Through most of my childhood memories, I can't even remember my mom sitting down. She was constantly doing and going, nearly always with a smile on her face. She worked hard taking care of us and showing us how loved we were, and then she went to work and worked equally hard, first part-time when we were young and later back to full-time as a teacher and school administrator.

My mother somehow managed to be the Maine version of Martha Stewart (minus the prison time) with limited resources and obviously limited time. Honestly, I don't know where she found the time in her day, while raising three kids, to bake treats and sew our Easter dresses, all while renovating a nineteenth century farmhouse that needed constant re-painting.

Maybe not Pinterest-style perfect, but the birthday parties she threw us as kids were so full of her creativity and the joy she took in planning games and decorating cakes to match a theme. I had a detective party when I was maybe 9 years old, that I think was just the best party of all time; complete with pin the magnifying glass on the detective, an indoor-outdoor scavenger hunt, and a dodge the laser game that covered the living room in string. They weren't overly matching or stress-inducing, they were just totally fun and creative.

Still gives the best pep talks. My dad does as well, but man: when things aren't going right, my mom knows exactly what to say to make me feel better. Despite the fact that she works more now than ever, she always has the time for taking those calls when I really need a pep talk.

I never once felt like she didn't want to be hanging out with us. In fact, I still feel like she truly wants to spend as much time as possible with us.

Some of my favorite memories of growing up were sitting around the dinner table for hours, discussing politics or current events or whatever was in the local paper that morning. I loved those conversations, and they really taught me how to speak and converse like an adult more than anything else I did growing up, all because my parents invited us to join them at the grown-up table, so to speak.

I love my daughter more than I could ever explain, but sometimes I look at her and wonder if I could spend so many hours trying to help her understand something as painful as geometry. She had what seemed like unending patience while I literally banged my head against the wall. I hope one day I can show my daughter that same excruciating patience.

My brother and sister and I still regularly use her weird sayings and songs. When we were little and getting in the car for a ride, she'd threaten to sing if we didn't put our seat belts on, so it wasn't as though her voice was melodic. She definitely leaned more toward totally made-up and punny, rather than sweet and soothing, but remarkably apropos in so many situations. There were nights when dinner was "FFYS," or "fend for yourself," and she was forever admonishing us to GWTF, also known as "go with the flow." Life lessons in acronym form, right there for the taking.

When we began the adoption process my mother was supportive, but worried for me. She knew the depth and scale of the hurt in an adoption journey that could potentially be so painful for me. Even once we adopted our daughter and started fostering, I could tell she just didn't want to see our hearts break in the process. I want that to be me, 30 years from now, wishing success for my daughter but also still struggling to want to protect her.

My mom is still my first call when things go wrong. She can still soothe what ails me even though we've lived several thousand miles apart for almost a decade now. That's what I wish for my daughter, too: that she would still want to call her mom for help or a pep talk even when she's a grown up.