at the center of the world

There's a statue of a girl.

It's from a Bright Eyes song, I'm not weird.

Today is the mom's birthday. The other day I called her "momtard" and she got real angry at me, saying "I didn't call my mom names like that" and "Vanessa, that's not funny." But I was just joking, you know how I like to make names like that. But for your viewing pleasure, today I'll call myself Vanessatard. Because that's how I signed my mom's present.

Here's the woman who will never read this, and who will never know more than I can express, and I don't express much at all.

Here's to the woman who makes the worst jokes at the worst occassions, but she's just trying to make the situation funny. We get it, but sometimes, we're like MOM. NO.

Here's to the woman who moves furniture while we're gone, only to come home and the whole house is rearranged, she carried them even after she got her surgery, maybe that's why she kept bleeding.

Here's to the alarm going off at 4:30 in the morning. Waking up to see the woman getting ready for work.

Here's to the woman who buys McDonald's like it's a cure for sadness on a rainy day. Trying to cheer her kids up one french fry at a time, but it's no problem to me, because I only remember the days mom and I went to go run errands all day and when it came to lunch and she was too busy to cook, she'd bring us to eat those french fries.

Here's to the woman who is faithful to her husband. Loving each other for all these years. Both of them watching each other lie in a hospital bed for several days, all this happening within a few months of each other.

Here's to the woman I call my mother, the one I used to scorn when I didn't feel like living, but I realized that hurt her to know she couldn't keep us happy. And how was it her fault that she gave birth to a brat? Or that the brat didn't want to live.

Here's to the woman who cares too much, overcares, if you will. And maybe she doesn't care enough about the world, but she cares too much about her world. Of course not necessarily a bad thing. Because this is the world that keeps her feet hurting day after day, and makes her brothers and sisters go through shit.

Here's to the woman who is mostly smiles. Most of the time I see her. Like when I come home from the city on weekends with new stories of my adventures. Half smiles, half concern.

Here's to the woman that is my mother. The one I was born to, and I didn't have a choice, but I have a feeling if I had the choice I'd still pick her. But I'd be better behaved. Here's to her on her birthday, we still haven't found the perfect present, and of course, they will get bigger and better, but perfect? Will we ever find it...won't stop till we drop. Maybe the perfect present to get her is the life she wants. The one where she doesn't have to come home from 12 hour days and absent mind and sore feet. My sister and I are workin on it.

Happy birthday, mom.