Mom, I See You Before Christmas Dinner

Christmas dinner would come. We’d sit down for a fancy schmancy dinner, a multi-step main course being excitedly researched and prepared by my dad. We enjoyed some stellar works of art, and some not-so-great masterpieces (*ahem* salt crusted somethingorother). Always from scratch, with the highest quality ingredients.
Come New Years, if my parents went to a party to celebrate, it was with my dad’s connections. He’s a great party-goer, always good for a joke, a killer drink, and sometimes a little ditty about Paddy’s recent accident or a prize-winning Scotsman.
Mom, I see you.
 On Christmas, I see the thoughtfulness, the consistency, the useful nature of your gifts. You spent months, shopping sales and having us on your heart while spoiling us with your dedication to us.
I also see the sweaters you bought for me when I was cold. I see the shoes you bought when I ruined my other ones from dragging them while riding my bike. I see the pants, the hair ties, the diorama material…
Mom, I see you.
At Christmas dinner, I see you grocery shopping in a madhouse to buy the green beans, the potatoes, and the dinner rolls. I see you clean the kitchen, I see you peeling the potatoes and snapping the green beans.
I also see the meals you made me every day that doesn’t have a Hallmark Card for it. I see you spending your time menu planning, grocery list making, and shopping.
Mom, I see you.
I see you being the one the jokes, the drinks, and the telling of Paddy’s tale of woe is practiced on. I see you being there, always by our sides, loving, supporting, and being a constant. I see you smiling, even when you think we can’t see you.
Mom, I see you.
And I love you.
Happy Mother’s Day.