As I awake to my blaring alarm in the morning after an unsound sleep, my frustration with life begins to rise. After spending an hour or so showering, getting dressed and delaying my journey to class, I am forced to walk outside my door and begin my crap-laden day.
It seems that lately I have a permanent rain cloud floating above my head. Nothing seems to go just right, and despite my best efforts to replace that black cloud with something more cheerful, like a sunflower or a unicorn, I remain in a constant state of irritation.
Most days, I feel annoyed and I'm not positive why. I have always been told I'm a happy person; however, my frown that can't be turned upside down says otherwise.
It's times like these that I always turn to my touchstone – my mom.
It's no surprise that my mom is, and always has been, my best friend. I've been told that I am a replica of her, and I suppose that's not a bad thing.
My mom is one of the most caring people I know. She has a perpetual talent for making those around her happy.
I remember years ago, my mom and I were home together in our old house. It was a beautiful fall day and the leaves had landed on the ground in a picturesque pattern of orange and red.
As I was staring out our window to the backyard, I saw a crow attacking a small animal and my mom ran outside to scare it away.
The poor little victim was left in a ball of fluff, barely breathing. As I started crying, she felt her motherly instincts tug at her heart and proceeded to grab a shoebox, placing the little animal inside.
She and I raced to the veterinarian's office, but as we walked inside, the tiny creature took his last breath.
Although I was clearly upset at the time, I remember thinking how compassionate my mom was for trying to save even the smallest life. Most people would think it was a pathetic attempt, but that's just the way she is.
Apart from having the largest heart I know – capable of loving everyone around her – my mom always seems to have the exact solution to each of my problems – and trust me, there are many of them.
It's a comforting feeling to call her on the phone, and without saying a word, have her know exactly what's bothering me and give me encouraging words that turn my day around.
Even when I was younger, my mom would write notes on napkins and put them in my lunch bag. They usually contained a nonsensical message, but just the simple gesture of knowing that I was loved and that someone had thought of me that day made me feel happy.
I don't want to drone on as a Pollyanna – of course our friendship has its ups and downs. She is, after all, my mother and I believe that it's some secret, unwritten rule that mothers are required to annoy their daughters, at least at some point in their lives.
Asking me to do chores when I'm home on summer vacation is never a good idea and I'm useless when it comes to finding the vacuum in the small hall closet.
But receiving care packages in the mail, texts throughout the day and nights out to dinner when I'm home make me realize that most people don't have the relationship I have with my mom.
Some people say that friends are the family you choose, but even if I were given the choice, I would have picked my mom to be my family.
E-mail: adrian.finch@ubspectrum.com
