On the cusp of Mother’s Day, I thought I’d re-post last year’s reflections on the sacred day. Tomorrow I’ll share with you the new ways I will be canonizing the Captain in honor of the blessed event this Sunday. Be sure to tune in and wear a panty liner. I’m bringing the funny…
It’s official. My brother is my mom’s favorite child. He sealed the deal and took the crown with this year’s Mother’s Day gestures. My sister and I were left in the dust. Lost by a landslide.
We hate him and his photo montage.
I think it’s important to note that last year Matthew’s card was late, forcing “The Captain” to declare an end to the Mother’s Day holiday forever. She wrote her congressman, and the CEO’s of Hallmark and American Greetings, in a one woman effort to strike down this painful event once and for all.
She burned her bra in the front yard in an act of silent protest.
Imagine my surprise when “The Captain” called in tears, barely able to speak with emotion. She had just received my brother’s card in the mail, three days BEFORE the- holiday-formerly-known-as Mother’s Day. The card portrayed a young, tow-headed boy riding away on his bicycle with some sappy-assed saying about how she was always there for him, and how she still is there for him. Wamph wamph waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamph.
She wept as she read his well-crafted words:
To the most incredible woman I know. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother or grandmother for my children. I know that distance separates us, but always know that you are close in my heart. Happy Mother’s Day.
He didn’t stop there. All day my Facebook account is blowing up, people commenting on photos my brother had tagged me in. I log on to find a photo montage paying tribute to “The Captain,” celebrating years of childhood memories, God-awful fashion, and some of the greatest moments of bad hair history.
Suddenly and without warning my gift to “The Captain” faded into obscurity, and with it my hopes of winning the title of favorite child. (In my humble opinion, nothing says “I love you” like IPad for Dummies for Seniors.)
Atta boy, Matty. You are the favorite. You are the star, her prize, her baby boy. You win the battle, but not the war. I’m banking on your procrastinating ways rearing their ugly head just in time for mom’s birthday. I’m working on a custom macaroni necklace that will bring “The Captain” to her knees. You’re done, Matthew. D-O-N-E!