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Mom is tops because the details tell us so

I’ve become quite used to it, frankly.

In fact, I cannot recall a single occurrence when it’s been guessed correctly. And people always suppose the same wrong answer. ALWAYS.

Not that it’s not a nice middle name. It is. It’s just not mine.

But whenever folks see or hear my name — Patricia A. Kimerer — they believe the moniker conjoining my first and surnames is Anne. Or is it Ann?

For the record, I also get a little salty about misspellings of my middle name. We’ll get back to that.

The reason it irks me is that it’s my Mom’s first name: Arleen.

Not Arlene. Not Irene. Not Charlene. Or Darleen, Marleen, Sharleen or Charlene, ya got it? It’s Arleen with the two E’s side-by-side not split by an n.

Hmpf.

I wouldn’t be so miffed if she wasn’t such a wonderful human. Sure, everybody says that about their own mum (if you don’t, I will track you down, mister!), but mine really is.

She’s just so caring, kind, funny, thoughtful, smart, giving, patriotic and beautiful, you know? A gal’s gal, she’s loyal, honest, faith-filled and strong in the gentlest way. I’d hang out with her even if she didn’t give birth to me; she’s just that cool.

What can I say? Somehow for reasons known only to the man upstairs, he saw to it that my siblings and I got the greatest mom on the third rock from the sun.

Gina, Dan and I, we three knuckleheads, fell backward into the main entrance at Mommy Market and steered our cart on outta there with the ultimate deal — the real one. We didn’t get stuck with some generic imitation, mind you, but the gold standard, the genuine article, the baroMOMeter, if you will.

Sorry for your bad luck, peeps, but while some of you may have close runners-up (and I’m blessed to know a slew of them, BT dubs), at the end of the day, my siblings and I hit the madre lottery.

Believe me, it’s not just every mom who will put 47 cents in your pocket because she just realized that, back in 1979, she spent that much more on your brother and sister’s birthday presents. This she knows from the general ledger of love she has kept since the birth of her eldest child.

It’s about 1,846 pages long (so far) and contains the receipts — and corresponding annotations — for every purchase she has ever made from rattle No. 1 for her first-born (Gina) to the latest Chipotle card for her youngest grandchild (Kyle).

Let the record show — and, of course, it does — that sons-in-law receive the same attention to detail on this (and every) matter as do her kids and grandkids sharing her DNA.

Did I mention there is a special section in this journal for pets? OK, who are we kidding? We ain’t cat people, yo — no dis intended to feline fans. Some of us are wickedly allergic. I digress.

There’s a distinct and equally impressive chapter dedicated strictly to man’s best friend in the old Mom Register.

Somehow, I feel it also contains a chapter or 70 on the very gestures of affection, support and general love themselves — ’cause my ma doesn’t discriminate. She doles out devotion and concern for her honeys consistently, constantly and copasetically, capisce? #MomLovesEveryoneEqually

Happy Birthday to the best mom anywhere from your “Pats” a/k/a Patricia A. Kimerer … and the A stands for Arleen.

Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who loves her Momma, loves Jesus and America, too. Visit her blog www.patriciakimerer.com

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