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Thank you for going with me when he wouldn’t.
For letting me be the over-the-top ham that I can be sometimes.
For driving me to drama class and sitting through every last swim practice.
For teaching me how to dress. Ahem.
For putting my hair in rag curls and playing beauty parlor with Lea and me.
For giving me a sister, even though, after the nightmare that was me, you didn’t want any more babies.
For wrapping my presents with all-different loud wrapping papers, so each one looked as if it was sent by a different friend or elf.
For throwing birthday parties for me, lighting all the candles, and always encouraging me to sing.
For driving when the other mothers wouldn’t, for helping me with all the school projects that involved food, especially when you taught me how to make fried spring rolls!
Thank you for letting me crawl into bed with you. Just hearing you breathe made me feel better.
Thank you for being mine. I love you Mommy.

Just before I read to my children I announce that it’s story time and match the words up to the sign language. Now I can simply do the sign, and they dart to the book shelf and look up, waiting. "Are You My Mother?" is a small book I’ve been reading to them over and over lately. A baby bird is born, and his mother is off finding some food. The baby bird wants to find his mother. "Are you my mother?" he asks a kitten. I meow until Abigail meows back. I cluck like a hen, then moo like the "vaca." I say all the animals in both Spanish and English, following with the sounds the animals make. I’ve even learned to do an enviable elephant. I come to a page where the baby bird is convinced his mother is a scary "snort" (a bulldozer-like crane). Just as I’m about to snort, Lucas comes over and begins to snort, just like a little round pigglet. Abigail stares. He snorts again. I snort. Abigail giggles. Then she runs away. She races back for the very last page, scooting her way into my lap.

"I" I whisper to them both, "am YOUR mother."