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?

I’ve written about you a lot.

I hope you don’t mind… it’s just how I tend to figure things out.

I mean, I guess I didn’t always know what I was talking about (and I still don’t), so I likely scuffed up your reputation now and again.

But I meant well. And mean well.

Thing is, I think you’re amazing. At the same time as I think you are confusing and elusive and complicated and problematic and incomprehensible and irresistible and irreplaceable and insane, I find that there’s nothing in the world I want more.

That’s sappy. I know.

But the feeling of finding you, of keeping you… even of losing you… is so hardwired into the function of my heart that the coming and going is like breathing.

I have fallen in love with so many things.

So many people. So many plans. So many hopes. And there’s always something I can reach for, no matter how many times you have slipped from my grasp.

Am I too optimistic? I don’t know. You’ve broken me more than once, so to take you on lightly seems like flying a kite into a hurricane.

But even when you hurt me, I don’t want to stop trying. I mean, I do. But I can’t.

Even when I’ve forgotten how you feel, I know my sense memory will recognize you again in a second.

Even when I am lacking trust and lacking faith and lacking the confidence in myself to give and receive you, I know you will remain until I figure it all out. And then some.

Even when you go, I know you’ll come back another way. No matter how long it takes.

Thank you for being my constant, even when you weren’t.

Thank you for being my test, even when I failed.

Thank you for being my challenge, even when I could not meet you.

Thank you for being my comfort, even when it was you I needed comfort from.

Thank you for being my future, even when I could barely make you out in the distance.

I will mess you up again.

But I believe, no matter what, that you are the truest map of my dreams and my days.

Whether I have the will to see that or not in the moment.

May I always have the will.

I love you back,

Meg