Being a Mom means:

• Fixing vegetables for dinner when you really want to have ice cream. And sometimes, having ice cream.
• Watching Aladdin or Winnie the Pooh for the twenty-fifth time in three days, because it’s his favorite. (circa 1995)
• Giving up your favorite seat on the couch - or allowing yourself to BE the seat on the couch. Even when he’s 6′3″ and 230 lbs. And you’re 5′9″ and, um, less than 230 lbs.
• Crying when he starts school and then crying more, when he graduates. From kindergarten. From 5th grade. And oh mah holy hell, at the THOUGHT of him graduating from High School. At least you have a year to prepare - and stock up on tissues.
• Listening to a play by play (by play by play) of what happened during this show or that class or this game or that movie.
• Holding your breath, holding his hand.
• Saving every “I love you Mommy” scribbled on every piece of paper. Saving the “I hate you” ones, too.
• Bare butts. Bare toes.
• Messes and cars and action figures hidden in every corner of his bedroom. And no, you can’t get rid of the G.I. Joes…. or the baseball cards…. or the baseball caps.
• Haircuts. or not. Electric razors for Christmas.
• Video games.
• “Cut the grass. Take out the garbage. Change the cat litter.”
• Riding in the back seat after handing over the car keys.
• Bartholomew Cubbins and his 500 hats. Over and over and over again.
• A five-year-old voice singing “We represent the lollipop guild”.
• Never, ever calling a ‘pillowcase’ anything except a ‘tuppow diaper’. Some things are too good to ever be forgotten.
• Seven “wake up calls” in the mornings - as soon as he hits the teen years.

The hug of a giant and the “Happy Mother’s Day” mumbled into the top of your head.

—- Happy Mother’s Day to all of my friends and my friends’ mothers. —-