Mommie Dearest...

I love my mommy.

All week long, the radio station I listen to is having callers call in talking about how wonderful their Mom is. I’m refraining from calling, because once I tell them how special/wonderful/fabulous my mother is, no one else would call because you can’t top the best there is. The rest of the week, if anyone actually did call, the DJ’s would tell the caller, “Yea, nice mom you have there, but Michael’s mom is better.” And you all should know I am not one to have people go around with hurt feelings.

How she raised 5 kids, worked at home while Dad went to medical school, moved several hundreds of miles from her own parents and brother is beyond me. But she did it…and she did it very well! And didn’t slap us kids once! Well…

How she didn’t drop my butt off at an orphanage with a note saying “Here, he’s yours now” is also surprising. I know most everyone believes I was a perfect angel who kept his room clean and did his chores without asking, but here is a surprise:

I was no angel.

Close your mouths, I know it is a bit of a shock. I set a little fire to a church that burned the porch when I was about eight years old. I cussed in church. I ripped tags off of mattresses…even under penalty of law! My younger brother would somehow get stranded in a field of stickers without his shoes on and scream for Mom…and she knew I did it. I even tried running away, until I realized that I would miss Moms good cooking and came home before they realized I actually did run away. But that’s it. I did nothing else bad as a child. Unless you count the time I gave Mom yogurt for Christmas, but later got mad at her and ate it. Okay, that’s it. Perfect child after that. Yup!

During a phase of me being nice (it was known to happen) I made Mom breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day when I was fourteen. “Family Circle” gave a delicious recipe for a Mother’s Day breakfast, so I tore out the page and went with Dad the next time he went to pick up groceries. No one, not even Dad, was to know I was doing this for Mom, because I wanted all the glory. I snuck some of the ingredients (after having to make substitutions to particular items) into the shopping cart and “helped” unpack the groceries.

Sunday morning came, and I woke up extra early to make the breakfast: heart shaped lumpy pancakes with peaches and cottage cheese filling, drizzled with maple syrup. Just the thought of it now makes my stomach churn. She probably thought I was trying to poison her. When I came to take the empty plate away, I just knew it would be her favorite breakfast and would want to add the recipe to the “Favorite Recipe” box.

Years later she confided in me that she tried a bite, choked it down, and dumped the rest in the toilet to avoid hurting my feelings. I’m glad she kept that secret from me, but always wondered why she never asked me to make that breakfast again.

This year, I’m just going to give Mom an Egg McMuffin from McDonalds. Cause I’m an angel like that. And she didn't dump me at an orphanage when given the chance.