A Mother's Day Tribute to My Mom – She Will Always Be My Everyday Hero

As a child, my mom was everything. A “housewife”—or more fittingly, a stay-at-home mom—she wore more hats than I can count: caregiver, cook, cleaner, healer, chauffeur, singer (though not a great one), shopper, wife, disciplinarian, cheerleader, counselor, comedian, childcare provider, and ladies’ auxiliary member. In other words—a superhero.

My childhood memories are steeped in the soundtrack of our home: Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree, Time in a Bottle, and Margaritaville playing on KRES radio as she cleaned and cooked. I remember sitting in our tiny kitchen, completely underfoot, playing with plastic pans while she made dinner and I waited for my dad to come home. My mom always made my dad a hero in my eyes—but it would take decades before I realized who the true daily victor really was.

I can still see her vacuuming or waxing the floors, planting flowers in the yard, and scrubbing windows with vinegar. I can smell the Cheer detergent from the laundry and hear the unmistakable sound of her chewing gum. She’d hum when she was happy and sigh when she wasn’t. She sat by my side for endless hours during a hospital stay after a run-in with the wringer washer, and tended to my record-setting bouts of strep throat. Even though she didn’t swim or like being in the sun, I vividly remember her sitting poolside in her green-and-yellow swimsuit during early morning swim lessons. That image sticks with me—one of the few moments I can recall her sitting during the day. She was usually in constant motion until the dinner dishes were done, and I was bathed and tucked into bed.

One of my earliest memories is of her rocking me to sleep in our big brown living room chair, singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, or reading Little Golden Books—often dozing off herself from sheer exhaustion. At the time, I thought this was just what all moms did. But as an adult, I now see her superpower for what it truly was: the selfless act of putting her own health and needs aside to ensure we felt safe, nurtured, and deeply loved.

With two older siblings, she raised a teenager, an adolescent, and a young child all under the same roof—during the turbulence of the 1970s, no less. On top of that, she cared for other people’s children—probably more out of necessity than desire—but she excelled at it. Her household ran like clockwork. She taught kids to be self-sufficient and could correct unruly behavior with nothing more than a stern glance from her petite frame. And even though I had to share her time and attention, she had a way of making me feel like I was the only one in the room—“My Michele,” she’d say.

I was an inquisitive, attention-seeking, strong-willed, talkative, moody, wildly imaginative child—frequently bored and regularly facing unique orthopedic challenges that left me both accident-prone and fiercely determined. In many ways, my mom and I were opposites. In just as many ways, we were the same. I know I tested her patience (and we haven’t even gotten to my teen years yet), and it would have been easy for her to tell me to quiet down, stop crying, or stop storytelling. I’m sure there were days she did. But deep down, I know she encouraged my creativity, independence, and bold spirit.

Without a doubt, my mom loved being a mom. I saw it every time she held a baby—her face would light up, ageless and full of joy. She glowed holding her grandchildren, and always said her proudest accomplishments were her children. Her love for us was fierce, unwavering, and unstoppable.

This Mother’s Day, I honor the woman who gave so much of herself so that we could flourish. She was more than a mother—she was the heartbeat of our home, the keeper of our joy, and the original architect of the love that shaped who I am.

Happy Heavenly Mother’s Day, Mom. You were—and always will be—my superhero.