That's my mom. She's the one with the sheaf of corn colored hair. The small person in the fierce pink cords is me. I did not get her thick wave of hair. Her birthday is the day after Callum's which, you'd think, would be, "oh, how nice," but really, as we're totally focused on this only grandchild, sometimes I imagine his Ama must feel as if she's waving madly from the wings.

I felt extra-cognizant of that this year for some reason, so I was very focused on getting her gift off to her in time. I made her my new favorite reversible apron in some amazing Freshcut fabrics and put another goodie in besides. The day I knew I needed to mail it was the day after Labor Day, still the start of school, and the same day that I left her package, my watch, phone and lunch at home (I did however, remember a friend's socks that he probably won't need for six months.). Neel gallantly rushed home to mail the package, but because I needed it to be on time, it was unwrapped with no card. When he got back from the UPS Store, he told me that the package would get there on Thursday...a full day before it needed to. I could have waited. It could have been wrapped. It could have had a card. But hey, it got there in time.

My mom is someone I would have liked to have known when she was a child. Not that I don't like knowing her now, but the stories I hear of her childhood sound particularly fierce. She decided when she was around Callum's age that her given name, "Mary" was a little pedestrian. In order to add a little more...I don't know...heft to her persona, she added her middle name, and ever after was known as the very non-pedestrian "Mary Jane." She's been Mary Jane ever since, and goes by "MJ" a lot now. It always sounded so funny to hear my aunt or cousins or grandmother call her "Mary." As if they had the wrong person. She marched on Washington with her chuch for civil rights, she was runner up to the Apple Festival Queen, and she went far, far away from Illinois, deep into the south for college where she met my dad.

My mom and I are a lot a like. I got her headaches (thanks, mom), and her quirky snap-judgements (now those I actually enjoy!). Of all our family lexicon of phrases, my mom has created some of my favorites. Once, when my dad snapped the point of a pencil, she exclaimed as if hit with a tremendous revelation, "You press down and break things!" We like to shop together (that took a lot of hard work through my teenage years) and have very similar taste in houses, furnishings and clothes. When one of us gets new clothes and the other doesn't, we actually feel (a little) guilty.

She can skim the surface of the modern world with no tv and no plans to get one, but my mom knew yoga before yoga cool. And vegetarianism. And reiki. You name it. She got there before you.

Her mother, owner of a children's clothing store, was my official dresser, and my mom has taken over that role for Callum. Only she uses Garnet Hill and Mini Boden. She likes keeping him in shoes and cool clothes. They can cook together and read together, but Callum knows that clothes come from Ama. When he was opening his presents this weekend, he came to the last box from Ama, he said, "Oh! I hope it's clothes!"

Somehow, sometimes, we manage to do things right. Happy Birthday, Mom. Hope your weekend's been a knock-out.