Goodnight Dear Kiddies Wherever You Are

Ah, Mother's Day.....the day that makes me cringingly writhe internally with feelings of disgust and longing. Disgust for the fact that it has become an almost obligatory celebration proscribed with some kind of feasting and floral tribute, and longing for the same from my children. A certifiable 'crazy making' state indeed.
For many whose mothers have passed on, it's a bittersweet day. For those whose mothers are not really 'acceptable', it can be tainted with "if only". For those whose mothers are 'difficult', it is filled with guilt and anger.
Ah, such things are fodder for the analyst's couch.
Not everyone gets the 'Norman Rockwell' version.
I've made no bones about the rather tortured relationship my own mother and I shared here, all that is visually documented in the paintings I create. And as for me as a mother....well, I left my own children at a young age and then I fell headlong into 'the rabbit hole' of drugs and debauchery until I changed my life with art.
Enough said.
Today I want to remember my Mom for the 'good times' and, yes there were those amongst the crippling awful. In all things there seems to be bad with good - perhaps this is why we get so confused. Nothing is completely black and white, but various shades of grey.
The title of today's ditty comes from a bedtime song Mom would sing to my brother and me. We refused to go to sleep until she sat on the stairs and sang that song....I'm pretty sure it was made up and she sung it to the old tune of  'Goodnight Young Lovers' and, boy oh boyo, if that doesn't date me, nothing will! She had a goofy sense of humour too. Honestly I do recall laughing until I wet my pants with her over the oddest things she'd do. Once when we were in a dept. store shopping, she spied some dress that was in the display case beside the escalator we were riding on. As we passed by it, she leaned over the railing and picked up the dress's hem to look for a price tag. Of course the escalator was continuing it's decent and consequently the manikin toppled over as my mom pulled it along with her. She also would make these incredibly weird faces that sent my brother and me into paroxysms of giggles.
And she made awesome soup.
So today let's celebrate the person that made it possible to live this life no matter what or how or why. She too was all too human and had her history that we may never understand.
For all you gave me, thanks mom.
The photo is of me and my sons in 1982 and my favourite photo of us together. And in case you are wondering, that's face paint on my eldest son's face - not some strange tribal tattoo.