My mother is a saint. OK. Not really. She DOES have a heart of gold, is extremely generous and thoughtful and has great advice on life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. She also tends toward paranoia, hypochondria and offers her advice unsolicited which makes her a tiny pain in the ass sometimes. (You know it’s true, Mama.)
Last week, when my sister delivered Carly, the Princess rushed to call “Bubs” and invited her over to meet our newest family member. Whatever flaws she had/has as a mother, she totally makes up for by being an awesome, cool, rockin‘ grandma so she dropped what she was doing and came right over.
To. See. A. Tortoise.
When she arrived twenty minutes later, she brought this:
I’ll admit that when I first looked at it, I was all “Oh thanks for the rotten pear, Mother”. Insert eye roll here.
But as she placed it gently on my nasty-ass counter, she explained that she had bought it at the store earlier in the day and knew that I loved pears and that it was beautiful when she left her house just moments earlier.
And it got me to thinking about all the things all of us mothers do for our kids. And how sometimes our very best intentions and efforts are thwarted by mother nature or God or whoever spoils our fruit. I know that often I try to do the right thing – even the BEST thing – for my daughter. And many times I end up with a bruised, rotten, piece of shit.
Once, I let the Princess play hookey and took her out for a nice lunch and a movie. She squirmed and bitched about the food then fell asleep during the movie. I swore under my breath (and probably out loud too) that I WAS NOT DOING ANYTHING NICE AGAIN FOR THIS INGRATE CHILD. EVER.
And in case I forgot to say it: “Sorry, little one. I hope you had fun.”
Years from now, I hope she remembers that day and that it was special even if I was a little bitchy. I know I’ll be remembering this pear forever.
And in case I forgot to say it: “Thank you, Mama.”