I love my mom because:
She teaches her dog to sit, Texas-style, with two syllables: “Seee-it!”
We still bond over classic lady-dates: lunch, shopping, manicures.
She taught me how to dress in a manner that is most flattering for a short woman.
On a related note, she totally understands why I think being called “cute” is a lame compliment.
She taught me to be well groomed and have pride in my appearance. Mom never looks like a slob, even if she is just running out to the grocery store.
Manners, manners, manners. I whined about it as a kid, but I have thanked God for her etiquette lessons every time I’ve ever been on a job interview or at a decent restaurant.
I heard the following mantra a million times growing up: “You can do anything you set your mind to. Don’t ever settle.”
Certain conversations of an intimate nature with her young daughters made her a wee bit uncomfortable, but she sucked it up and had them anyway.
She won’t admit it, but she’s a closet feminist.
I’ve learned how to be a loyal, long-term friend by watching her sustain relationships with an amazing circle of women for the past thirty years.
She embraced my husband from day one, welcoming him into the family like he was one of her own.
She spoils my kids rotten.
She spoils me rotten too.