Mom Awards


Dear Editor of all newspapers and Producer of all shows with “World’s Greatest Mother” contests:

  I would like to entitle this letter:  Why my Mom deserves this reward and not the mom who survived five kinds of cancer while raising three special needs children and donating all extra funds to Global Warming research.

Tonight was the father and sons campout with our church.  Dad took my two brothers to play with fire, literally, and I stayed home with my mom.  My mom wanted to make tonight special.  She bought a craft kit to make fairies with and we made two wire figures with flower petal skirts, which I will rip apart tomorrow. 

She took me to the nail salon and I got my nails painted sparkly green with pink flowers on my thumbs.  Then she asked me if I would like to get an ice cream or if I would like to go to a movie.  I said movie and she so wonderfully said ok.

We arrived at the movie theater and looked at the selections.  We live in a small town with one commercial movie theater and one independent theater.  Mom doesn’t take me to the independent theater because they mostly show Michael Moore films or really intense artsy films that she likes to see alone.  We walked by the billboards to see what was showing.  Mom wanted to take me to the latest Brandon Frasier kid flick, but it was only showing at noon.  I had already seen the latest Pixar movie, and she didn’t want to see the movie about the ocean. 
Mom:  Maybe we should rent a movie.  I wouldn’t mind seeing Robin Hood, but it has Russell Crowe so it can’t be appropriate for children.
Me:  I wanna see Iron Man.
Mom:  I think that will be really violent.
Me:  Let’s just watch it.
Mom:  Do you promise not to become a homicidal maniac if I take you to a PG-13 movie?
Me:  Yes.
Mom: ok

My mom buys the tickets and we get popcorn.  We walk over to the butter dispenser.
Me:  Are we going to dinner?
Mom:  Is popcorn not good enough for you?
Me:  What are you putting on the popcorn?
Mom:  Cholesterol.
Me:  I really like cholesterol, Mommy.
Mom:  Everyone does, honey.

We get a really good seat and Mom starts to explain the importance of Robert Downey Jr. to me.
Mom:  We are really going to see this movie because Downey is in it.
Me:  uh-huh
Mom:  I have had a crush on this man since The Pick-up Artist with Molly Ringwald.
Me: uh-huh.  Can I have popcorn?
Mom:  People used to say I look like her when she was the “it” girl in the eighties and I felt as though I should see everything she is in.  I am much less neurotic, though.
Me:  Can I have the Sour Patch Kids?

Now some of you producers may not think this is a movie that a four year old such as myself should go and see.  I would like to reassure you, however.  Nothing actually happens for the first twenty minutes, causing me to become very bored with the film.  My wonderful mom starts to play with my back, causing me to get very sleepy and promises me a toy if I close my eyes and sleep through the very loud and violent parts.  I am a very obedient daughter and fall asleep.   (Please remember this when looking for Perfect Daughter articles).

My Mom realized she should win a prize as she lovingly carried my sleeping body out of the theater as “Highway to Hell” was playing during the closing credits.  She has since confided in me that she has based most of her parenting decisions on this song.

And the final reason why my mom is the best is that although I was completely sound asleep and would have slept through the night had she driven straight home, she still took me to Target and woke me up to go pick out a toy.  She realized that although I was asleep, upon waking in the morning, the first thing I would have asked for was the toy she promised me the night before.  I would not have been happy and may have even pouted.  Loudly.

Thank you for considering my Mom in all future refrigerator give-aways.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s