‘Sup? Kohlito here. What’s shakin’? Crazy weather we’re having lately eh?
Ok, enough small talk. Let’s get down to business. It’s your second annual Mother’s Day. What I like about Mother’s Day is that it causes me to reflect how much I take you for granted the other 364 1/4 days of the year. (The “1/4” is because of Leap Year).
Anyways, I spend a lot of time vomiting on you and forcing you to wipe my anus. I want to make sure that amid the heaps of bile and doo doo that you deal with on a daily basis, you do not lose sight of the fact that you are my special lady.
So without further ado, here are a few things I love about you. But one qualifier before I begin. This is, by no means, an exhaustive list. Literally chronicling everything I love about you would be an incredibly difficult – nay, impossible – undertaking. That said, here is a sampling of what comes to mind:
Your voice: Dad often observes that when you get fired up over things like people choosing not to vaccinate their children, why Katy Perry is famous, or the latest partisanship on Capitol Hill, your voice can reach a pitch that is capable of shattering any glass within a 7-foot radius. But I happen to like it. Perhaps because of that primordial connection between mother and son, your voice is like music to my ears. It soothes me, it pleases me, and it is oftentimes the only thing that will stop my meltdowns.
Your kisses: They say that I may have cortical visual impairment because of my brain damage, so any sudden touches of my face are often met with a sneer and sometimes a meltdown because I don’t necessarily see them coming, and they may startle me. This manifests itself when you pick the boogers out of my nose or wipe my face during bath time. But I do fancy your kisses. I may not know they’re coming, but when they do, I know I like ’em!
The way you sing to me: I’ll be honest, mom. This is not necessarily one of your strengths. You also incorrectly assume that singing me certain songs will make me do certain things. Like the time when I happened to finish my breakfast one morning because you sang me Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Getting Back Together.” You came to the conclusion that there was some sort of nexus between this horrible song and my eating properly, which resulted in a 6:15 am serenade every morning for about two weeks which was unfortunate for both Daddy and me. But you gave it 110%, and I appreciated the effort.
The fact that our hair is the same color. Daddy likes to always point out how glad he is that I have your hair instead of his. Don’t tell Daddy this – I mean he thinks he’s a pretty sexy dude – but I’m actually glad that I bear such a strong resemblance to you instead of him. I mean, objectively speaking, who in their right mind would rather look like this guy:
Or this guy:
I think this portrait that I gave you for Mother’s Day, aside from being a wonderful painting, is also a celebration of our beauty:
The way you let me know how proud you are of me: Every time I reach a milestone, no matter how slight and seemingly insignificant, you are always the first to celebrate with me. Like when I stood up for the first time, unassisted, at occupational therapy:
I know Ms Brooke was excited. But I also know I made your day.
The way you love me: I know I have a lot of challenges. I know this was all unexpected and not exactly what you had in mind. And I know that I do not always do things at the pace you want me to. But despite all those things, you love me so well. You have always been incredibly maternal. You honed your supervisory skills by taking care of my Uncles Adam, Andrew and Alex growing up. You dealt with their tomfoolery which prepared you to deal with Daddy’s and mine. You may not have realized it at the time, but you have been in training for me your whole life. And I think you’re doing a stand-up job, mommy. You have so much love to give, and I’m glad to be a recipient of some of it.
Happy Mother’s Day!