If you are a regular reader, you know that my mom has a leading role on the blog. She’s like the main character. Whether it’s screenshots of text messages with her, or her ridiculous Facebook posts, or a recap of a typical outing with her, there is NO shortage of material. Most of the time, she doesn’t even think she’s being funny and that’s what makes it hilarious.

You might remember my post about her around Mother’s Day a couple of years ago.

This woman is my rock. We differ in many ways but have striking similarities too. And as I get older, I feel myself turning more into her with each passing day. All of my friends love her and she pretty much puts herself in charge wherever she goes and everybody listens. There might be some eye rolling, but they listen. Mostly because it’s easier. They know she’s not going to give in.

Growing up (and now) she was always super hands-on. She was the quintessential SAHM, but didn’t cook or clean. She ordered in, had a housekeeper, and basically spent all of her energy on us. Schlepping my brother to play basketball in the hood instead of in the confines of a homogeneous all white/jewish boys team. She would saunter in with her long acrylic nails entering 5 minutes before her and give dirty glares to other parents who would yell stuff about my brother. Schlepping me to dance classes and spending ridiculous amounts of money on recital costumes and dance gear. And then years later to cheerleading practice.

She was the mom who would stop at two places for breakfast or lunch because my brother and I wanted different things. If we forgot something at school, she would show up with it…along with a bag from Burger King or McDonalds, which was way better than whatever we brought (we started to “forget” stuff a lot).

She was the mom who would scour stores while we were at school to find the exact shirt or pair of jeans we were pining over.

Our beds were made before the bathroom door closed in the morning.

She served grilled cheese sandwiches (my bad, I guess she did cook) in little baskets with decorative doilies.

If we were sick, there was a tray set up on front of our bed faster than you could blink with tea, toast cut into perfect bite-sized pieces and the remote.

When I lived in Boston, she would bring up a bunch of frozen orders of Chicken and Cheese from Here Comes the Sun, to hold me over until the next time I was down in FL.

And she taught my brother and I the most important life lesson. To ALWAYS have each other’s backs because there is nothing more important than family. And she has always had ours. She still holds grudges to people who wronged either of us, dating back to kindergarten.

As if she wasn’t the most incredible mother, she is also the best and most coolest grandmother on the planet. She does all of the above for my child and more…including teaching her about the lost art of prank phone calls. I’m not joking. She will call (my family only) and pretend to be a Chinese restaurant or pizza delivery. Her and my daughter take turns and she thinks it’s the greatest. She giggles so hard she can barely get the words out and thinks my mother is a creative genius. She also buys her things I would never buy – like fart guns and giant pallets of eye shadow.

This woman would cut her arms off for her children…no really she says that all the time. Like if we ask her to do something she looks at us with that look and then pretends to saw her own arm off with her other hand – insinuating “duh! I would do anything for you”.

If you are on her good side you are golden, and if you’re not, you are effed.

She’s a natural-born fighter who couldn’t even be knocked out with normal doses of anesthesia when she had breast cancer 4 years ago and needed a lumpectomy. The doctor literally came out and said “The amount of drugs I had to give her was ridiculous…she wouldn’t shut up.”

And she taught us to be fighters. Whether it was me pushing my way to the front of the stage at 4 years old because I was behind too many dancers (yup…that happened), or battling bullies and other bullshit in my adult life.

She can’t pronounce any celebrity names correctly, but she can spit lyrics from Tupac and Biggie.

She is simply the best and we are all madly in love with her. Mom, you are the best there is, the OG, my best friend and my ride or die chick. I love you more.


Happy (early) Mother’s Day