happy mother's day to you, mom. and you, and you, and you.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

to my dear, sweet, fashion-forward, dynamic mom

and all of the child bearing + nurturing women in my life
friends, co-workers, sisters-in-law, college roommates, aunts, grandmas and the women in the produce aisle.

it's been 12 years since i left my momma bird's nest... armed with all the kitchen skills, confidence in womanhood and awesomeness she could marinate me with in the first 17 years of my life.

but never for a second did my parents worry or fret for my well-being when i flew north for the winter {what was i thinking?  wrong direction}.  everywhere i went - rexburg, utah, work, school, play - i had an army of women who cared for me, looked after me, and continued to teach me.

and still, every single day, i learn something new from a mom who's taken me under her wing.

and so, from this mother-in-training to you:
thank you to every last one of you!

love to you all.

...

and now, as we celebrate excellence in motherhood, let us pray - tina fey style:

"first, lord: no tattoos. may neither chinese symbol for truth nor winnie-the-pooh holding the fsu logo stain her tender haunches. may she be beautiful but not damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the beauty. when the crystal meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half...

guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called 'hell drop,''tower of torture,' or 'the death spiral rock ‘n zero g roll featuring aerosmith,' and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age...

grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen. let her draw horses and be interested in barbies for much too long, for childhood is short... o lord, break the internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers...

and when she one day turns on me and calls me a b in front of hollister, give me the strength, lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for i will not have that sh%^&t. i will not have it.

and should she choose to be a mother one day, be my eyes, lord, that i may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. 'my mother did this for me once,' she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. 'my mother did this for me.' and the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. and she will forget. but i’ll know, because i peeped it with your god eyes. amen."