Pretty Mama.

[I'm so silly that it took me twelve hours to figure out the right title for a mother's day post. Reportedly, my first word was "Boort," an infantization of "Bart," our wire-haired fox terrier. But my second and third words were "Pretty Mama." For good reason. No picture I have could show you how beautiful my mother is. She is a tongue of flame, a red-headed streak of wonder. She is the elucidation of my life. She's pretty like this--and then some.]

I'm trying to think of my favorite story about my mother, but I keep coming back to some basic facts. When I go to visit her, she's always glad to see me. When I hug her, she's always happy to hold me for a long time. And when it's time for me to leave for my own home, a big part of me always wants to stay with her. She is the best of mothers. I love a lot of others' mothers. But I have never once wanted to trade my mother for any of those other mothers. I love my mother, but I'm glad to say that I like her immensely, too, and I'm so glad she likes me back.

All of which is to say, happy mother's day, Mama. I love you.

[My mother is nothing if not a pillar of truth. She has written to let me know that those basic facts I keep coming back to are not facts at all--alas!

I have to tell you that your memory is not totally accurate--although it's a much better read emotionally than the actual facts. "Boort" was your first word followed rapidly by "ogoo" (yogurt), "ookie" (cookie), "Papa," and "Pat, pat, pat" (pat a cake). After we moved to New York you came out with "Pretty Mama." You were almost fourteen months old. Of course, your wonderful father taught you that. You said, "Pretty baby," when we looked into a mirror a few months before then. I taught you that. Aren't we a pretty pair?
All due to you!]