Why My Mom is the Best Mom in the World

On cold days, my brother and I would come home from school, and my mom would have hot chocolate ready for us. Sometimes, there would be warm chocolate chip cookies, too.

She let me go to the Red Hot Chili Peppers concert in a bad section of New Orleans even when my dad didn’t want me to go. I was 17 years old.

She gets excited about simple things, like an ice cream sundae or free samples at the grocery store.

She makes the funniest faces in the world, without even trying. :)

She always made sure my twin brother and I received the same number of Christmas gifts, worth the same total amount.

When something really good was coming on TV that we would watch together, like the season finale of “Knots Landing,” she’d make popcorn on the stove for us.

She always let me lick the bowl.

She knows who Evan Dando is. And Conor Oberst.

She never dressed my twin brother and I alike.

She always let me listen to whatever music I wanted.

She’s one of the only moms who gets invited to my friends’ weddings.

She never acted embarrassed during my odd fashion periods – the 80-something O-rings I wore, the huge Madonna cross earrings, the two Swatches…

I never had a curfew.

She laughs at her own jokes, which makes me laugh, too.


She sent me the address to Trent Reznor’s New Orleans house when she found it on the Internet.

She walked in the oppressively muggy New Orleans heat about two miles to my elementary school to see me perform in a talent show. (I think it was uphill both ways, too.)

She made Amish friendship bread for Glenn, and instantly, she had a fan for life.

She always cries when she sees Santa Claus in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

She remembers everyone’s birthday, AND she sends a card ON TIME.

She sends greeting cards to my friends when they’re celebrating new homes, getting married or having kids.

When I needed to sell a few more chocolate bars or rolls of wrapping paper so I could get a cool prize at school, she would always make up the difference.

My friends love her and claim her as their second mom.

She is a wonderful cook, and has had recipes published in Southern Living magazine and the Times-Picayune.

She always believes in me.

She’s one of the only moms I know who would stand up and yell “Who Dat?” and shake her black-and-gold pompoms every Sunday.

She’s my best friend.

I wish I could explain how much my mom means to me, but even for a “journalist,” it’s an impossible task. I love you, Mom. You’re the best.