Moms are the best.

Shirley MacLaine and her daughter, 1959 - Photo by Allen Grant via the LIFE Picture Collections

I think we all had been there at one point in our lives where we were a little concerned that me might turn into our mothers.  I remember a moment in time where I was feeling there was no way around a future life of caring about drink coaster on wooden tables (my mom) and always forgetting to put the rolls on the table for holiday dinners (my grandma).  Now that I am older and arguably wiser, I realize that we should all be so lucky.  I mean honestly, now that I can afford to buy a table not made out of veneer fake wood, use a coaster.

Over the last several years, I have continued to grow in respect for moms everywhere as I have had the privilege watching my friends and sisters have children and raise fantastic kids, and as I have watched my lifetime moms become grandmas.  To all of my people, your kids are amazing.  They are funny, smart, and the weirdest little combinations of you and their dads.  You have done it with grace (but not too much so that it isn't real), humor (probably not without a few times yelling at Target), and you make parenting look good.

This year my respect for moms has grown even more as I have grown my own bun in the oven and experience the strange wonder that is being a mom.  So far, I am batting a thousand as I haven't screwed up any of my children yet as far as I can tell.  And while I haven't had to do much parenting for the 4-month old nugget in the belly, I have already found myself driving more cautiously though intersections and considering organic cucumbers.  Parenting win.

My mom in particular is something special, as all of our moms are to us.  As an adult I continue to grow in appreciation for all of the things that I really didn't realize as a child that I picked up from my mom.  I am also so thankful for the mom that she is today; she is non-judgmental, considerate of those around her, thoughtful at every holiday, willing to listen when I vent, gives advice only when it is needed or solicited, and even-keel, among all of the other thousands of reasons why she is the right mom for me.  Of course she is the right mom for me, she made me.

We are lucky too to sometimes have other moms in our lives that make an impact, like step moms, moms of our friends, and those co-workers or neighbors that take good care of us.  We will always have nice memories of the neighbor we stayed with for a few hours while our parents were away, or the lady at work that made sure to remind me to eat lunch when I was busy enough to forget.  Your awesomeness did not go unnoticed either.

So thank you, ladies, to all of the inspiring moms around me.  I have been watching carefully and making mental notes of how awesome you are at being moms so I can pay it forward.  The fact that your kids wear Spiderman costumes most days of the week and that you take the BEST Instagram photos of your kids makes my day and I can't wait to join the club.

I was at a funeral! and other ways we could have messed the whole thing up...

Photo by J. Kaminski Photography

It seems very unlikely that my husband and I ever got married.  We went all through elementary to high school together, swimming on the swim team together, and basically leading separate lives side by side.  I wouldn't say that we were friends.  When we reconnected nine years after high school, I was like, "Oh yeah, that guy."

Most of our stories are quintessentially "us."  One of my favorites is the first time he asked me out on a date.  We had been texting over the course of an hour or so and, full disclosure, I may have been committed enough to the conversation to text at every stoplight.  The boy sees his opportunity and asks me out on a date.  And then, without notice, I stopped responding.  Naturally, the boy freaked out.

Based on some good advice from a friend to "Don't. Do. Anything.," the boy didn't send me any snarky comments to ruin all of his progress.  The truth is that I was at a funeral, and I turned my phone off out of respect.  When I turned my phone back on a few hours later I saw his message and thought, "Oh nooooooo, he's going to think I don't want to go out with him!"  We smoothed that over and had a very nice first date that ended with me being VERY tired for work the next morning because I didn't want to end the conversation.

The hubs claims that I almost ruined our second date, but I think it was his fault.  We discussed going out and he asked if we should invite or hang out with other people.  I thought, "OMG, is this not a date?"  I was not sure why he would want to invite others, so I panicked.  "The more the merrier!" I responded.  And he was like, um, okay...  Luckily, the date was not a group hangout, although he claims I almost ruined it with my apparent nonchalant-ness.  I say it was his fault for ever bringing it up.

Somehow we made it in spite of ourselves.  We still joke that we can't believe we married each other when we think back to our frienemy years, but it looks like the joke is on us.

The ghost of Joyce (A.K.A. ugly pants always come back in style)

I saw the ghost of my grandmother in the grocery store today.  She was in the form of another lady, no doubt someone else's grandma, shuffling along with her husband as a steady arm.  I cried right there in between the jams and the specialty cheeses because I instantly missed her.

"Fake" Joyce at the store was so cute; she was wearing a polka dot sweater with matching green skinny jeans (as skinny as they make them for hip grannys) and some gold sneakers.  My grandma had all of those items in one form and they are such fond memories that I have of her.  I thought it was cute back in the day when my grandma bought clothes from the Gap.

I was surprised that I had such an immediate reaction to Fake Joyce.  For the first time, I saw a vision of myself 45 years into the future.  I have always imagined how I might grow up and slowly turn into a version of Joyce, but it was fascinating to see a visual reminder of my future.  I am happy to report that my future self is still wearing polka dots.

Most of my memories of Joyce's later years are not very positive.  She went from depression, to angry, to a sublime state of dementia.  I had to say to her, "Well yeah, Grandma, my back would hurt too if I slept most of the day."  Her angry period was when the decision was made to sell their house and downsize into a senior apartment.  I will never forget the stories about how she would stomp outside and pull the "For Sale" sign out of the yard, or when she snuck out to the garage full of bags for donation to pull out the ugliest pants you've ever seen that my mom constantly tried to throw away.

Today's sighting of Fake Joyce brought back so many of the fun and positive memories of my grandma that had been overshadowed by the later years.  What a revelation.  Suddenly I remembered her metallic sneakers, her love of Regis and Kathie Lee, and the way that she danced all of the time in a way that was slightly embarrassing to the rest of us.  I remembered that she always had cut up cantaloupe (I will never be adult enough to spend time on this), and listened to Harry Carey on the radio.  I recalled that even in the later years when she didn't know who I was, she and my grandpa would still squeeze each others' hands to each syllable of the phrase "See how much I love you?".

And for the first time, I was less worried about my memory, and more excited about the fact that I am destined to wear polka dot sweaters and embarrass loved ones with my dancing for decades.  And, for the record, I still have those ugly pants.