The things we take for granted
This Mother’s Day, let’s commemorate the little things our moms have done for us.
My parents made such a poor attempt at making me believe in Santa Claus. The first time I got his gift, I told my mom I didn’t like it. She then suggested that I return the gift where I got it from, so Santa could come back and replace it with something else. I hid at the corner of the room as I watched my Santa Claus replace the gift to a doll house. I kept pointing out to my mom that I knew what she did, but she insisted that the fat man and her were just very close. Even though she kept denying it to my suspicious four year old self, I’ve always known that she’s my Santa Claus who made things happen.
They’re a bit hazy in my memory, but I know I lived an amazing childhood. My mom bought face paint to turn ourselves into clowns, I egged our entire house, and had birthday parties thrown in school. My mom would spend the night to prepare cutomized loot bags for my friends and take a leave off work to pump air into balloons. Santa Claus got nothing on my mom.
I was such a New York love-child when I was little — I roamed the streets with my bicycle, complained very loudly and always carried jingling coins in my pocket. Playing with neighborhood kids their own age is very important to children, on the flip side, however, the hood can bring them possible dangers. I’ve worried my parents countless times when I played outdoors. I cut and wounded my knees like clockwork, so it’s the least daunting thing they had to deal with. I almost got hit by cars when I raced my bicycle and climbed trees I couldn’t climb off from. I once came home in a ghastly bleeding forehead. The blood showered down my entire face, like a horror movie character that has risen from the dead. I had one hand on my bike and the other on my bleeding forehead as I yelled for my mom. I wouldn’t stop screaming as they performed first aid because I have never seen so much blood in my entire life. A couple of hours later, I was sat in the back seat of our car, tired and nauseous. My mom had me wrapped around her arms as she continually whispered, “don’t fall asleep, okay?”
It amuses me how my mom and I are so similar. It’s as if our brains function and process in such an identical manner that there’s no need to bother opening our mouths. When I was nine, she came home with a bunch of DVDs and just left them by the television. I felt like she had read my mind when I found the selection. Excitedly, I ran to her and asked how she knew what movies I liked and without missing a beat, she just goes, “because I’m your mommy.” It did not mean so much to me then, but as I grew older I realized the kind of connection I had with her. My mom made me wear a lot of unisex clothing that can be handed down to my younger brother when I was between the ages of seven to eleven. I had black shoes, basketball shorts, and an NBA backpack when I’ve never even seen a single game in my entire life. I never complained about it, but my dad did. I think they even had an argument about my mom dressing me like a little boy but looking back, I would definitely side with her. Why would I want to spend a fortune on clothing that my child will easily grow out, anyway? My mom enjoyed DIY crafts and is quite of a money-saver as she pocketed my dad’s spare changes. I must have learned from the best because I leeched on discount coupons, freebies and would constantly claim that I’m broke when I actually have money in my wallet.
Despite her thriftiness, she was very extra when it came to costumes, parties and dress-ups. I wore very stunning gowns, of my own choice, to prom. My mom and I would visit the seamstress at least twice a week to check up on the progress and to make sure that it looked exactly as we wanted. I went as Mary Poppins for one of our scholastic book fair in high school. We had a miscommunication with the seamstress, so when we came to the shop to pick up the dress, she had barely started on anything. I’m not sure if I cried, but I can be a little dramatic sometimes. I sat in the corner as my mom helped the tailor make my dress from scratch the night before I need it. It must have been a stressful time for me, yet my mom did it all with a smile — she chatted with the seamstress and bought snacks like she was doing it all for leisure.
My mom and I enjoyed shopping, too — for shoes, clothes, accessories and other material things that aren’t basic human needs. Sometimes, I would trick her into buying something for herself, when I actually intend to borrow it for all eternity. As I’ve said, our brains are like identical twins, so she could easily read my mind and figure what I’m up to. Instead of saying no, she would just let me manipulate her and negotiate on a piece we could actually share. On top of that, she kept spoiling me with stuff I wanted; it could either be because she loved me or because I can be so painfully persistent. Although we enjoyed the mall a lot, we fought like crazy at home because of clothes. I would take pieces from her closet, wear it to school and constantly deny my theft to her face. She wasn’t exactly mad because I borrowed a shirt, but it was the fact that I keep going through her closet and complaining that I have nothing to wear (please, mom, every girl can relate to this).
I wouldn’t make a very effective homemaker; I don’t do chores, I sleep a lot and I cry easily. My mom, on the other hand, is a superhero. She attended work in the morning and did housework in the evening. Between all these, she still had time to manage the remodeling of our kitchen, plan our weekend trip and pick up clothes from the laundry. If I didn’t know her, I would assume that she’s a tireless robot. I was too stubborn to learn basic house chores, like cooking, so I am now an adult who wouldn’t survive with raw meat in the freezer. Every Sunday night, my mom would prepare homemade meals I can take when I leave for my condo, so she’s confident that I wouldn’t starve to death. She’s very much convinced that all I ever eat are Subway sandwiches and Starbucks beverages — which is true. However, she kept telling me that my body needed a variety of nutritious foods and to make sure that I’m getting all that, she’d prepare packed meals for the week that I can easily toss in the microwave.
However healthy I claim to be, I have passed out multiple times for drinking too much tequila. My mom said that I must have gotten it from my dad as it also happened to him a lot when he was younger. On all occasions, she somehow managed to carry my drunk ass inside the house. I once puked on my bedroom floor and passed out on hers. She cleaned after the disgusting mess I’ve made and only complained about how I didn’t make a run for the bathroom the next day. The first time I ever came home dead drunk, I woke up to her yelling at my face. Her voice drowned into the feeling of hot soup going down my throat and the constant feeling of wanting to vomit. No matter how angry I make her for not knowing how to control my alcohol, she’d still be willing to drive back the next day to the same bar she found me passed out on, just to claim my eyeglasses from the lost and found department.
We spend so much of our life on the fast lane that the small things usually go unnoticed. Mother’s Day is a great day to commemorate this simple things our moms do for us. Motherhood is a responsibility, but it is also an innate feeling. A lot of the important and memorable things my mom did are the ones I didn’t even ask for. They are the ones she knew I needed before I even figured it out on my own. I may have not gotten the magical imagination of Santa Claus in my childhood, but I’m glad I figured out that it has always been my mom.
Happy Mother’s Day to all moms out there, most especially to the one that means the most to me. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me, especially for the little ones I often failed to acknowledge. I love you and I can only dream of becoming half the woman you are.
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