Lori MacBlogger: To the most beautiful woman I know

Happy birthday, Mom!

When I was in first grade, my mom was doing a lot of photo shoots for her job as an art director. She had taken me on a few shoots and shot me for some ads, so I thought I had a good grasp on the concept. Then we had a career day in school, and the teacher asked us if anyone wanted to share what their parents did for a living. I proudly waved my hand and boasted in what I thought was proper advertising lingo, "My mom shoots people." The color drained from my teacher's face and I explained, "you know, like photo shoots." Duh.

When I was around 8 years old I loved to snuggle under the covers in my mother's bed on Friday nights. We'd watch Webster, Benson, Dallas, and if she happened to fall asleep, I'd stay up late and watch Falcon Crest. Once I stayed up really late and watched a long-forgotton Tom Cruise movie on HBO called Losin' It. It was about Tom Cruise's character taking off to Tijuana to, well, lose it, and I think it was probably the first time I saw naked breasts on television.

When I was around 10, she and her boyfriend at the time would stay up late on weekend nights and dance in the living room to Paul Simon. If I had been maybe two years older I would have counted the ways to die from embarrasment, but at 10, I just wanted to be included in on the fun. They always made sure that I was. (Once there was Kahlua involved).

When I was 16, I went to the DMV for my learner's permit. Nervous, I went to ask my mom for the millionth time if she remembered to bring my birth certificate. Except that instead of saying "certificate", I asked my mom in front of the entire DMV if she remembered to bring my birth control. (I was 16. I was not on birth control.) We burst out laughing and didn't stop practically until I left for college.

When I was 20 and wanted to drop a history course because it didn't work with my bustling social life, she agreed to pay for summer school and tell my grandparents that the class was simply to get a jump start on my senior year.

When I was 26 and suffering from over-achievement, my mom assured me that I would get through it, unscathed and better off. When I turned 28 and told her I was moving to LA, she lied through her teeth and told me that she wanted me to - because it would make me happy. Only it wasn't a lie because she always has wanted me to be happy, at whatever cost to her own disposition.

For years I thought my mom was the coolest person in the world. Then I went through puberty and, well, didn't. But sometime after that I grew up just a little and realized that my mother was a lot more than just "cool" and more than just "Moh-ohm!". She was a woman with complex feelings and choices and a personality and a life that existed outside of motherhood. It consistently thrills me to see a new side of her; to meet her new friends and hear what they love about her; or run into old friends and hear stories I may have been too young to hear wthe first time around. My relationship with my mother is constantly changing, evolving, growing. But throughout the years, one thing has remained the same: