This week commemorates my birth. What day exactly...I may not say. But, if you look to the left the age will tell. If you know my mom you'll know the date, cause I was born on her very own 25th birthday. I've decided to dedicate my writings this week to stories about my Mom. But, please do not expect this to be warm and glowing prose about the woman from whose loins I did grow. I've tried to think of some, and I'll think some more, but sad to say none are in store.
I can think of funny things -- like the time she sneezed and her teeth flew across the room. Or, when she lost them in a wave at the beach. The pranks we (her children) so enjoy playing on her even as adults.
I can think of sad things -- like growing up without her love and guidance. And many others that I'm not sure I'll be able to tell.
I can think of angry things -- like when she's said the most inappropriate things.
But warm and glowing maternal memories? I can't think of one.