Today is my mother’s birthday. For her present, I wanted to write a blog post to tell her how wonderful she is.

No, really. This is all she is getting from me.

We’re in a recession, you know.

I should start by saying that I am exactly like my mother. I am every last bit of her. Fortunately for me, my mother is fabulous. I could write a novel about how funny she is, and she makes the best grilled cheese in town, so I’m not upset about it.  Like most mother and daughter relationships, we have gone through many stages. I love you, whatever, I understand, I need you, etc. Right now, I’m definitely in the “I need you” “Ugh…you’re always right” “You’re my best friend” stage. Even if she wasn’t my own mother, I still think she would be one of my most favorite people in the whole world.

She wears way too many sequins to not like her.

I am so grateful for my mother and everything she has taught me. I am really lucky to be able to say that my favorite quality about myself is that I am just like her.

Happy Birthday, Moomy*. I love you.

*I call my mother Moomy, not Mommy. For some reason, I started calling our parents Moomy and Doody.

Dad really got the short end of the stick on that one.