I would have posted this yesterday, but I was having my mom and dad over for a cookout to celebrate Mother's Day. By finding fault in my own actions, I have come to learn that all mothers are worthy of our praise despite their imperfections. So let's hear it for all the moms out there, and for all that they do.
We love you even if you do stuff that other moms don't normally do.
We love you even if you lacked the proper shit-togetherness to figure out that your family was harboring an alien from outer space for the better part of three quarters of a film. And if "penis breath" became standard dinner table vernacular under your matriarchal reign.
We love you even if you let your son Franklin get kidnapped from time to time and if you get possessed by Malice and make some questionable-ass wardrobe choices for entire runs of issues at a stretch.
We love you even if you wear the apparel of the most God-awful professional sports franchise in America, and even if you heavy-handedly limit your husband Cliff's sodium intake.
And moms... we love you even if you are the devil incarnate.
Actually, we take that last one back. The love for a mother knows some bounds.