As a child, I used to love to pick flowers for my mom. I thought she was beautiful and smart and funny. I liked to make her smile. I liked when she talked to me and made me feel that what I said was important.
It was not until years later that I found out she was highly allergic to those little raggedy flowers that I thought were so beautiful. Even though I brought her weeds, she always smiled as if I had brought her roses.
My mother is still beautiful and funny....and smarter than I ever imagined. And I still like to make her smile, because she has always made me feel that what I had to say and what I thought mattered.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.