I sent my mom flowers last week in advance of mother's day. I called the florist in Gloucester and asked for an arrangement of spray roses, garden roses, and stock in purples and pinks and whites. I asked if it would be possible for the bouquet to look like something that had come from a garden. The next morning they were delivered to my mom's building just as she was running out for a doctor's appointment. My mom yelled across the street to the delivery woman, "by any chance are those for Laura?". The delivery woman, surprised, "how did you know?". And my mom, taking them from her, "they look like something for me".
I know my mom. I know her better than I've ever known anything or anyone in my life. And that is a loaded sentence. It means I know what she's trying to say when she isn't actually saying it. It means I know when the bluesy periods are settling in sometimes even before she does. And it means I know when I have made her so happy that I can predict the exact pitch of an "oooooh" squeal when I get her call. I received the latter yesterday afternoon after sending her a card over email with the photo below. Happy mother's day mama, you are mine, and I love you more than I am usually able to say.