Of course, now I realize that if I do have a girl at some point it would be like helping to usher in a new age of assertive, rowdy, opinionated, giddy girlness. That could be fun, too.
All in good time, I suppose.
Post a Comment
<< Home