Forever 34 and Full of Grace: A Mother’s Day Tribute to My Mom

Mother’s Day has been a U.S. tradition since 1914, when President Woodrow Wilson officially designated the second Sunday in May to honor moms everywhere. And while Hallmark has done their best to make it all about flowers, gifts, and $7 folded pieces of cardboard, I’ve never been a card guy. My mom knows this. I’d rather hand her seven bucks (or whatever cards cost these days) than waste money on something that ends up in the trash by Thursday. Besides, this blog post is better than a card—it’s heartfelt, slightly embarrassing, and digital. You’re welcome, Mom.

Now, let’s talk about my mom.

For years, I told everyone she was 34. That wasn’t her request—it was just the number I randomly picked and committed to. Why 34? Who knows. It sounded youthful and believable for a woman who kept up with two kids, ran a home salon in Springfield, and oversaw the construction of a home in Clever, Missouri... all while staying stylish and sane. But now that I’m in my early 50s, the lie has become mathematically unsustainable. Sorry, Mom—time wins.

Mom was the ultimate weekend warrior. With my dad’s days off falling midweek, she became our full-time weekend driver-slash-activity director. Soccer games, roller rinks, friends’ houses, movie theaters—you name it, she was behind the wheel, probably wondering if she’d ever get to sit down again.

While raising my sister and me, she went to cosmetology school and launched a business from our home. She worked around Dad’s schedule, ran a tight household, and still managed to make it to every game, recital, and emergency trip to the store for last-minute science project materials.

She also had style. Most of the time. Then there was that one time she convinced me to perm my hair into what can only be described as a curly mohawk. It was bold. It was... a moment.

But her talents extended far beyond perms and ponytails. She helped my first real girlfriend get ready for prom—and I mean really helped. When we walked in, my friends genuinely thought I brought someone else. Her transformation game was that strong. She was also

No, it's not my mom, but it is what I remember things being like in the early 80s

the go-to sounding board for many of my friends. Whether someone was dealing with heartbreak, parents divorcing, or teenage rebellion, my mom was there to listen. She was a safe space before “safe space” was a buzzword.

And she made sacrifices—big ones and small ones—without ever making them feel like burdens. She once gave up her birthday money so I could get my first pair of Nike shoes. She made sure we were always fed, clothed, and cared for in ways that went far beyond the basics.

Her homes have always been places of comfort, not just for family, but for everyone. She transformed their property in Clever into a literal park—flower beds, pristine lawns, you name it. Now, in Warren County, she’s done it again, meticulously maintaining seven acres like she’s prepping for a Better Homes & Gardens feature.

She’s the kind of mom that doesn’t just raise her own kids—she ends up raising a village. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

So this Mother’s Day, no card. Just love, gratitude, and a blog post that’ll live forever on the internet—just like your 34-year-old legend.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You’re still the best thing that ever happened to us. Even if you did perm my hair.