Mom

There are so many reasons to love my mother.

I love the way she laughs at something inappropriate then claps both hands over her mouth in horror upon realizing that she probably shouldn't laugh about it.

I love the way she refers to Dad as "Joe-Your-Father" when she tells stories as if I would be utterly confused if she didn't clarify who "Joe" might be.

I love the way she always walks me to my car after I visit her and then stands in the driveway blowing kisses and waving as I drive away. Sometimes there's even a little dance that goes with it.


I love that she's always a little startled to realize her children in any way take after Joe-Our-Father. I really love that she always attributes any weird quirks we may have to Joe-Our-Father's side of the family.

I love that she still tries to buy my love even though she's always had it.

I love her because when the unthinkable happens, she still has a shoulder to cry on, a knee to rest my head on and an irreverent comment to make me laugh in spite of it all.

I love that she talks about dieting. While eating cake. Because Thursday is a cake kind of day and you can't diet on a cake day.

I love that she talks in her sleep. I love even more that she sometimes screams and then gets mad at us for hearing her.

I love that, like her mother before her, she has a very proper and sophisticated side that somehow covers one of the greatest comedic goofy sides I've ever known.

I love that on her Facebook page she's never bothered to correct the alterations I made to her date of birth or her children's names.

I love that for over a year, she didn't notice that the e-mail signature I set up for her included "By the way, Stacey has always been my favorite child."

I love her because she's Mom.