Happy Birthday! This one's rather important, isn't it? I hope the jump into the next decade of your life is a happy one. You'll always be "29" to me. :) (That's kind of odd to think about since I'll be 29 this year....) Since I did a birthday post for Dad, I've been thinking about what I wanted to say for yours. Let me tell you . . . finding a time to write this when both girls are asleep, and I don't need to be anywhere immediately afterward was tricky. The last thing I need is mascara running down my sad, sleep-deprived face when I run out the door. I hope you don't need to go anywhere either because we both know what's going to happen. :)
. . . and it doesn't matter how important the day or how photogenic we need to be. It's going to happen. Oh why did the photographer tell us to look at each other?!
I've been thinking about all of the things you've taught me over the years, and a million things come to mind. How can anyone list what their mother, the most influential person in a child's life, has taught them? I can only try.
I have you (and grandma, which is where you got it) to thank for my love of food and cooking. You made us dinner almost every night, but more importantly, you made us eat together as a family. That time together was really important to our family, and it's something that I'll continue to do with my own.
I have you (and grandma, which is where you got it) to thank for my love of food and cooking. You made us dinner almost every night, but more importantly, you made us eat together as a family. That time together was really important to our family, and it's something that I'll continue to do with my own.
Ah yes. . . those infamous orange curtains. I wonder if this picture was taken before or after Dev spilled chocolate milk all over them?
You taught me how to clean. You wouldn't let me quit piano lessons (thanks again by the way). You let me do things that I know were really hard on you -- like go to Russia. I still remember the look on your face when I told you where it was I wanted to go. You'll always be my favorite shopping buddy, too . . . though not for reasons you might think. :)
I tend to give inanimate objects names and personalities. ("Ruby", my Kitchen-Aid mixer, is the diva of my kitchen.) I totally get that from you. You're also the only one who has convinced me so far to love an animal like a younger sibling.
I like that we think alike, and that I can always make you laugh, even if I'm not really that funny. I'm glad that you listen, too. And that you encourage me to make my own decisions (although I know on the inside you're rooting for one side). I don't usually call up people just to chat, but you're one of maybe three who I call for no reason.
I should have trusted you more when I was dating, and I'm also glad you weren't outspoken about who you didn't like. (Would I have listened? Probably not.) I appreciate that you just wanted me to be happy, no matter who I ended up with. As I look back on the guys I dated, and I think of who I sensed you didn't care for, you were totally right. What the heck was I thinking? Aren't we relieved I ended up with a good one?
. . . to help give you guys gorgeous grandchildren? :)
You taught me that I should never say no when offered a church calling nor asked to be released, but to serve my best for as long as I'm needed. You taught me to turn to the Lord when I have problems, and that if I just trust Him, everything works out the way it should. And it has so far.
I'm sure I'm missing a whole lot of things, but one of the most important things you taught me was to be a good mom. We had our rough spots (sorry...), but I never doubted that you loved me. I've always thought it was a shame that kids don't realize how hard it is being a parent until they're parents themselves. I guess that's the way it's supposed to be. One by one, things you told me growing up that I'd understand when I'm a mom are starting to make sense. And it serves me right that I have a little girl with an attitude. Maybe Karma does exist.
I tend to give inanimate objects names and personalities. ("Ruby", my Kitchen-Aid mixer, is the diva of my kitchen.) I totally get that from you. You're also the only one who has convinced me so far to love an animal like a younger sibling.
I like that we think alike, and that I can always make you laugh, even if I'm not really that funny. I'm glad that you listen, too. And that you encourage me to make my own decisions (although I know on the inside you're rooting for one side). I don't usually call up people just to chat, but you're one of maybe three who I call for no reason.
I should have trusted you more when I was dating, and I'm also glad you weren't outspoken about who you didn't like. (Would I have listened? Probably not.) I appreciate that you just wanted me to be happy, no matter who I ended up with. As I look back on the guys I dated, and I think of who I sensed you didn't care for, you were totally right. What the heck was I thinking? Aren't we relieved I ended up with a good one?
. . . to help give you guys gorgeous grandchildren? :)
I love that I get compliments on you. I've been told by a lot of people that I have a beautiful, young, & spunky mom. It's true. I do. I've always been proud to have you around. And you look amazing for your age. Honest.
You taught me that I should never say no when offered a church calling nor asked to be released, but to serve my best for as long as I'm needed. You taught me to turn to the Lord when I have problems, and that if I just trust Him, everything works out the way it should. And it has so far.
I'm sure I'm missing a whole lot of things, but one of the most important things you taught me was to be a good mom. We had our rough spots (sorry...), but I never doubted that you loved me. I've always thought it was a shame that kids don't realize how hard it is being a parent until they're parents themselves. I guess that's the way it's supposed to be. One by one, things you told me growing up that I'd understand when I'm a mom are starting to make sense. And it serves me right that I have a little girl with an attitude. Maybe Karma does exist.
Now that I'm nice and weepy, I better stop. I hope you have a great birthday, and that you didn't mind me "putting this in the newspaper". Haha . . . Dad cracks us up, doesn't he? I wish I could give you a hug. Mostly I wish I could get a hug from you. I don't think I'll ever get too old to love hugs from my mom.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!
Love,
Your sassy little firstborn
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!
Love,
Your sassy little firstborn
3 comments:
What a sweet post - I would be crying if I was your mom, too! (And we all know she cried when she read this - I love your mom. Seriously.)
That picture of you two at your wedding is priceless. I love it!
I LOVE the picture of you two crying at your wedding. I remember that day and that moment and that picture and right at that moment I missed my mom. You two are wonderful!
You have no idea who I am, but occasionally I check up on your blog, and I try a lot of your recipes from perry's plate. Thanks by the way. I just wanted to tell you how sweet that message to your mother was. If I wrote one for my mother, it would probably say a lot of the same things. The shopping partner, the calling just to chat, and mostly the hugs. Now you've made me cry thinking of my mother—I just left all my family a few days ago and am now back on my own. Thanks for your blog.
PS, I grew up in the Bay Area, I miss it (Pleasanton)
Megan
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