This post is for my mom.
It's weird to try and write a post in honor of your mother, because it's suddenly very embarrassing to get all sentimental. And if you're not going to be sentimental, you have to be insightful, but I'm not sure I have anything very insightful to say about mothers. Mothers, as a whole, are a like a girl scout club* with the slogan, "We are always right!" Don't you ever wonder why it is that whenever people talk about mothers, they always ask you things like, "don't you ever wonder why it is that mothers are always right?" Or sometimes they don't even bother asking. They just jump right in to, "I never wanted to admit it at the time, but my mother sure was always right!"
But are mothers always right?
It is possible for someone to be always right?
You were right that one time, weren't you? The one where you were certain, more certain than you've ever been before, more certain than you felt even about the sky being blue and the grass being green, that your mother was...wrong?
Hmmm. Something to ponder.
Well, the least I can do is leave a little anecdote. It'll be better than those corny Hallmark cards, you know? I can't stand those. "A rainbow for you...so all your dreams come true!" "Here's a heart, so we'll never be apart!" "Birthdays are like the Spring...they make me want to sing!"
So here we go. Ima, you'll recognize part of this story.
It's approximately midnight in my house and my parents have just gone up to bed. My sister (Trademark, for those just tuning in) tells me we have to go get balloons from the trunk of my dad's car. We decide we don't want to use the front door because it makes too much noise, so we'll use the sliding door from the kitchen instead. That door leads to the backyard and then you have to walk around the side of the house to get to the front where the car is.
My sister opens the door, steps out, and I begin to follow when I hear footsteps in the kitchen. Without looking, I just know it's my mom (I am also incredibly talented at recognizing people's footsteps, just by the way).
"HI IMA!" I exclaim, jumping back into the house. My mother looks startled for a moment and then rather confused.
"Um...where are you going...?"
Oh. Haha. That.
"Well," I say, standing smack in front of the suspiciously open door. "I was...just getting some fresh air. It's really hot in here."
I'm pretty sure my mom didn't buy it. No matter what I said then to cover, it is incredibly unusual for our kitchen door to be wide open in the middle of the night. Still, I attempt to be natural about the whole thing and try to make my story as plausible as possible. I close the door, lock it, and declare I'm going to bed. My mother takes some things out of the freezer to defrost and also says she's going to bed.
"Oh...did you, um, close the door?"
Too cheerful. Don't be too cheerful! You'll give it away!
"Did you remember to lock it?"
And we both go upstairs.
About a minute later, I get a phone call from Trademark.
"Open the door, it's FREEZING out here!"
And we, the little elves in the night, then proceed to hang yellow streamers all over the kitchen. It was quite fun!
So, happy birthday, Ima! I hope it all makes sense now.
I know not much of actual substance was said in this post, so I give you:
P.S. Thank you, Ima, for everything and I love you! Also, thanks in advance for not yelling at me for writing this at three in the morning. After all, I want it to be here when you wake up! I know, I'm thoughtful that way. :D
*They even make cookies!