THANK YOU MOM
For making me dinner
For comforting me when I’m sick
For making me cookies
For telling me about me
For giving me hugs when I’m sad
For slapping me when I need it
For caring about me all my 13 and 9 months years
This check entitles one to 1 hour of twin- time at almost any time.
Thank you, Mommy!
Oh my word! And as if I weren't sobbing in my tea enough, this is what Sarah gave me...but first some background info.
Sarah's writing teacher assigned them to write someone a thank-you note. She and two of her classmates wrote them to their mothers. I knew Sarah had written something to me but I wanted to wait until she was ready to show me and then forgot about it. She gave it to me today, framed. Here's the text. (I'll bet you've never received a thank-you note that contains the word 'manumission'.)
I am writing to thank you for your years of servitude as a mother to the five of us. For fifteen years, you have performed many varied services for us.
To begin with, you have always carried out more domestic tasks than many women in America. While some women are off working on high-powered accounts, you’re running a high-powered household. In spite of demanding little kids and other difficulties, you were determined not to send us to the gulag (public school). So you didn’t. But you relinquished a relaxing lifestyle. Your personal time is diminished. Frequently the day’s difficulties fray your nerves. However, now that I am old enough to understand the problems I missed by being home schooled, I am grateful for your hard work. Additionally, we must consider dinner. Some American women might not take the time to cook. For their children, dinner is the canned or frozen variety. But you cook real food almost every dinner every night. On our birthdays you go the extra mile of making a special meal. I thank you for giving us the gift of not growing up on canned or frozen food. Moving on, we will consider the next service.
You dealt with many physical tasks that come with being a mother. As you have told us, you carried us for nine months. The labor didn’t end after the birthing. Initially you had to deal with sleepless nights, midnight feedings, and easily audible wails. When we got older, other types of trouble arose. Over our childhoods, we made many messes and contracted several illnesses, not all of the minor variety. Staying up with a sick kid in the middle of the night is no walk through a flowerbed. Therefore, I thank you.
Additionally, you had to deal with our emotional sides. This road was sometimes fraught with difficulty. However, whether we seethed, or flew around the house in furor, or sat dissolved in tears on your bed at 10:00 at night, you took time to deal with our feelings of the moment-or, just as important, our dreams about the future.
In this place, I use myself as an example. Since I was born, I have had obsessions. You know that better than anyone. Nevertheless, you faithfully tolerated them, even when the constant repetition threatened to drive you crazier than a loon with a family history of schizophrenia. Over the years since I’ve decided to become a writer, you have listened to my dreams. When necessary, you’ve dealt with my sensitive skin. Because it was important to me, it was important to you. This means much to me.
In conclusion, for fifteen years you have endured the difficulties of motherhood. You have served without any promise of manumission. Having children meant sitting up with a sick child, losing downtime to cook, comforting upset children, and readying them for the future. These jobs have not abated yet. Nor will they for some time. Still, you will continue working. Abraham Lincoln once ascribed credit to his own mom in this statement: “All that I am or hope to be I owe to my mother.” I believe he was correct.