Today is Mother's Day
I love spaghetti. You might think I had an Italian babysitter at some point in my childhood. I rarely order anything other than pasta when I go to a restaurant and perfecting pasta sauce is just one way I relax.
Once, in my much younger days, when it was just my Mother and I at home, she made spaghetti and piled it on my plate. So I ate, gleefully and hurriedly. Then I asked for more. And in her quiet knowing way she looked at me and asked if I was sure. I nodded, I pleaded. I'm still hungry, I'm not full.
So she obliged me. Sometime later there was clean up and inevitably bed time. I'd like to imagine that I was having an awesome dream; something that would be screen worthy if I could ever recall enough to write it down. But that is not my point.
Sometime in my sleep I threw up. By association, I also woke up. Tomato sauce, beef chunks and spaghetti goodness decorated my pillow and bed like an Impressionists era painting. Groggily I went to wake my mother. Sleepily she took in the damage, cleaned me up and set me in her bed.
I slept quite peacefully after that. No doubt my mom spent quite a deal of time cleaning my upchuck before heading back to bed herself. In my selfish, young child way, I didn’t even say thank you.
Before that day and since, my Mom has been a shining example of the type of person I want to be. If I can be half the woman she is, I will be more than alright.
Thank you for all the advice, help, love and glances that have made me the person I am today. I hope to learn even more from you in the years to come.
Happy Mothers’ Day, Mom. I love you.
-Here’s to all the Mom’s and Mom’s to be.
Once, in my much younger days, when it was just my Mother and I at home, she made spaghetti and piled it on my plate. So I ate, gleefully and hurriedly. Then I asked for more. And in her quiet knowing way she looked at me and asked if I was sure. I nodded, I pleaded. I'm still hungry, I'm not full.
So she obliged me. Sometime later there was clean up and inevitably bed time. I'd like to imagine that I was having an awesome dream; something that would be screen worthy if I could ever recall enough to write it down. But that is not my point.
Sometime in my sleep I threw up. By association, I also woke up. Tomato sauce, beef chunks and spaghetti goodness decorated my pillow and bed like an Impressionists era painting. Groggily I went to wake my mother. Sleepily she took in the damage, cleaned me up and set me in her bed.
I slept quite peacefully after that. No doubt my mom spent quite a deal of time cleaning my upchuck before heading back to bed herself. In my selfish, young child way, I didn’t even say thank you.
Before that day and since, my Mom has been a shining example of the type of person I want to be. If I can be half the woman she is, I will be more than alright.
Thank you for all the advice, help, love and glances that have made me the person I am today. I hope to learn even more from you in the years to come.
Happy Mothers’ Day, Mom. I love you.
-Here’s to all the Mom’s and Mom’s to be.
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