Oh, Motherrrrr . . .

We all have one, whether we acknowledge her or not, whether we still eat her homemade cinnamon rolls with coffee on Sundays or visit her in a nursing home, or perhaps we thoughtfully lay flowers on her grave – we all percolated and bubbled away in a warm cocoon, flesh and blood and bone in the womb.  But what makes a mother a Mom? 

Here’s my list.

1. “Mom?  Why is the sky blue?”
   “Because.”
   “Because why?”
   “So we know we’re standing on the ground.”
   “Oh.  OK. . . Mom?”
   “Now what?”
   “Why is the grass green?”
   “Because it’s looks good with blue.”
   “Oh, OK.”

I could go on like this all day but you have your own memories to sift through, so have a go at it yourself.  Mother’s Day may have been created by Hallmark (I’m too lazy to look it up) but every mother’s child recognizes that he or she is a unique individual, weak or strong, upheld or downtrodden, loved by someone or alone . . . and we all came to be on this earth by way of the flesh.  And blood.

So maybe your mom smothered you . . . or withheld the love you needed to nurture your soul . . . or maybe, just maybe, she’s like my mom and I hope she is . . . Here, have a hot, homemade cookie as big as your hand, crispy on the outside, tenderly gooey with molten chocolate on the inside and a big old frosted glass of ice cold milk . . . anyone?

Yes, please.  I’ll take two.  And don't give me any crap about proper nutrition and calories and food not equaling love and all the other truthful nonsense people spew these days.  Go look at Pillsbury's bottom line.  They know.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!  Can I come pick some rhubarb in the morning?