To my chil­dren on Mother’s Day

W i t h G r a e

Record Observer - - Opinion -

This Mother’s Day I thought in­stead of the usual, I would share with you an open let­ter to my chil­dren, they are after all, the rea­son I cel­e­brate.

Hav­ing chil­dren was my choice. I have given up things for you and went with­out for you, and I don’t re­gret any of it for a se­cond, nor do I want any­thing in re­turn, but for you to grow into lov­ing, re­spect­ful hu­man be­ings. Re­spect your­self. Re­spect oth­ers. Act in a way that oth­ers will re­spect you.

Sure you’ll me hear me mum­ble un­der my breath when I hear you say you’ve for­got­ten your home­work or gym shoes for what seems like the 50th time this year. Those Chee­rios un­der your chair and the con­stant pa­rade of dirt on the kitchen floor? They drive me crazy, but I wouldn’t trade one se­cond of it for a dif­fer­ent life. No mat­ter how big you get, you, my chil­dren are my life, you gave me a new one that I could have never pos­si­bly en­vi­sioned. I love you more than any words could de­scribe.

If it is true that life is made up of thou­sands of tiny mo­ments, these are the mo­ments that I am re­mem­ber­ing this Mother’s Day. I’m re­mem­ber­ing com­ing to tuck you in bed and find­ing one of those gi­ant Bar­bie styling heads stick­ing out of the cov­ers while you are hid­ing and laugh­ing hys­ter­i­cally at my sur­prise. I’m re­mem­ber­ing get­ting caught in the rain and you gig­gling as we run through the “sparkles.” I’m re­mem­ber­ing the se­cret lan­guage that we share and count­less made up words. Danc­ing and singing in the car, I love that you my chil­dren, know all the words to my fa­vorite 80s songs. One day when you have chil­dren of your own, I will re­mind you of the day you tor­mented your sis­ter with your se­cret con­ver­sa­tions with the Tooth Fairy. From your pre­tend phone, you di­aled speed num­ber “too” for “tooth” and called your sis­ter in for some in­frac­tion of Tooth Fairy vi­o­la­tions ... why do sis­ters al­ways fall for these tricks?

I love that we can pick up mid con­ver­sa­tion and know ex­actly what the other is talk­ing about, even as there are days when your mid­dle school mind and com­plete ran­dom­ness leaves me feel­ing con­fused and frus­trated. And when you in­sist on tak­ing off all your dirty clothes and leav­ing a trail across the floor,I re­mem­ber that I love you and this too will pass. I love that you can text me, “Do you have the blue piece?”, and I know ex­actly what you talk­ing about. I even love that you’ve changed ALL my pass­words to your name, so I don’t for­get which child is the fa­vorite.

For the record, moth­ers don’t have fa­vorites, we just have days where some of you drive us less crazy than the rest ....

I am re­mem­ber­ing when you changed my screen­saver to a pic­ture of Hobbes, and the pic­tures you drew in kinder­garten of us and (me) with the crazy, wild, curly blonde hair that I hope looks noth­ing like me. I will cher­ish these mem­o­ries for­ever.

I love that you speak flu­ent min­ion, even as I ques­tion my san­ity in that I am able to com­pre­hend and re­ply to you and that your logic be­hind your ar­gu­ment for keep­ing on your clothes in the shower be­cause you’ll just have to get dressed again when you get out, some­how strangely makes sense.

I won­der if you will re­mem­ber how many times we watched ac­tion movies to­gether and 15 min­utes later re­al­ized they were dubbed in Span­ish .... How do we do this more than once how?

All of the times you are cer­tain I am ru­in­ing your life when I hold you ac­count­able or make a de­ci­sion that I know is in your best in­ter­est, re­mem­ber. Re­mem­ber that I love you more than the sky holds stars. Re­mem­ber that you are the best gift I have ever re­ceived.

HAN­NAH COMBS

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