Moms Have Birthdays Too

Mother's Day. A few years ago.

Today is my mom's birthday.

When I was little, I wanted to be her. I skipped that whole "I wanna be a teenager" phase. I just wanted to be adult. Because my mom was an adult. I wanted to wear Mary Kay makeup. I wore shoulder pads. I went to ladies' meetings. Even to a retreat. (And then I got carsick and threw up on the ladies in the car. Yeah. You can't take the kid out of the, well, kid.)

Things haven't changed all that much. Except that long car rides no longer make me nauseous.

I'm proud to be my mother's daughter. I don't mind if people get our voices confused over the phone. Or if people who haven't seen me for decades point out that I look like her. (Better than saying, "My, you still look like a 3-year-old.") Although I was a little shocked when someone asked if I was my dad's wife. Really, people, I may like older men, but that's a little ridiculous. (Worse, someone thought I was my brother's mother. He's 21.)

We spent priceless time together last week. Sometimes it's hard to remember that great moms are daughters too. I'm so thankful for the legacy of my grandmother. And for the friendship I have with her eldest child.

I may no longer wear shoulder pads (Have you seen my shoulders? I'd look like a linebacker in drag), but I still want to be my mom when I grow up.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.