Sweet Dreams

Today started like any other. I woke up way too early to go eat a breakfast which somehow never fills me up to my satisfaction, mostly due to my pickyness in breakfast food. I'd skip the whole ordeal altogether except that, whenever I do, I have horrible headaches and feel physically ill until I finally get some nourishment. So I ate breakfast in record time, went back to my room and got re-undressed, and went back to bed. Normally this would be just enough sleep because of the combination of 5 hours before breakfast and 2 after, but on this ill-fated morning, my mother decided to call.

To properly understand this story, you need to know my mom. When we were growing up, she was the kind of person who believed in only-healthy-filled-with-veggies-but-never-in-any-circumstance-dunkaroos for lunch kinda moms. She also went through a phase when I was about eight where we only ate stuff with kamut in it. Until my brother was nine (he's four years younger than me), he never even knew what spaghetti sauce with meat was like. I always felt sorry for him. She was also the kind of mom who only had whole grain cereal, and NEVER Lucky Charms.

My favourite cereal in the whole entire world is Lucky Charms. It is the only cereal I'll eat, and I don't plan on changing my ways any time soon. Not only does it take longer to get soggy than anything not made out of cardboard, but who doesn't like fun, coloured marshmallows with a catchy jingle that never quite leaves your subconscious?

So my mom gave me a call this morning at 9am, a full hour before I needed to be up to become adequately beautiful for my Bible Research class. She had pure motives, so I can't actually be mad.

Two months ago I was in a car accident that not only totaled my car (which my insurance gave me next to zippo for, thus leaving me carless and get-around-like-normal-less), but also wrecked my back...again (I was in a similar accident 2 years ago). So to get to all my numerous massage, physio and doctor appointments, my mom has so awesomely driven me around and made sure that I make it to everything on time. Basically she's wonderful. So when she called this morning, it was just to remind me that she'd be here to pick me up at 1pm. I'm sure I was perfectly polite before I hung up and tumbled back into bed.

So how does this all fit together?
For my birthday this year, my parents bought me the lovely laptop I'm currently typing away on. My brother, being the superb young man that he is (and the poor 16-year-old-without-a-job young man that he is), got me Lucky Charms. It made my life. I screamed louder than for any other gift in the history of time. Even when I pretend I don't, I definitely love him for his thoughtfulness and sensitivity to my needs. My mom rolled her eyes, took a picture, and gave me a look that spelled out my ridiculousness.

The point I'm trying to make is that my mom cares more than most would normally be willing to admit that their mothers care about them. Did she shove kamut down our throats for five years out of hatred? Of course not. Did she deny me my favourite sugary meal of morning glory because she wanted me to be unhappy for all the years I lived in her house? For sure not. And because I didn't rebel and hide a box of my personal cocaine in my closet, I think it's safe to say that I also love her far more than I love those delicious marshmallows.