Mostly True Memoirs
Happy birthday, Mom.
She’s been gone for many years now.
I make a chicken tetrazzini dinner every year to celebrate her birthday.
Part of the tradition involves the Grown Sons complaining bitterly about the mushrooms.
This year, emboldened by his pending move to his own apartment, one Grown Son rudely declared, “Those mushrooms smell like the dog’s a$$hole.”
This led to an animated discussion about how in the world he came to know that particular bit of information.
Grandma would have thoroughly enjoyed this conversation.
In no particular order of preference, Mom loved:
- Her grandkids
- Sauteed mushrooms
- A well-placed insult
If anyone ever wonders what it’s like to be a boymom, it can be summed up as a lively discussion about the dog’s a$$hole while lovingly preparing Grandma’s birthday dinner.
Happy birthday, Mom, I miss you every day.