My Very Own Mama

Every so often I’ll call my mom up with a question that starts with  “When we were little how did you_____.” She often will laugh it off or claim she can’t remember, but I’d really like to know how mothers of past generations did things. Share your wisdom, pleeeease.

(Sidenote: my latest question was about what Phil and I did while she was home alone and needed to use the outhouse. You know, because it was THE EIGHTIES and we were hippies and had no running water until I was 5.  I’m not sure her answer, if she were to remember, would help me all that much because we’ve got electricity and a bathroom. And call me gross talking about bathroom things, but there is never privacy…..so maybe there was a reason my mom and dad decided to have an outhouse for so many years. )

So, Mother’s Day. It’s important, and I totally think that my mom should be honored and valued today, but shouldn’t I show her love and respect EVERYDAY? I do. Part of the way I do this is to call her and ask for aforementioned wisdom. My mom is, without a doubt, my closest friend, biggest cheerleader, and strongest advocate. She’s a force to be reckoned with, a supurb garage saler, a master quilter, a coffee-making, granola baking, amazing gardening, fart-laughing (it’s true, mom, and don’t act like farts aren’t funny), not-much-sleep-needing, independent, award-winning grandma, and I’m so proud to call her my own.

So there. 

And Mom?

Thanks for always letting me be ME.

And reminding me not to be like everybody else. 

Even when I looked like this…..

and I’m sorry for the bathroom humor.