An incredible artist, a sarcastic tease, a laugh heard across a stadium (literally), a lemon-pepper-only, poor cook. An unofficial doctor of medicine and supplements. She made sure we went to the best schools, took all the right lessons, and traveled far and well. Most importantly, she let us be us with zero boundary. I was never inhibited from dressing how I wanted, eating what I craved, or stopped from any messy project. I had total and complete freedom in my childhood and youth, and while there are times that I wonder how I survived, it’s likely because my only rule was: “no guns, no knives, and wear a helmet.” When I wanted my walls painted in diamond checkers with a rose border, cloud ceilings, and a zebra-print corner desk, she made it happen by painting it herself. She sewed dangly beads from all of my jean hems to ensure I had one-of-a-kind fashion. If I wanted to wear the same outfit four days in a row, go skinny dipping with all my friends in our pool, dress up as a fembot for Halloween, or take everyone to see The Sixth Sense for my 11th birthday, she encouraged it. When I wanted a nose job, she helped me get one (controversial, but I was ALWAYS in control of my own body). Picked me and my friends up from field parties when the cops showed up and told us we’d learned our lesson enough by having to run through cow patties. The only time I was ever really grounded by her and our dad was when they found out I’d gone to the tanning bed. She was honest in her experiences and let me learn from my own, and never forced me into any revelations. The only relationship advice was to never marry for money but to rather make my own and marry whoever I wanted. She moved us in with her when I got pregnant in college, despite being in the midst of her own crisis, and helped me become a far-too-young mother myself. Taught us about art, proper etiquette, how to laugh loud enough to shake the ground, and, most importantly, how to have a damn good time. All of which has carried me through every chapter. She’s got 8 Leo placements and you can see them in every loud, loyal, generous, creative curl in her mane. Can’t imagine having anyone but you, MD. Happy Mother’s Day