When I picked Sean up from school today he thrust a handful of papers at me along with his backpack and took off up the hill to run and play with his friends. When we got home, he saw that I was looking at the papers he had handed me. “Mom!” he cried, “Don’t look!”
“What?” I said, “You HANDED them to me!”
“Okay, you can look,” he said, “But don’t look at everything. Just pick the one thing you want.”
So I agreed to that and chose this lovely portrait of me. He said he drew me in that one pink fuzzy shirt that I have. I am quite sure I don’t have a pink fuzzy shirt, but maybe I do. Please, as you gaze upon this portrait, do not hate me because I am beautiful.
After I gushed sufficiently over the picture, he asked if maybe I’d like to open just one more thing. No, I said, I think I’d like to wait for Mother’s Day. No really, he said, just open one more thing. So I opened the letter which you see below.
It reads: My mom is very special. She’s 51 and very beautiful. She does a lot of foatoshop. She loves me and I love her. She buys suff for me like little models on stands that are real models.
It is a good thing that I don’t care if people know how old I am or how much I weigh for that matter. Mental note to self: Don’t let child see tax returns.
Aside from all that, I was touched at how he tapped into the raw truth about me in his essay, starting with my beauty. Beauty of course is in the eye of the beholder and the fact that the beholder in this case gets suff at Walmart is probably irrelevant.
Random thought: If there are no ugly babies it stands to reason that there can be no ugly mothers.
He also noted how much I love him and how much he loves me and how I do a lot of foatoshop. I’m sure some of the other kids wrote about how their mom’s cook fabulous meals and keep a spotless house or have paying jobs, but Sean’s mom does foatoshop!
Well since we were on a roll, he decided that I might as well go ahead and open the 3rd thing, so I did and inside was this exquisite brooch, hand-crafted of semi-precious plastic jewels and foam stuff. Don’t covet it y’all, it wouldn’t be right. I will wear this with my pink fuzzy shirt. If I actually have one.
And not because I was so well loved today, but because I just can’t stop myself sometimes when it comes to that boy whose freckles make my heart ooze stupid goofy irrational love, we went to Walmart and I bought him suff like little models on stands that are real models. Just because.
It’s all true, especially that part about the freckles.
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Happy Mother’s Day all! Do me a favor and maybe take some time to look around you and see who might be on the fringes and not feeling the love this weekend. And be extra kind.
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BREAKING NEWS: I was wrong. It turns out I actually do have a fuzzy pink shirt. I foatoshopped on my brooch so you could get the full visual affect.