It's cool

It’s the middle of summer. The leaves outside the window are thick and green, and the weather is so hot. I was born on a day like this—how did my mom give birth to me in such heat?

After my morning jog, my younger child had prepared breakfast—hash browns, bacon, and scrambled eggs. Then my older child handed me a gift box and said,

“Happy birthday, Mom.”

I looked at my husband.

“Don’t you have anything for me?”

“I treat every day like your birthday. Still, let’s eat out tonight,” 

he replied.

“You two have always been such good kids,” I said. “Like your dad said, every day has felt like my birthday or Mother’s Day because of you. Thank you.”

I thought breakfast and the gift were it, but then came more surprises—sweet words from the kids.

“Mom, you’re so cool.”

“Really? What’s so cool about me?”

“My friends say their moms always bother them.”

“I bother you too, don’t I?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Aww, thank you. Since I gave birth to you, the least I can do is not make your life hard. If I ever do bother you, please tell me—I’ll fix it.”

At first, I was happy to hear I was “cool”—I thought they meant I was stylish or awesome. But it turns out they just meant I don’t nag them! Maybe they’re just trying to stop me from ever nagging again. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I’m confused. After hearing that I’m a “cool” mom, how can I even start nagging now?

If I could hear my own mom’s nagging just once more, I’d have no more wishes left. I try to remember exactly what she used to say, but it’s all so faint now. Back then, her words annoyed me—but now I feel like precious memories of love.

She would wrap me up in my blanket and push me to the cold corner of the room when I refused to wake up.

“How can you be so lazy? What do you think you’ll become?”

She worried about me. She would sigh as she picked up the clothes I left scattered around the room instead of putting them in the laundry bin. If I woke up late and tried to go out in the evening wearing a miniskirt, she’d say from behind,

“Where are you going again?”

And when I came home heartbroken after being dumped by a boyfriend, she would comfort me:

“You’re too good for him. That’s why he couldn’t handle you.”

She was a warm, loving mom.

Just for today—my birthday—I want to curl up like I was still in her womb, lying down all day with my knees pulled in. When I close my eyes, a soft smile spreads across my face as I picture her nagging again.

My mom—she was the one person in the world who treated me the best. Ah, how I long to return to that warm home under the roof where she once was.