Dear Mom,
On this Mother’s Day instead of a card I thought I’d apologize for some of the stupid things we did as kids. I’m so sorry Steve and I strapped our youngest brother John into a “space capsule” made from two laundry baskets roped together and sent him rocketing down the stairs after convincing him that astronaut re-entry training would be a fun game to play.
I deeply regret dabbing mayonnaise from the sandwich you made me for the cub scouts’ annual harbor cruise onto my shoulder, and waiting for you to tell me a seagull had crapped on me. Wiping the mayonnaise off with my finger and then tasting it was a rotten trick but the look on your face was truly priceless.
And that time when Steve got sick after we had a contest to see who could keep a beef bullion cube in our mouths the longest- I’m sorry about that one, too.
I know we should have promptly told you that John needed stitches instead of tying strands of his hair together to close the cut on his scalp after his collision with the coffee table, but you and dad were out shopping and John was bleeding and screaming “There’s a hole in my head.” Well, we got the bleeding stopped and even though you didn’t find out until later when you thought that the clotted blood was dirt we really should have confessed sooner.
Remember when Rob got mad because the front end of his train set’s locomotive was dented? Steve and I used to sneak into Rob’s room when he wasn’t there and rearrange his train tracks to launch his locomotive off the end of the table to see how far it would fly. Sorry, mom, and sorry Rob.
Mom, when you and dad put in a pool for us we should have shown our gratitude by swimming responsibly instead of diving in from the patio roof and putting rocks in our pockets while we used dad’s air compressor to breathe underwater-- but kids will be kids.
Nobody remembers paper drives anymore since we all have curbside recycling, but our boy scout troop would have made more money back then if Brett Olin and I hadn’t accidentally ignited the newspapers piled in his backyard while launching our home-made rockets into the tinder-dry canyon behind his house. Sorry about that one, too.
I now realize I shouldn't have suggested that we remove the center leaf from our dining room table and put a 30 gallon trash can under the gap and use paper plates which could easily be shoved directly into the can, saving time and effort previously expended on clearing the table and doing the dishes-- but it sure seemed like a good idea at the time.
Mom, through the years you’ve loved us and laughed with us and we all cherish your quirky way of looking at life. While most mothers gave their kids boring advice like “Always wear clean underwear,” you gave us cryptic proclamations like “We better bring quarters since we might need our jackets.”
Life is not just about clean underwear, mom. It’s about having as much fun as you can without breaking your limbs, getting too sick, bleeding too much, or lighting yourself on fire while shooting off rockets.
Happy Mother’s Day,
Love, Gary
On this Mother’s Day instead of a card I thought I’d apologize for some of the stupid things we did as kids. I’m so sorry Steve and I strapped our youngest brother John into a “space capsule” made from two laundry baskets roped together and sent him rocketing down the stairs after convincing him that astronaut re-entry training would be a fun game to play.
I deeply regret dabbing mayonnaise from the sandwich you made me for the cub scouts’ annual harbor cruise onto my shoulder, and waiting for you to tell me a seagull had crapped on me. Wiping the mayonnaise off with my finger and then tasting it was a rotten trick but the look on your face was truly priceless.
And that time when Steve got sick after we had a contest to see who could keep a beef bullion cube in our mouths the longest- I’m sorry about that one, too.
I know we should have promptly told you that John needed stitches instead of tying strands of his hair together to close the cut on his scalp after his collision with the coffee table, but you and dad were out shopping and John was bleeding and screaming “There’s a hole in my head.” Well, we got the bleeding stopped and even though you didn’t find out until later when you thought that the clotted blood was dirt we really should have confessed sooner.
Remember when Rob got mad because the front end of his train set’s locomotive was dented? Steve and I used to sneak into Rob’s room when he wasn’t there and rearrange his train tracks to launch his locomotive off the end of the table to see how far it would fly. Sorry, mom, and sorry Rob.
Mom, when you and dad put in a pool for us we should have shown our gratitude by swimming responsibly instead of diving in from the patio roof and putting rocks in our pockets while we used dad’s air compressor to breathe underwater-- but kids will be kids.
Nobody remembers paper drives anymore since we all have curbside recycling, but our boy scout troop would have made more money back then if Brett Olin and I hadn’t accidentally ignited the newspapers piled in his backyard while launching our home-made rockets into the tinder-dry canyon behind his house. Sorry about that one, too.
I now realize I shouldn't have suggested that we remove the center leaf from our dining room table and put a 30 gallon trash can under the gap and use paper plates which could easily be shoved directly into the can, saving time and effort previously expended on clearing the table and doing the dishes-- but it sure seemed like a good idea at the time.
Mom, through the years you’ve loved us and laughed with us and we all cherish your quirky way of looking at life. While most mothers gave their kids boring advice like “Always wear clean underwear,” you gave us cryptic proclamations like “We better bring quarters since we might need our jackets.”
Life is not just about clean underwear, mom. It’s about having as much fun as you can without breaking your limbs, getting too sick, bleeding too much, or lighting yourself on fire while shooting off rockets.
Happy Mother’s Day,
Love, Gary
No comments:
Post a Comment