I could talk endlessly about how amazing my mother is. I credit her for all my good qualities (my dad takes the blame for my weird sense of humor), and I never go a day without talking to her.
I don’t remember ever “hating” my mom as a teenager. Of course we had hilariously dramatic fights, which we laugh about often, but I never remember just being over her. I grew up in a really (really, really) small town in the middle of the country, and besides having a ridiculously early curfew, one that I’m pretty sure is still intact even though I’m over the age of 30, I didn’t have a ton of friends. That was okay though, because I had something better- the best mom in the world.
We played football, softball, basketball and golf. My mom has an incredible jump shot, and is also an insanely good golfer- I mean, she’s gotten a hole-in-one. We did summer “assignments” where we’d learn about geography or history or something that should be boring but she made it awesome. She helped me learn how to do a back handspring using a broom handle, and even though she ended up with a black eye she was so proud when I finally did it on my own.
She’s naturally beautiful- I come by my disdain for makeup genetically- and even though we tease her about her skepticism and occasional cynicism, she believes in me more than what I would think would be humanly possible. She’s always been there for me, even if my cell phone bill was astronomical. There were times when she may not have liked me very much, but she has always loved me completely.
That’s why she’s my best friend, and that’s why I tell her as much as I can how grateful I am to have someone as amazing as she is as my mother.