Yesterday marked a very important day in my mother’s life. No, she didn’t just become a grandmother (though she has been one for several years now), nor did she win the Nobel Prize. She didn’t even win the lottery (except for perhaps the genetics lottery). She simply had a birthday. A very special birthday.
For the sake of tact, I will not reveal her actual age, but suffice it to say, she looks a good twenty years younger than the real number. Those tricky enough to find out her actual age often gasp, take a step back, moan a shocked “NO WAY!” and continue to let their jaws hang loosely from their mouths while they eye her up and down in disbelief. Yep, my mom is pretty hot. (Single men–take notes: I will, God willing, look as good as my mom when I am her age.)
Good looks aside, my mom is my hero in many ways. I know what you’re thinking, “Duh she’s your hero, whose mom isn‘t their hero?” To which I say, great! I hope every child looks to their parents as their personal heroes. I am fortunate enough to have landed one of the best, I would say. My mom is smart, caring, loving, selfless and just as silly as I am.
She is a small woman, standing only 5’3″, who managed to give birth to three big, burly sons and three daughters. She runs her household with efficiency and love. She has given me the shirt off her back (well, more accurately, out of her closet) when she knew I wanted it. She sacrifices her time, money, and her own desires to make all of us children happy. She is filled with knowledge and delights in sharing it with anyone who asks her for it. She has mastered the art of listening, even if the person talking is a bore–like I’m sure I often am. She is a faithful, loving wife who blesses my dad by serving and caring for him.