Today is my mom's birthday. And if you've ever for one second wondered "where I get it," or how I've come to be how and who I am - and I'm sure you have at least once - well, she is the answer to that question. See?
Recently I was having a conversation with my family about families. I don't really remember what we said to prompt this discussion, but I do remember clearly when my mom said to us, in all complete sincere seriousness, "Really think about it though. Wouldn't you be sad if you'd had to grow up in a family where no one ever called you an idiot?"
You know what the sick thing is?
I think I genuinely would.
Even though we look good doing it, sometimes our little family can be a real hot mess. [I can say that because I'm part of it.] But we work. We make it. We're pretty great a lot of the time actually, and we're real fun, nobody would tell you otherwise. We keep us on our toes, that's for certain. And even though our terms of endearment are slightly less... conventional, if you will, at the end of the day we know that idiot is practically a pet name. I don't even like you is an affirmation of love. Miming the motion of a quick punch [one of Mom's trademark moves when I do or say something especially idiotic, and to be fair usually I'm making fun of her in some way/shape/form] gives me the same fuzzy feeling as a nice long hug. Don't worry though, you sensitive little souls, we do the other stuff too, the conventional love stuff. It's just not as funny to write about.
So here's to Mommie dearest, my mom, on this, the day of your birth. For always knowing the answers, for teaching me all of my not at all embarrassing dance moves, for passing on a healthy love for karaoke [and the spotlight in general, let's be honest], for always putting up with me when I was [past tense, obviously] awful, for being my perpetual audience, for being so kind as to provide me with just enough dysfunction to make me funny, and for teaching me everything I know, essentially. For all these things and so many more, I say here's to you.
The glue that holds us together even on days when we're not feeling particularly sticky.
The constant answer to the ongoing question of why, when it comes to me anyway.
My funny, fashionable, groovy Mom.
Oh, and since I'm not there with you this weekend - and I know I've earned at least one mimed punch for this post - you'll have to give it to one of the other idiots in lieu of me. Sorry I'm not sorry, you guys.