Mother’s Day Confessions

Dear Mom,

I was thinking of writing some sappy post about how much I appreciate you, and maybe throwing in a Mother’s Day quote out of a Hallmark card for good measure.  …but considering I’ll probably be yapping at you about something utterly irrelevant before I can even click publish, that type of ode to you doesn’t really seem fitting for the relationship we have.  This year, the hell with hallmark.  Since you’re on the other side of the country …and therefore unable to smack me… this Mother’s Day I think i’ll shake things up.  I think I’ll finally come clean.

Mother’s Day Confessional. 

-In high school, I used to exaggerate the cost of lunch so I could save the extra money up and pitch $5 in for a case of busch light beers on Fridays.  Of which I would binge drink at parties in the woods when you thought I was having slumber parties with the girls.  Guilty.

-You know all those ‘quirky’ (embarrassing) little sayings you have like “That’s wicked pissa Chels”, “Isn’t that a hoot?”  “good grief”  “she’s a good egg” or when you say “Christmas!” instead of Jesus Christ? Or how about that weird squeal/scream you make the entire time you’re a passenger in the car?  Well… I kind of don’t think they are that annoying anymore… some of them are even kind of… cute.  And every once in awhile, on occasion …I even let one slip.  Good Grief. 

Speaking of driving, I think you are the worst backseat driver in the entire world.   Like I rather be driving around with Fran Dresser cackling in my ear than have to hear you actually scream every time I touch the breaks… and scream every time I don’t.  And by the way, I know to stop at stop signs for 3 seconds, I don’t need a reminder.

I value your opinion more than anyones.  I know I’ve been dismissing your criticisms AND compliments for the better half of two decades now, but the truth is your opinion is the most important to me.

I don’t think it’s the least bit strange that I still call you Mama Bear and I’m 27 years old.

I’m utterly perplexed why you have more twitter followers than me.

We never had a bad internet connection.  I just always took the phone off the receiver so you’d get kicked off of AOL and I could go back to updating the quotes in my AIM profile.

I’ve thrown up in church from being hungover. When I was an alter server.  I don’t know how many Hail Marys I need to fix that one, but it’s got to be in the hundreds.  I also feel like I should mention that I actually DO believe in Christianity, strongly.  But I’m a bit envious of how steadfast your faith is.  Truth is, those pilgrimages we did to Lourdes and Fatima… well they really enlightened me.  And while we’re talking Jesus, I’m grateful that you dragged me to church on Sundays despite all the bitching that I’d rather be at the mall.

I witnessed the dog knock over the trash and eat through it… and I didn’t say anything so I wouldn’t have to clean it up.  This is not a contained one time occurrence.

I know I always pretended to you that I liked Papa more.  Well, I did the same to him.  I ALWAYS told him you were my favorite parent.  And you know what?  You are.  (Just don’t read my father’s day post in June)

I know exactly what happened to every cosmetic, beauty product and article of clothing you can’t find.

I still haven’t forgiven you for my 3rd grade photo outfit choice. Or my haircut.

You were right.  It was foolish to pluck my eyebrows until there were only 4 strands of hair left, I regret my addiction to tanning and dying my hair bleach blonde by myself was a horrific idea.  You also were on to something when you tried to deter me from wearing jincos in 4th grade, visors in 7th grade, colored braces elastics in 8th grade, and army cargo pants in high school.

All of the other kids had curfews.  I was lying so you’d feel pressured into not giving me one.

I was addicted to suggestive music videos on TRL, not Looney Tunes.

I never thanked you for getting me three-way calling.  It changed my life.

I never wore my head gear. Or my retainers. Sorry you wasted all that money on braces.

I got my confidence from you.  You gave it to me by being my biggest fan… but also by having so much confidence yourself.

I balled my eyes out when you dropped me off at college.  Uncontrollable tears.  I mean, I’m tearing up just thinking about it now.  I was absolutely devastated when you drove away.

Did I mention you were right about the tanning salons?  Sigh.

You were also right about the friends you called ‘trouble.’

It IS disgusting when people chew with their mouth open, or smack their gum or UGH coughing without covering their mouth?  What’s wrong with these people? Didn’t their mother teach them any manners?!

I’m SO HAPPY I’m an only child.  I would have hated to share you (or maybe I wouldn’t have.. because having a sibling would have taught me how to share).

I miss you every single day. I miss you so much, it sucks having you on the other side of the country.  And yeah sure we email and talk on the phone… but it’s not the same.  Sometimes you just need to beat your Mom in a good game of Scrabble to make everything right in the world ya know?

I like fighting with you.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  You’re my greatest debate partner and the only person I have ever felt comfortable arguing with.   Sometimes you can really just crawl right up and under my skin.  It’s almost like you know my exact buttons to push, like you’ve got me all figured out… like it’s just the same as fighting in the mirror….

We’re the exact same person.  There, I said it.  It goes deeper than our mutual obsession with animals, Christmas movies and Elvis Presley.  From you I learned to always be altruistic. You are so selfless and kind, it’s inspiring.  You taught me to be confident and always put my best foot forward.  To value education and hard work.  To cherish true friendships. To laugh everyday.  To dream big and always reinvent myself.  You are the best role model I could ever ask for and one hell of a mother.

Happy Mother’s Day Mama Bear.  I love you.

Chels