When I was a baby, my mother was taking a nap with me on the bed and when she woke up, I wasn’t there. Apparently I had fallen off the bed and rolled under it. I was still asleep when she found me.
When I was a kid, about 5 or 6, my mother would take me to work with her all the time. She was getting her PhD in agricultural engineering (if you’ll excuse me, I believe my Midwest is showing) and worked in a lab filled with chemicals and hazard signs. I vividly remember her telling me not to touch anything because the chemicals were so dangerous they would burn a hole through my skin. I think she demonstrated on a paper towel.
She biked me to elementary school one day in the pouring rain.
We were on the way to summer camp once when she got pulled over by a cop for running a stop sign, even though she actually did stop. He gave her a ticket, so she took him to court and won.
She breaks things a lot and tells horrible jokes and yells even when she’s not angry. She also puts my happiness above her own and tells me all the time how proud she is of me and sends me care packages because she thinks I don’t eat enough.
This is my mother. I love her and she’s perfect.
For Mother’s Day this year, I sent her some cookies instead of a bouquet. I know she would rather eat flowers than put them in a vase. I painted them by hand and suddenly understood how painters could take years to finish their paintings.
Art is hard!
To make the flower field, I piped the border and flooded the cookie with white. After it dried, I brushed on a layer of blue for the sky, and then green for the grass. For the clouds, I dipped a crumbled up paper towel in the white icing and dabbed it onto the cookie. I dipped a brush green food coloring diluted with a tiny bit of water for the grass and did the same for the flower outlines in their respective colors.
And what’s Mother’s Day without some bouquets? They’re not perfect, but that’s the wonderful thing about parents, about mothers – they’ll still love you even if you’re not perfect. Even if you can’t paint and your roses end up looking like tulips.