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Home: The Toast

MomTriedBest

My Mother, Who Did Her Best

 

You picked me up when I was down (on the floor, with a busted knee, after playing slip-n-slide in the hallway while you were screwing with the DVR)

You knew what was best for me (especially if I was whiny and we were in the car, driving past a McDonald’s)

You supported me in all my endeavors (except for that one v-ball game you missed where I cahrussshed it!)

You put me before your own needs (and waited to smoke a bowl until I was already in bed)

You showed me the meaning of love (by taking me to get my moustache waxed so I wouldn’t get teased by my middle-school classmates)

You gave me strength to be my own person (who knows when times get tough, I still have Binkie The Bear and the puffy comforter you bought for Christmas to protect me from the rest of this uncharitable world)

You made me Me (congrats!?!)


LikesJobToo

Mom, Who Likes Her Job, Too

 

In our home, there is the kitchen

Where you add zip, zest and zing

And then there is your desk

Where I watch you do your own thing

 

I get to learn you have more purpose

Your identity isn’t just about me

You show me mothers are complicated

There are many sides of women to see

 

I may not have your steady focus

But that’s fine, I’ll be okay

And not some spoiled little turd

With always something important to say

 ***

WasntSureKids

For the New Mom Who Wasn’t Sure She Wanted to Be a Mom

 

J-O-Y. It’s what you now have because you are a mother. What you would never know, if you weren’t. Sure, you may not be happy, according to all the studies, but look at all the J-O-Y you possess now that your hemorrhoids have cleared up and your taint has healed. That baby is pretty damn cute. And you probably never realized you could be so selfless, or so tired as to not finish that glass of wine. Which are good things because not having a second glass of wine is cheaper and may be better for your health and you want to be around to save up for martial-arts classes and the right preschool and to enjoy your j-o-y-f-u-l life. Plus, like everything, I hear it gets better. Or you get used to it. Same, same.

 ***

DeadMom

For Dead Mom

 

Thank you for making me grow up by dying in my early twenties. You forced me to become my own woman. A highly sensitive, independent woman who doesn’t take anything for granted––her eyes wide open with anxiety, her heart haunted by our relationship that feels murkier with each passing year, her mind often popping with questions of whether you’d approve of her choices, like those clunky boots she wears to the office. Otherwise, not too much else that’s cool about you not being here, especially having to wade through all this Mother’s Day propaganda reminding me of such.


Doesnt Like Pink

Megan Piontkowski is an artist and illustrator living and working in Brooklyn, NY. She does a variety of editorial illustration as well as fabric sculpture, installation, quilted and embroidered pieces. Jessica Machado writes about the kind of grown-up she is here.

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