I call her many things, momsicle, mompop, momzilla,ma,momsie,woman, but the most important thing I call her is mom.
This is a woman who birthed me, raised me, and put up with me, nonsense and all. She held my hand when I shed tears, and held my heart when it was broken. She forced me to pick myself up time and time again, not that she was ever gentle about it.
She is a woman made of steel and grit. She has had to rely on her strength time and time again. For many years, life was not easy, it was a struggle, daily. But she pressed on, got up each day, put one foot in front of the other, and pressed on. She was strong because she had to be, and needed to be. She never complained about how hard it was, she simply pressed forward.
Despite her tough shell, she is soft inside. That tough exterior harded after many a long day. But just beyond the fighter is a woman who has a heart of gold. She will dispense advise, but will also listen. A heart that over flowes with love, kindess, and charity. A heart cries at sweet commercials, but she fights valiently to hide the tears as they streak down her face.
She believes in faith, family, charity, and strength. She knows not of her own beauty, but sees it in others. She does not understand how much she means to so many people. Friend to many, mother to two, wife to one.
She is my best friend, my confidant, my mom. I am so proud to be her daughter, and I hope one day I grow up to be just like her.
Happy birthday mom, I love you more than words can say.