Dear Mom: thank you.
Did you hear that?
I see you. I appreciate you.
I know you’re tired.
Yes, I know you’re tired, and I’m probably hella late in saying this, so I’ll say it again: thank you.
Thank you for being my teammate in this life.
Thank you for driving me to soccer practice for years and years. And thank you for letting me quit when it was time.
Thank you for driving to another state to help me clean up the shattered bits of my heart after a horrific “romance.”
Thank you for driving me home.
Thank you for teaching me to love Fleetwood Mac and N.W.A.
Thank you for not getting angry when I didn’t take that flight home when I should’ve.
Thank you for making breakfast, lunch, and dinner…every night.
And for every other single mom:
I can’t say I know what it’s like to be in your shoes, but I can say thank you. You find strength on the nights you probably don’t have anything left in the tank.
You juggle work-life and mom-life; you attempt to have a social life but also need to do the simple things like taking a dang shower in peace.
You deal with homework assignments, dioramas, diarrhea, hormones, cleaning, dog hair, doctor appointments, anxiety, and more cleaning.
You probably feel unnoticed and unappreciated. You’re doing it alone.
You try not to let your childhood sh*t bleed onto your own child.
You try to keep us from making the same mistakes you already have. And then you have to watch us make them anyway.
You show up when you could be living in Bali for a quarter of the price—drinking skinny margaritas with new friends and some guy named Joe. (Maybe not the last part, but you catch my drift.)
You share your bed when your aching back could probably use the extra space.
I could go on and on, but I’ll just leave you with another thank you.
(P.S. I’m sorry for painting the couch with every color of nail polish we owned. I’m sorry for pulling your skirt up in Baja Fresh. And I’m sorry for cutting my and my friends’ hair in school. And I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t tell you how much I love you.)