"If she could stand it, I'd tell her that sometimes she can be pretty funny - in a Maggie Smith-ish way - and has a kind of grit I don't see in many other women.  I'd tell her I'm no longer secretly trying to change her, to make her more outgoing or liberal or spendy.

I want her to know I have learned the difference between pampering and love, adventure and life experience, mothers and fathers.

I see now what she did for my dad and me, how she let our relationship stay simple and uncomplicated by drawing the fouls and taking the hits.  It was her gift to me as a girl in the world, and I will give the same gift to my daughters. 

I want her to know that I have seen how the light changes over the course of the day and I know that the rooms that start cold get warmer.

I'd tell her that I know now that there are no daughters who never embarrass, harass, dismiss, discount, deceive, neglect, baffle, appall, incite, or insult their mothers. 

I want her to know that although I vote for Democrats and cry easily and still spend all my money going to places no one ever needs to go, I hate shopping and cooking.  I live within my means and worship my girlfriends, especially the ones who play cards and rag me about keeping the thermostat set too low.  I don't long for other mothers anymore; I don't even wonder about them.  I was meant to be her daughter, and I consider it a damn good thing that she, or all people, was the principal agent in my development. 

I want to tell my mom that I admire her, the quiet hero of 168 Wooded Lane the way she marched head-on into each uncertain moment, changing as the circumstances demanded, like finding a good-paying job at forty-eight with three kids in college. 

Even though I don't always know what she's talking about or why something bothers her or what's making her smile, it doesn't matter, I don't care anymore, I love her."
-Glitter and Glue: A Memoir by Kelly Corrigan