Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Ask a man to describe his father. The series of adjectives that will follow are words like strong, funny, shy, or outgoing. He might begin to describe him in terms of his interests. “My Father likes watching sports and collecting maps from different cities.” He might describe him in a funny anecdote from his childhood that encompasses who his father is as a person. Now, ask that same man to describe his mother. Often, you will receive a string of words that describes her in terms of how she cares for him. “My mom is the best. She always supports me, and cooks for me when I see her. She takes such good care of me. She’s my rock.”

We have woven the term motherhood so tightly with caregiving, that often we fail to separate the person from their role. Personhood is something we offer to fathers, not to mothers. Our mothers, while giving us life, care, and lifelong nurturing, shockingly to some, are still people of their own with unique interests, hobbies, and needs. So this Mother’s day, for those of you celebrating, celebrate not just who your mother is to you, but who she is in and of herself.

I’ll begin with my own mother. A woman with such distinct personage, that even two languages can not put it into words. All of my life, I have borne witness to my mother and yet, I often forget how special she truly is. In Italy this past summer, we visited a horse ranch where we rode through olive trees, a vineyard, and the Tuscan Countryside. After spending some time with the ranch’s owners as my mother charmingly conversed with her horse; politely asking it to go where she needed it, and allowing it to stop for as many snacks as it needed. The woman who ran the ranch grabbed my hand and pointed at my mother, and through our translated conversion, neither of us fully able to bridge the language gap, I knew what she meant. That even in the short time we were together, my mother managed to offer a warmth that cloaked you, and a vibrancy that you can’t make out. Even as she takes on a new challenge in a foreign land, she carries herself with a quiet confidence, a fortitude unwavering on the back of the unfamiliar. A woman whose level hum soothes a waining crowd. She is the kind of person who makes the mundane exciting. The kind who is riveted by the little things, such as learning that basil shouldn’t go into your pasta sauce (It will make it bitter). The kind who makes friends faster than Bezos makes money.

The woman at the horse ranch wasn’t alone. Many of our new acquaintances remarked on my mother as we journeyed. Perhaps in fresh light, we are able to see what was always there. My mother, while an excellent cook, prefers to eat cold pizza for breakfast. My mother, while making our halloween costumes as children, prefers to watch horror movies, and once wrote a murder mystery novel. My mother, who encourages my education, also holds a degree in English and a love of poetry, such as Edgar Allen Poe. She hates: actors who do commercials, desserts, graphic t-shirts, and skinny jeans. She loves: using the word scrumpy, alcohol in most forms, home-cooked meals, trying new things, and demonstrating to others how much she cares for them. My mom, is so much more than just my mother. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.