Thanks, Mom

As a kid, I didn't know how good I had it.  Mom never missed a basketball game or a band concert or an awards ceremony.  She was always active in whatever community we lived in, but she was there for my brother and me (and our dad) first and foremost.  Love, support, cupcakes...whatever we needed.  Not knowing any better, I took that for granted for years.  

Then my eyes opened, around the time I left for college.  I had friends whose mothers tore them down emotionally and friends whose mothers' dysfunctional relationships had scarred them.  Friends who could never please their mothers no matter what they did.  One particularly close friend whose mother screamed so loudly at her over the phone that I could hear every bitter word clear across the room and I would have to leave because I couldn't take it.

How many times did I call Mom after witnessing episodes of serious maternal craziness and thank her for not being like that? A dozen at least? There but for the grace of God went I, and at least by that point I had the sense and perspective to appreciate the fact. In the grand cosmic mother lottery, I hit the jackpot.

Happy real birthday, Mom. I'm proud (and grateful!) to be your daughter.