consistent

In a few hours, my mom is going to call me.  Because in a few hours, it will be exactly 32 years from the moment when she became a mother.  I know she'll call because she always does. When I was young and lived with her, she woke me up, every year, at the same exact time. Often with a doughnut and a candle. When I was sixteen and at cheerleading camp, she had my friend and later college roommate wake me up with a snowball and a candle.  Since I left her to go to college, and only came home one summer after, she has called. It's our thing. And at a time in our lives when we don't talk more than we do, it's a welcome gift. She is my mom. In every sense of the word. She raised me. She's my biggest fan. She's the one I want when I don't feel well or when the world seems to be against me.  She's the voice in my head.  She loves me even though I'm still that rebellious child who knows better. I get that stubbornness honest. From her. Thanks Mom. Love you.