M is for Mom.
Mom, whose mere presence at my house means that, suddenly, the morning alarm is actually functional and not just a sound-production device.
Mom, who will give me an hour-long lecture about portion control and eating in moderation, and then proceed to offer me more food from her own plate.
Mom, whose quick-fire way to end the “I love you”/”I love you more” conversation is to just shout “Infinity!”, because that apparently trumps everything.
Mom, who’s barely aware of Netflix or the concept of binge-watching, but has done exactly that through two full Pakistani TV shows.
Mom, who will think and think during her turn at family Scrabble, sigh loudly, declare she has absolutely nothing, think another two minutes, and then after prodding from the rest of the family, proceed to make a perfectly decent word.
Mom, who possibly likes window shopping more than actual shopping.
Mom, whose cooking is always a perfect balance between healthy and delicious.
Mom, who can never have enough hand towels. (Seriously, it’s a problem. Send help.)
Mom, who hates making decisions (I know where I get this from), making ordering at restaurants a particularly arduous, lengthy ordeal.
Mom, who I’ll have fierce arguments with, but who is always in just as much of a hurry as me to hug and make up.
Mom, who, after spending my whole childhood complaining that I was too clingy, will now walk hand-in-hand with me on the roads.
Mom, who ends every text conversation with a kissy-face emoji.
Mom, who is 99% more likely to buy an item if there’s a free gift, even if she has no use for the free gift.
Mom, who, lying in bed at midnight playing solitaire on her iPad, brain cells fully stimulated, will complain that she can’t fall asleep.
Mom, who just needs to start reading a book in bed to solve her insomnia issue. Lights out in five minutes.
Mom, who takes approximately 38 minutes to craft the first line of an email to her brother.
Mom, who, when I explain the meaning of a swear word, will repeat the word loudly. In public.
Mom, who “reads” newspapers mainly to see what good deals the local supermarket has that week. Oh, and for the Sudoku.
Mom, whose phone is always out of charge.
Mom, whose visits always ensure a crapload of productivity and a sudden emergence of time to do useful things.
Mom, who makes me snack boxes in the mornings to take to work.
Mom, who’s my joy, my strength, my inspiration.
I love you, Mom.