Today is my mom's birthday. I don't know quite how to spend the day. Do I think about her when she was alive, the fun we had, how much I loved her, or do I think about how much I miss her, how sorry I am that she went through so much? I've decided to go the first route, because, well, it's more pleasant.

Every once in awhile, when I'm driving, I'll hear my mom's voice, crystal clear. She's not giving advice, or playing the part of my conscious. She's saying, in an indescribably funny voice, "Excellante". Just that word. I can't even come up with an instance in which she did say it, but I know she did. It makes me laugh every time I think of it.

I can remember our annual trip to Metro Beach to canoe on the lake. It was always a near-disaster, me yelling at her to paddle the other way. We'd come to rest in the middle of the lake and haul out our packed lunch, me with peanut butter and her with...well probably peanut butter and jelly. Oh and I just remembered her passion for juice boxes. They were always in the house. So I'm sure we'd have juice boxes too. And we'd throw bread in the water, hoping to see fish come up and nibble at it. We'd come ashore and then go to the beach itself. Mom didn't like wearing a bathing suit, so she almost always waded, and always splashed me.

I can remember sneaking off to the "custard place" with her, keeping the secret from my dad, because of course he'd want something, but we didn't want to have to haul it back. She'd drive fast, as if the tiny rebellious activity made her that much more alive. She'd crank the music, and from the inside, my carefully formed "I'm way too cool for this shit" wall would break down. We'd bellow Chicago tunes, or "Born to be Wild" or "Love is a Battlefield". We'd buy big hunks of custardy ice cream and sit on the many-times-painted stone benches, watching the birds or the children try to nab sprinkles off the ground.

My mom almost always knew what I was thinking. She could burrow right in and just know. I found it annoying at the least, and terribly uncomfortable at the worst. My privacy was paramount for some reason. I never wanted to reveal that I liked someone, or that I was scared. I still really don't know why.

I remember Mom always wanting me to do her nails. I'd resist, but finally give in. She'd never let me paint them green or blue, always pink or mauve. This was so odd to me, because she was so crazy and wacky sometimes, but she would not be seen with unseemly, outrageous fingernails.

If I thought my mom was "somewhere" able to hear me, I'd talk to her about these things, recount our fond memories, and apologize for being mature before my time.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Love,