An Ode To Mom

This edition of The State of the Union originally appeared on May 10, 2002.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day, and this much I know:
Seems every commercial on my radio
And every third ad I see on TV
Is hawking some Mother’s Day claptrap to me.
They’d have me believe that all ‘cross the nation
People are showing their appreciation
For moms in the most extravagant way,
Giving jewelry that says, “Every day’s Mother’s Day.”
I get emails that tempt me to buy her some flowers
And others that say I should get several hours
For her at some sort of fancy-pants spa,
Where she’ll have her back scrubbed by some guy with a loofah.
She deserves a vacation, of that there’s no doubt,
But she’s not into mud, so the day spa is out.
Now, I know that my mom could use a few things,
But she doesn’t need flowers, and she doesn’t need rings.
She could probably use a new leather purse
But handbags aren’t my thing, so my gift is in verse.
Sure, I sent her a card (hope it gets there on time),
And I’ll call her on Sunday (even on my own dime)
To wish her a day that is splendid and great
(And apologize if somehow my card’s turned up late).
But the fact is that mothers need more than one day.
They earn more than a bracelet or fancy bouquet
By doing their thing every day of the year
(For there isn’t much glory, that much is clear).
So when Sunday rolls ‘round, you can give her a hug,
Or buy her a brand-new Volkswagen Bug.
You can give her some roses, or something more clever,
Perhaps a nice photo she’ll cherish forever.
But remember:
You shouldn’t use May to make up for November,
Or April or June or July or September.
She’s your mom in March, too, and all the year long,
To show love just one day is quite simply wrong.
So then, Mom, let me tell you what I’m gonna do
To show just how much I appreciate you.
I’ll do all these things every day of the year
And hope that they bring you smiles and great cheer.

I’ll clean up my room and throw out all that junk
And I’ll keep a survival kit packed in my trunk.
I won’t talk on the phone while I’m driving my car,
But I’ll call to check in when I travel far.
And I’ll take my time when I’m walking up stairs,
I’ll try not to give you any (more) gray hairs.
I’ll call up the airlines far in advance
To book my plane tickets -- I won’t leave it to chance.
When I’m in for Thanksgiving I’ll stay an extra day,
And whenever I can I’ll put money away.
When I’m out in the sun I’ll put on sunscreen,
And I’ll even stop partying with Charlie Sheen.
When you ask about work, I won’t get too snappy,
And I’ll call my grandmothers (it makes them so happy).
I promise I’ll never go on “Survivor”
And I’ll try not to call while you’re watching MacGyver.
I’ll visit the doctor, just to be safe.
I’m sure that it’s nothing, but I’ll go anyway.
I promise I’ll call you when I have good news,
And I’ll stop putting off all that stuff I have to do.
I’ll be safe, I’ll be cautious, I’ll be prudent and wise,
And I’ll stay far away from those supersize fries.
I’ll eat all my vegetables, and oh, what the heck,
I’ll even go get my cholesterol checked.
Yes, I’ll get a good job and I’ll find me a wife,
And I’ll have me some kids and a super-great life.
So you see, Mom, you don’t have to worry about me
I’ll do all these things and be happy as can be.
But wait a second -- if I did all this stuff, then what would you do?
You do like to worry, that much is true.
Maybe I should just stick to being myself,
After all, it’s something I’ve always done well.
And I really do like those supersize fries --
Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise.
How about I do my thing, and you do yours?
And no matter what the next year holds in store,
The thing that I’m ultimately trying to say,
Is that I wish you the best on this Mother’s Day.
(Hey, this was much cooler than flowers, wasn’t it?)