She can climb mountains...
Jump the Grand Canyon...
I may be 23 years old, but you never stop needing your mama.
My mama is the one who, when my high school boyfriend broke my heart over my freshman Thanksgiving break, drove me back to D.C., and stayed with me until I remembered how to breathe.
Never once did she say that this was just high school love, and I'd get over it in a few months.
Never once did she say, "It will be okay," because when you're 18 and you're life has been shattered, she knew saying "it will be okay" meant nothing.
She just sat with me while I cried, and knew it would all be okay.
My mama is the one who, upon meeting Dom for the first time, did not say, "Hi! Nice to meet you!"
No, her first sentence to my brand spankin' new man-friend was "Wow! You're wearing more jewelry than my daughter!" (He went through a guido phase. We don't talk about it.)
My mama is the one who would drop everything to be by your side when you need a "Mommy fix," whether you're 5 years old, 15, or 35.
My mama is the one who my friends immediately ask for when they call. No one cares about Florida, it's always "How's Mama Avocado?!" She will always make you laugh, feel at home, and maybe do an embarrassing dance if you're lucky.
If you're really lucky, you might even hear her sing opera while getting into the cold lake!
"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all summer."
Happy Birthday, Mama! I love you!