Mom, for all you do...this blog post's for you!

Dear Mom,

For Mother's Day this year, I'm not buying you a tea kettle, a sweater, a blanket, flowers, a book or dinner. I'm not even making a donation in your name like I've done in the past. This year, you get nothing.

Bupkiss...Zilch...Nada...Squat.

Know why?

Because I love you. And, no gift could convey that better than a not-so personal letter on the Internet. Oh yeah, plus every gift I ever gave you pretty much ended up stashed in the family room closet. Tell me. When you and Dad remodeled the family room and leveled that closet, what happened to all the shiz I bought you? I'll have to search the attic next time I'm home. With my new-found chai addiction, I could really use a tea kettle right now. Starbucks is getting expensive. So, I write this hyped on caffeine. But, look at it this way. At least I had the sense to write it at 11am today instead of 8pm tonight when I'll most likely be hyped up on Magic Hat #9 or the like. It's been a long week.

So, without further ado, Mom, this blog post's for you.

They say a child's love is unconditional. And, now that I have kids, I know that has to be true. But, you really put the saying to the test by:

• giving me poindexter bangs in 2nd grade.
• making me look like a goober in that awful green dress for my 4th grade pictures.
• refusing to take me to see John Stamos at the Allentown Fairgrounds
• losing me on the beach

Admittedly, no one would ever blame you for that last one. I'm sure most Moms would have tried to ditch me on the dunes. I was not an easy child. I drew on walls. I painted bathroom cabinets with toothpaste and spread the noodles from my chicken soup under the couch. I also remember finding Dad's love notes to you and bursting into passage during the most inopportune times -- like when your friends were over. "Gee, why didn't you call me?"

I also tried to steal a neighbor's bike, filled that same neighbor's mailbox with a sandwich and shaving cream, peed in your friend's pool and spit mouthwash on Sujal's carpet once -- maybe twice. Not sure you knew about any of those. But, if you did, a mother's love must be unconditional, too. I'm thankful for that and for much, much more.

You're young at heart.
I'm amazed with how you're able to keep up with the kids. Given Madan's speed, that's no easy feat. You have such patience, doing crafts with Kaila for hours or baking cookies on demand. You have never been one to just "watch" the kids, you're always part of the action. Whether it's chasing them, tickling them, giving them pony rides or having an impromptu pillow fight -- with my expensive Pottery Barn pillows! For that, you should have been given a time out. But, for that, the kids simply adore you. Thank you.

You're a wonderful sport.
Whether it's enduring my ridiculous faux Indian accent during dinner, getting teased for letting Dad install make-shift bidets on the toilets (which are seriously high-powered and could wash a car) or allowing Kaila to "help" you with Sudoku, nothing phases you. You keep cool and roll with the punches, laughing and smiling the whole way. Thank you.

You are selfless.
When Madan was born, you spent weeks with me, letting me recover from my c-section. But, I think you took it too far when you yelled, "SONALI! PUT THAT MILK DOWN. YOU SHOULD NOT LIFT ANYTHING. IDIOT!" Then, when he was a few months old, and for some reason hooted like an owl nonstop (remember that?), you took over night-time feedings when I was wiped out. When Madan was 6 months old and too sick for daycare, you cared for him day and night so I could work while Mike was in Cleveland.

Whenever we visit, you cook delicious meals for us, clean up after us and let me sleep in while you take care of the kids, giving me a most-appreciated break. People think Hawaii is the ultimate vacation. Not me. Going "home" gives me the energy I need to resume my daily Mom duties. You put your life and everything you need to do on hold to cater to us. If I can even be half the Nani you are, my kids will be incredibly fortunate. Thank you.

You are the most incredible cook.
How does a life-long vegetarian cook chicken to perfection? How are you able to make mouthwatering meatballs? Is there anything you can't make taste good? This will always confound me. I try to replicate your recipes and follow your instructions to a Tee. But, something is always amiss in taste. Are you holding out on me? Am I not ready to know the secrets of the Guju cook? I own Garam Masala. I own Tumeric. I have curry in my lazy susan. I've made purchases at Indian grocery stores and endured their chastising: "You don't know how to cook Indian food? Tsk. Tsk." I am worthy of your knowledge! Okay, regardless, thank you for making mouths water.

You can dance and believe in the powers of Neti...etc.
I'm so blessed to have inherited your dance moves rather than Dad's. It's incredibly hard to do the twist to Lady GaGa. And, I love how you read newspapers and magazines and freely impart your knowledge whether I want it or now. "You make fun of pranayam, but you do these breathing exercises and you will have NO allergies. Instead of making fun and suffering like idiot, try it." or "Almonds are so healthy for you. Just keep them in a jar and eat a handful when you get hungry. You don't like almonds? You are idiot. You don't like anything healthy."

So, for all you do, this post's for you. There's no one else who does it, quite the way you do...Thank you for being an incredible Mother, a wonderful Nani and cherished friend. You mean everything to me and the family. We are lucky to have you in our world.

P.S. Okay, yes, yes, yes. You are right. I know you just said to Dad, "She realized it was Friday and no gift would get here on time so she wrote letter. How stupid does she think I am?" But, isn't this post better than that really sappy Hallmark card I bought you once? Or the blanket? Or the tea kettle? At least you won't have to hide this in a closet!

P.P.S. Is it still okay if we dump the kids on you while we're in Costa Rica this summer?