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My home is split in two: half of us are pining for summer weather, and the other half is still craving the snowstorm our town never got.

I’ve always been a cold-weather kind of person (the heat makes me faint, literally), but I’m pretty enthusiastic about these 80-degree days we experienced this week. I will say, I’m saddened that our area didn’t have one single snowfall all winter.

Tis life. On to summer.

Dear diary: I remember the first time I ever looked at a snowflake. Really, deeply studied it. I was living in my childhood home, standing out on the back deck during a heavy evening snowfall, and I was wearing black mittens.

My mom had always told me that every single snowflake to ever touch our earth was different. The shape of it, its size, its corners, and how it all came to be formed that way. I’d let several snowflakes land on my mitten, zeroed in on them, and watched them melt into a water drop before I could decipher their differences.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there, and especially to my mom.

Here’s the thing about moms––they’re like snowflakes. On the surface, moms nurture, raise children, make sure their lunch box is full, and tuck their children in each night.

 All moms have the same job. But not all moms are the same. I saw this the older I got. I even wrote a column once about how, when I was 19 years old, I realized my mom was actually my best friend in the world.

My mom is different from the rest because she was fashioned differently. With an unconventional childhood and countless ups and downs in life, she was shaped into the person who can sense when I’m going through something, can wordlessly speak to me with a nod and can understand my banter. 

Just by the tone of my voice, she knows when I want a deviled egg sandwich, and she prioritizes her Sunday nights to make a Starbucks run and watch American Idol with me.

A basic mom who works 9 to 5 then throws together dinner? Not her.

A mother who runs a business from home, plays with the grandkids all day, then makes a home-cooked meal? That’s her. She did all the things when I was growing up: made my bed, packed my lunch box, and made sure I was fed, tucked in and warm. But we’re both adults now. At this stage of my life, my parents are my confidants, my friends. These days, my mom and I cook together and share our blankets.

All moms are snowflakes. Mine is just the most unique. She was made by the Creator and hand-picked for my family, as though collected on a mitten and preserved for us.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there, but especially my mother.