Remember that one time you were doing crunches or something on the floor of the apartment? And I wanted to cross the room to the futon? But you were in the way? And I ended up falling butt-first on your face?
Remember when you dragged me out of bed to watch the NASA satellite lauch? From our balcony? And the earth shook?
Remember when I walked down the aisle at your wedding? I was flower girl? And I was trying so hard to walk in a straight line for you that I ruined all the pictures by staring fiercely at the floor?
Remember when I got in trouble by making a friend’s dog poop on the carpet? Because I decided to bark at it and chase it around the dining room table?
Remember when you told me I was going to have a dad?
Remember when we moved to Pittsburgh? And it was my first time seeing snow and your first time as a housewife?
Remember when I used to tape random fabric around my feet? And act like some fancy snoot with pursed lips?
Remember when you didn’t tell me to go stand under the tree?
Remember “Crocodile Rock”? And “Rubber Ducky”? And “My Girl”?
Remember when you taught me how to type properly? When I was six?
Remember when you’d grade my high school papers? And they’d bleed red?
Remember when you edited my cover letter last week? And it bled red?
I love you, Mom.
Happy (belated) birthday.