To the woman that gave birth to me,

This post reminds me of all the little arts and crafts I would make at school, and to be honest they were not the prettiest, but you still kept them anyway. Every Mother's Day, you would add another construction paper card to your collection in a special rose patterned file folder with an elaborate silver clasp and a regal handle that help our most treasured memories safe.

Little did you know, before every Mother's Day, I would creep downstairs in the dead of the night and find that very box, examine my work and reassure myself that you didn't throw anything away.

Little did I know, you did the same.

Shortly after I would sneak back upstairs, and surprisingly, one night I witnessed a woman who was usually not into mementos take a good look at the beautiful rose box-folder and all the cards inside.

I was the girl who blushed with pride when people said she looked like her mother because you are so beautiful, both inside and out. Slowly, I became more and more like my dad, and we drifted from each other. As I grew older, the cards slowly stopped, and it just became an ordinary occasion which warranted a simple, "Happy Mother's Day!" and some sort of family dinner.

Even then, you always asked me where I wanted to go eat, prioritizing my choices and wishes in a day that was utterly celebrating you.You never asked for anything and had no expectations. It astounds me how you find joy in the simplest things and how truly selfless you heart is. I mean, you put up with me.

Even though I never say it enough, I do appreciate everything that you toil over just to make one day smooth.

Everything I view as an expectation takes so much time and effort, and I definitely do not give you the credit you deserve. I totally play favoritism and pick Dad over you most of the time, but I know that you are the oil that keeps the machine of our family going. Thank you, for 16 years of nothing but the best and devoted care. This is cheesier than gouda, but Mother's Day should be every day.

I love you,

Your Rosy Daughter