Cookie Cutter Kid

I know Mother's Day is long past, the gestures and tokens of affection mostly cast off but I am still smarting from the experience. Every year this day rolls around and with it the responsibility of showing my mom just how much I care for her wrapped in a pretty package. At least that what she seems to expect. Maybe it's not a package, maybe it is me visiting and making dinner. Why does it have to be one specific day? Shouldn't I just be able to show my mom how much she means to me whenever I want? But the bulk of the affection has to come on this one day so she can go back to work and brag about what her children did for her on her special day. Unfortunately it seems that no matter how hard I try, the things I do are never perfect enough. I visit and I get the question "Are you making dinner?", I knit up a bag because I think she will like it, I get "Will you make me a scarf, I like the yarn you have on." I want to stay over and visit and I get, "I don't where you're going to sleep." and "Time to wake up, I'm waiting on you." Then she tells me that I didn't say "Happy Nurses Day" and to that I reply "Well, on 10-9 day you didn't say Happy Messenger's Day to me, five years in a row." By this point I wasn't feelin' much in the way of love. I just wanted to leave. I see my friends' moms and sometimes wish they were my mom. I love my mom very much and appreciate the sacrifices she has made for me along the way. This diatibe is not to discredit that. But they way she makes me feel inadequete is the lowest point I can reach. There are points where she displays the utmost compassion and patience but she alludes to me as THE OMEN. I am the source of all havoc. I was a bit troubled but nothing out of the ordinary. I kept my artistic punk rock bent, never smoked or tried drugs, drank or was arrested. I did my share of rabble rousing and carousing about. Mom always said never be a cookie cutter kid. And I wasn't, I was the oatmeal raisin in a batch of chocolate chips. Shouldn't she be proud of me? And in that pride try to realize her daughter is only human and doing the best she can to keep herself together. I don't have some neat button to wrap this up with. I started this blog to air some stuff and share some stuff, reevaluate my writing and make myself feel a little less lonely. I don't want to have to keep things under my hat until I am ninety years old and let the grievences go with my dying breath. Life is too short to hold grudges. This isn't about blame and the assignation of it. There is my rant. So here I will let go. WHOOSH!