My mom can beat up your mom.

OK, not really. She tends to drop her left when she throws a right hook. Still, my mom is pretty darn awesome. For one thing, she brought a sarcastic fuzzball (me) into the world. She certainly doesn’t agree with my views around spirituality and sexuality, but she respects my right to have them, and that’s cool.

I bet your mom is cool too.

I can only partially relate to being a mom. I have no children, but I do have two cats. When they annoy me (Syd, get off the damn keyboard.) and make messes (Symon, must you continue eating until you puke?), I contemplate life without them. There would be fewer messes to clean, less poop to scoop, fewer runny-eyed guests, less money spent on tuna, and freedom to go away for more than two days without a cat sitter.

The same must apply to offspring, although most parents won’t admit it. There must be times when mothers think:

  • Why must almost everything that comes out of a child be disgusting?
  • I can’t keep anything nice.
  • Sleep? What sleep?
  • I liked the kid better before he could talk.
  • I could be living a peaceful, childless life in Tuscany.
  • What I wouldn’t give for one hour of peace and quiet.
  • I’m a maid, cook, and taxi driver. The pay sucks.
  • After thirteen years of my time, the little prick tells me he hates me. I can’t wait until he’s a parent.
  • A dog … why didn’t I get a dog?
  • Who is this downtrodden person I see in the mirror?

Then Mom takes a deep breath, counts to five, and goes back to being the world’s greatest mom. Amazing!

My mother, in particular, went way overboard in the momming department. After she gave birth to me, she adopted four children. Sure, Angelina Jolie would sniff at this, but Mom didn’t have the resources to hire an army of nannies. Then, Mom pushed the dirty diaper further and became a foster parent while raising us, the original gangstas. Babies were shuttled through our house faster than subway cars through Manhattan. I think she was being paid somewhere in the neighborhood of $3 per day per baby–a veritable fortune if it were 3000 BC.

Now she’s in her late seventies, so one would expect her to slow down, maybe play a little bingo. Nope. She works full-time in a daycare center. She does all of this while suffering from Crohn’s disease and arthritis for decades.

I can dream up some crazy shit, but this is the honest-to-Zeus truth. I can’t imagine anything as special and wonderful as my dear mother.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! You are an inspiration and will always be my hero.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.