My Mom.

You would think that by the time you’re 35 years old, you’re old enough to not need your mother anymore.  Oh sure, at 16 or 17 or 18, you’re SURE you don’t need your mom anymore, but really you’re a dumbass.  But at 35, it seems like you should be over needing your Mama.

I am not.

Sure, sure, she drives me absolutely nuts at times, to which Dave will attest.  She is an awful driver, but a champion {we are talking world class here} parallel parker.  She gets Finn maddeningly hyped up and gives him juice and buys him gifts at every turn.  She sometimes has to be told she’s overstepping bounds.  I know you’ll be shocked to hear this, but we’re rather blunt in my family.  Sometimes, frankly, she needs a kick in the ass.  But for every time I am crazed by something she’s done, there are 12 times that she’s done something wonderful.

A hug right when I need it.

Coming home to a spotless house after being in the hospital.

She hosts every family dinner and occasion without complaint even though I know the amount of time and energy it takes.

We go to the Farmer’s Market every Saturday morning and she takes Finn to get his lemonade and ‘breakfast cookie’ so Dave and I can stroll around together, just the two of us.

She calls me just to see how I’m feeling.

She loves Lyndsey and I equally, but differently.  A delicate mix to be sure, and something I hope to achieve with my children.

She is an endless source of laughter.  Belly cramping, people looking at us like we’ve lost our minds, tear inducing laughter.

She is there.  At four in the morning or in the middle of a meeting.  She is always right there if I need her.

She gives of herself every single day.  Fully.  To work.  To her family, friends, and strangers alike. 

She is a champion for those who don’t realize their own worth.

She is more than my mom, she is my friend.  I genuinely admire who she is as a person.

And today, she is old. 

Jan Bob, there would be an unmistakable void in our lives without you in it.

I hope you have the best birthday ever.  I love you. 

And so does Dave.  And Finn.  And Lyndsey.  And Richard.  And Meme.  And your brother and your sisters.  And every one of the friends you’ve had since you were twelve.  And the new ones you’ve made along the way.  And random strangers on the internet who read stories about the time you met Snoop or “that guy” from Nine Inch Nails.