I've spent a lot of time thinking about my Mom over the last month. Thinking about what she means to me and how she's made me who I am. Thinking about the fact that we still phone each other at least twice a day and when we don't we complain to the other that we're being ignored.

I've spent a lot of time trying to put our relationship into words, if only in my head. Trying to voice both internally and externally the feelings I have for her. It isn't enough to say that we're close or that we're friends as well as mother and daughter. Those are just words. Nice words, but just words.

Growing up, we moved a lot. And every few years who I was disappeared, as I once again became the 'new kid'. Nobody knew that I loved bird watching, or that I had my own detective club, or that I read everything that I could get my hands on. No one knew that I was shy and hid it behind that awful bravado or that I could name all the actors from all the tv shows, that I had notebook after notebook full of drawings and writing. That my first love was Lee Majors. Until I saw Harrison Ford.  Or that I went to sleep at night with the Love Story soundtrack playing. No one. Except my mom. She was the only one who knew who I was and loved who I was and tried to help me remember who I wanted to be as I struggled to find my new place in the world. 

My mom bought me my first single and danced with me to it. She taught me how to do the waltz. She helped me dig up and feed worms to the many injured birds I brought home. Including the blackbird that lived in our bath for a week. And the pidgeon that lived on my window sill for much longer. She recognised that I needed help with depression in my early teens and that more than that I needed understanding and laughter. She gave me my sense of humour and shared it with me. She is still the only person that I feel I can truly make laugh. She bought me my first pair of high heels from Mong Kok market when I was 13. She put up with years of The Smiths and The Cure and retaliated with Phantom of the Opera. She gave me my first mohican and told me that black hair did not suit me but that pink hair did. She understood my boyfriends and helped me to understand them. She bribed me with the ocassional beer and recognised when a truly awful hangover was enough of a punishment. She gave me enough freedom to get in to so much trouble that my childhood was fun, but not so much that I was ever in danger. She taught me that trust is a two way street and let me know when I had disappointed her. She once slapped me so hard that my ear ring flew out of my ear and was never found. It was the only time she slapped me and I was 16 and deserved it. She told a bad teacher that she was wrong for trying to punish me for speaking my mind and always backed me up when I was fighting for my principles. She suffered many, many drunken 3am phone calls from me in my twenties and even managed not to make me feel too bad about them (although I still blush when I think of them). She kept quiet when I married my first husband and stayed even quieter when I divorced him. She used to tell me that no one was going to find me if I stayed sitting in my room. And years later, after sitting in my room blogging brought me amazing opportunity after opportunity, she totally admitted that she had been wrong!

My mom made me who I am. She is my anchor. She holds all my memories. She is funny, and clever and strong. She is the most beautiful, least photogenic woman ever. She taught me to love sarcasm. And to be kind. She is everything to me and better than I could be.

She's my mom. She's my mom. And I love her and need her and want her. And none of these words tell you how I really feel. Because there aren't words that can do that.

Happy Mother's Day Mom. If I could spend the rest of my life saying thank you I would.