When you think of your mom, what is the first thing to come to mind? Is it the those days when she made you soup when you thought you were going to die from a never-ending cold? Could it be the times where she sat holding you when you cried over some stupid boy? Maybe it's the matching tattoos you share? Or is it the many, many nights she's stayed awake worrying when you're out with your friends? Well, all of these come to my mind, and that's because she my best friend. And those are things best friends do.

Growing up, my dad traveled a lot. He would be home for maybe a week or two a month, and he was always busy doing something during that time. That obviously gave my mom and I plenty of time to bond. Being the only child, I was lucky to not have to share her. I can clearly remember when she would stay home with me when I was "sick". We would set up a blanket fort and watch SpongeBob SquarePants for hours on end while eating pack upon packs of double-stuffed Oreos. On the rare occasion that she didn't stay home with me, she would call and check on me every chance she got. During this time, I was in elementary school. My mom was hired on as a substitute teacher just so she could be around me. The days where she was my teacher were a mix between super fun and hilariously awkward. I would call her "Mommy" which then led to my whole second grade class calling her by that sacred name. I was definitely not having any of that. She was my mom. No one else's! When I got to be about nine, my mom was hired full-time at a middle school across town. We didn't get to spend as much time together as we used to, but we were still so close. She always let me come and visit her classroom when I didn't have school.

Things between us were great until about seventh grade. I was going through the infamous I hate everyone and everything stage. Although that was the only year I went to private school, that was the year I became the child from hell. Ironic, isn't it? Eighth and ninth grade were definitely not any easier. I discovered black eyeliner and decided to draw a thick, crooked line across each of my eyelids. I started dying my hair stupid colors because I wanted to be "different". Even though she would constantly be shaking her head, she still loved me and let me know everyday.

Things got better between us with time, as most things do. I started to realize that I, in fact, did NOT have all the answers. Whenever I would slip up or really get down in the dumps, my mom was there to pick me back up. If we ever argued, we would never stay mad for more than 30 minutes tops. Now that I'm an adult, I really appreciate my mom more than anything in this world. She is the kindest, wisest, and most loving person I know.

I love you, Mom, Thank you for being my best friend for these past nineteen years.