To my mom, who had to co-raise my snarky ass:
Remember when you got me a psych evaluation because I had an imaginary friend? And the doctor told you that you had you play along, even when I said my sister had locked her in the house and we had to turn the car around and get her?
Sorry about that.
Remember that time I knocked all my teeth out and my sister told you Dad had taken me into town to get dentures?
Sorry about that.
Remember how there were never bandaids, paper towels, or scotch tape in the house?
Sorry about that.
Remember how I spilled a whole bottle of glue on the floor just a few weeks after you'd installed new carpet in my bedroom, and it never came out?
Yeah... sorry about that too.
Remember that time I asked if people made babies the same way rabbits made babies (you know, the boy rabbit screamed and fell off), and you still didn't laugh?
I'd say sorry, but that was pretty freaking funny, now that I think about it.
Thanks for being the mom who played along. Who didn't panic. Who didn't ask. Who understood it was an accident. Who always answered my incessant and sometimes embarrassing questions seriously, so as not to embarrass me. Because good lord, I was an obnoxious kid.
You rock.
Hear Here Herr Hare.
ReplyDeleteThat's a wacky wabbit stowwy!
You make me laugh!! (As usual!) You were an amazing, if klutzy, loving, child. Life is an adventure with you. I still never know what to expect!! I learned a lot from you, too. You showed me the world from a very different perspective, and you constantly reminded me that I shouldn't take myself too seriously. Thank you, Sweetie! Love you bunches!!
ReplyDeleteAw, thanks Ma!
DeleteDana, this is better than any corny Hallmark card. I could echo everything your mother (I think?) said in the comment above, but I've never even met you. Don't ever stop being awesome, K?
ReplyDeleteHere's what I've noticed about parent-child relationships:
When you're the kid, you really look up to your parents, but you get so angry at them occasionally. You want more than anything to please them, and when you make the inevitable mistakes that result from human imperfection, you feel embarrassed, ashamed. Somehow, things work out and you believe--or at least hope--you're doing alright by them.
Then you grow up and have kids of your own. You admire your kids, but you get so angry at them sometimes. You want more than anything to please... um, just copy the last paragraph verbatim to finish this.