This year, I thought it would be a neat idea to let my kids post something for Mother’s Day because their Mom isn’t my Mom and as much as I could go on about how wonderful a mother my wife is, and I could, I (and she) would much rather prefer on such a day to let breakfast in bed and a generous use of my debit card do my talking.
Today is my wife’s day to enjoy and be honor her for being a Mom. What better way to show her that honor than with heartfelt words from the two people she carried around for 9 months each, became anemic because of, reminds me how much pain she was in during labor with, and loves. Loves more than any words that could be written down about it. A love that she shows to our kids every day of their lives since the moment she found out she was going to be a Mom.
I hope our girls know just how lucky they are.
So without further ado…Happy Mother’s Day From the Kids.
An original poem
A Poem Just For You, Mom!!!!!!!
MOM means ALICIA
A is for an AMAZING mom.
L is for LOVING.
I is for INCREDIBLY OVERPROTECTIVE.
C is for CUTE and CARING.
I is for IN-STYLE.
A is for ALL OF THE ABOVE.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!!!!!
I love you so much!
An original comic.
If you’re apt to staying up late enough and your cable runs up into the triple digits, then no doubt you have come across the ‘World’s Strong Man’ competition on an ESPN channel. Men like Magnus Ver Magnusson, Jon Pall Sigmarsson, and Mariusz Pudzianowski, whose names are only dwarfed by the size of their biceps launching kegs over 30’ high walls, dead lifting telephone poles, and juggling VW’s all for the chance to test their strength. For good measure and to exert their alpha male position (and possibly avoid having their spleen erupt from their midsections) grunts, screams, and pose downs are also thrown in to highlight their strength.
My wife typically knows when I stayed awake to watch one of the Strong Man competitions because I inevitably try to showcase my strength every chance I get. My dumbbells, not seen for months, make an appearance in our living room. I’ll dead-lift as many of the laundry baskets at one time as I can. I’ll risk dropping the carton of eggs, gallon of milk and squashing the Pop Tarts just to prove to her that I’m strong enough to carry in the two dozen grocery bags sitting in the back of her car. I usually make some sort of snarling sound like a cross between a rhinoceros and a ’69 Camaro with a bad muffler.
It is my way to exert my strength. Granted in this day and age of dads talking about our emotions, complaining about being included, and finally figuring out what all the dials on the washing machine are for, the idea of flexing my muscles is an archaic practice but picking up the flat screen so my wife can dust underneath is an easier test of my strength easier than trying to flick a keg of beer over the garage roof.
I learned this appreciation for feats of strength from my Dad. He had an innate strength to lift and carry things normal humans shouldn’t be able to. This was the image of strength I grew up with, my Dad’s physical strength. What I didn’t realize as I negotiated the solid oak bureau up to the second floor of the house was, what my family would need was strength but not the kind I learned from my Dad. I was going to need my Mom…
Find out how strong my Mom really is for my Mother’s Day post at DADS ROUND TABLE.