Initially I was going to write this for her birthday. Then I got swamped in homework, and then I got sick, and now here we are, far too late for this to even count as near her birthday at all. Oh well!
One of the very earliest memories I have of my mom is her holding my hand. I don’t know if we were at a park or in the yard—I have fuzzy memories of grass, but not much else—but I remember sitting in the sunshine and holding her hand.
The wonderful news is, that memory has repeated itself many times over the years. I still hold her hand all the time, and she always graciously takes it. That is, if we aren’t tackling each other and engaging in some good old-fashioned roughhousing. (Although since I discovered I can pick her up, those matches tend to be short-lived now. I’m sure she could still wreck me stone-cold in an arm wrestle though.)
I like telling my friends about my mom. They hear about her all the time. “Oh, my mom is actually a great artist!” “My mom loves that hike!” “My mom–” the list goes on and on.
If I had to sum her up in a small handful of traits, I would say that she is stunningly clever, incredibly kind, and utterly unpretentious. No one ever meets her and walks away without remarking to me how “Wow, your mom is so nice!” “Your mom is sooooo funny!” “Your mom is so chill. I wish my mom was like that.”
She has lovely brown hair that always frames her face in this inviting way, like her expression itself is asking you to come and talk to her. Her hair has two perfect silver streaks that refuse to break the symmetry, and even though she expresses her dislike of them, I think they look incredibly beautiful. Her eyes are the sort of brown that lights up in the sunlight; they’re always warm and open, but when the sun hits them they turn into chips of amber.
Her resting face is pleasant and thoughtful, and her mouth naturally turns up at the corners so that it always looks like she’s on the verge of saying something nice. Her nails are always painted in different colors, and she wears lots of rich greens and light purples, both of which mesh wonderfully with her eyes and hair.
Her voice is clear and light, and I like listening to her tell me stories about her day. I also like listening to her little gasps of surprise and delight when she spots a bird or other animals when we go on walks together. I like the little voice she does for June when she’s being silly, and I love the mischief that creeps into it when she’s about to land a pun. (She’s my partner in pun crimes—others may groan and roll their eyes, but we’ll indulge in a wicked hi-five and an evil little “oh-HO!”)
She takes care of me better than anybody—when I got sick, she showed up at my apartment with cans of soup, bags of tea, my favorite gatorade, and plenty of hugs. She’s my mom and my friend, and I know this because we both get excited to watch our silly little murder mystery show together, but if I struggle with something, she’s the first to offer real advice and guidance.
She’s endlessly patient; when any of her kids dives into a rabbithole of information, she’ll listen with vested interest and interject with questions or comments. Even when she’s certainly tired of hearing about dinosaurs, animals, history, unsolved crimes, or the odd dive into folklore or mythology, she’ll still indulge the full brunt of the tidal wave.
She’s the sort of mom who is never “too cool” to dress up for Halloween (you’d better believe she helped at all my elementary school halloween parties!) or throw a themed party. The sort of mom who put little pranks in our lunches on April Fool’s Day, or who would stay up late making sure we had hand-made boxes for Valentine’s Day.
I’ve never been embarrassed by her in public (though I think that people who are embarrassed by their parents are just weak anyways), because who in their right mind would be embarassed by her? The woman who will dance with you in the grocery store, who happily introduces herself to your friends and leaves them all delighted? I don’t think so.
I think too many people wait too long when it comes to expressing their love. I don’t think my mom does, and I certainly don’t want to either.
I really, really love you, Momma!
You are an incandescent beacon in my life. You are wonderful.
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