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I wrote about my mom on her birthday a week ago.

And lo, since today is Mother’s Day, it only makes sense I will write about her again.

But, the thing is, I already said a lot of the stuff one might normally say on Mother’s Day already, AND I did it in the form of a list, which knocks out two of my default settings for writing about things.

Last year, I even wrote her a letter. So that’s been done, too.

Sheesh.

In fact, one of the most popular searches that leads to my blog is “reasons I love my mom”.

Well, that and “look at my boobs”.

Ahem.

You’d think there was some serious awesomeness going on there or something.

(With my mom, not my boobs.)

But I could write every day for the rest of my life about my mom, and I STILL wouldn’t quite manage to cover how great she is, or how special, or how amazing. Really. Truly.

I think that’s why people might get the impression that my mom and I have a pretty perfect relationship as moms and daughters go… and they wouldn’t be wrong.

Well, mostly.

We have our flaws, too, and we argue and clash and set one another off and push buttons like a couple of pros at times. But not all the time or even much of the time, which is why I count myself more than blessed to have the mom I do.

I don’t think I realized what a good deal I had in The Judy until I was older, and started to hear more about the fractured relationships my friends experienced with their parents.

Their stories were full of loss, chasm, distance, pain, conflict… and there I was, thinking my mom was kind of annoying because she was hassling me about going to the doctor, or wondering why I wasn’t going to church, or suggesting that maybe the guy I thought the sun rose and set on was a bit of a doofus (oh, was he EVER.)

But it didn’t take me long to realize there are far, far worse things than having a mom who cares enough to get all up in your business.

And I may not always act like I know that, but I do.

I do.

So, to you, Mom, the happiest of happies today. I love you so much.

Only one more person on this planet (besides the three of us who already do) is ever going to get to call you Mom, and that will be the man I marry.

I’m pretty sure he’ll be thankful for you, too, since the woman he’ll be getting will be the product of your diligence and love (and one or two lectures along the way.) That, and you will love him like one of your own, since that’s how you roll.

Your heart always has more room.

Which explains the legions of people who WISH you were their mom… but we’re only sharing you four ways. So there!

Well, plus grandkids.

Actually, I’m pretty sure when the grandkids show up, you’ll be all, “Children? I have children?” while rolling around on the floor with the tiny people we manage to come up with.

And they will be blessed, too. Just like us.

Thanks for putting up with me, Mom.

Keep doing it, okay?