May was made for Mothers - Perfection.

My mom is perfection. She's always telling me she's not, but I'm no dummy.

I'm lucky. Oh so lucky to have her. What I love about her is too numerous to list and she doesn't like the be "eulogized."

She was a good mother of small children. If she had her moments, I don't remember them, which is how it should be. She was extremely diligent and caring. Creative and patient and interested in us. The embodiment of putting others before herself. She seemed totally happy taking care of us all the time.

I was noticing something today, though. She's a great mother to adults too. She has this way of mothering me now. In a way that's not overbearing. Not too pushy. Little bits of advice here or there. Little suggestions. Little compliments. Little pats on the shoulder. Little hugs. Little squeezes of my hand. Taking a deep breath when she feels me freaking out, so I'll mimic her and chill out. (She's always done that. I'm just smart enough to realize what she's doing now.)

She's always expressing her confidence in my ability to take care of the girls. Backing me up when I say something to them. Smiling at me over their shoulders when they are standing, hands on hips, sass-mouthing me. She makes me feel like a wise member of her experienced mom-club.

I've always wanted to be like her when I grow up and perhaps it's even truer now. Now that I realize I'm grown and I'm still being mothered. She's changed her style. She's adapted to my age. She's not the mom of my youth anymore, she the mom of my adulthood.  My comrade. My support. My friend.

Love you, Momma.