oh, mom


I adore my mom. I love some Patsy. One of my favorite things about her growing up was that she was content loving and serving our family. She cooked and cleaned and mothered and I rarely remember her complaining. She made it all seem easy even though I know it wasn’t.


mom and Luke 


But I ran across this picture recently and feel the need to ask her some tough questions. I envision her less than 5 foot tall self in the 1970’s at an Olan Mills studio pleading with me to smile – not that cheesy smile – but a ladylike smile. It didn’t seem to work.


And though I couldn’t express it then, I will now.

* Does this look like a bikini body to you?

* Why does my bathing suit resemble a stain glass church window?

*  Why is there a real column but a fake fence?

* This shag rug is very itchy in all the wrong places.

* Where is my shovel and pail?

* Dad would have never done this to me.

Even in your lapse of judgment mom, I still think you’re the best.