This week, my mother would have been 68 years old.

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Mom and Butchie 1972 - Version 2

In your honor, Judith Marie Brockmire, here’s a list of what I know now:

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It seems like you were just here.  Yesterday.  Today.  This morning.

It seems like you’ve been gone longer than forever.

I miss you.

My children live too far away.

I (still) hate ironing.

A person who is cruel to animals will be just as cruel to humans.  Especially children.

I love sports — love them.  As spectator and as participant.

I once heard Toni Morrison say that all kids want is to see your face light up when they enter the room.  She was right.

Loving mothers make the world go ’round and ’round and ’round.

I always carry a book to the bathtub, every single time, whether I open it or not.

Unless you live on a farm, 3 dogs is probably too many.   Though I will never admit it.

I can’t save them all.

It is easier to forgive an old friend than a new friend.

I will never be 5’9.

Hard exercise makes me happy. and it has nothing to do with weight.

My children are mine, no matter who birthed them.  And I respect their birth mother …. I wish we knew each other better.

I am an inappropriate crier.  And I am an inappropriate laugher.  I apologize.

No matter your circumstances, you can make anyplace your home if you try hard enough.

I inherited your sarcasm.

Rome has the best pizza/pasta/gelato on the planet, but my house  has the best chicken and dumplings, thanks to Grandpa Red.

Boys are infinitely nicer than girls.

You can be very happy with the right man, but you do not need a man to make you happy.

I love going to the drug store. Thanks, Grandma Ann.  I love going to the grocery store.  Thanks, Mom.  I hate all other shopping, period.

Thanks for insisting I was not a weirdo because I liked to spend all of my time in the library.  Thanks for listening to me ramble on and on and on about books.  Nothing beats a good book.  Nothing.

I wish you’d known wine.  I imagine us sitting on your porch in Kelso, on a spring or fall evening, with a glass (or 3 or 7) or wine.  Crickets chirping.  Buddy howling.  Wade complaining.  Us, laughing.

You should sing as often as possible, whether you can sing or not.

Too much mascara and eyeliner looks bad on anyone over 40.

Moisturize.

Apply dubious amounts of sunscreen.

Love all.

If you have a grill, you don’t need a fancy oven.

Handwritten letters will always, always, be important.

You said I looked like Lee Roy, but I really look like you.  Especially on my drivers license.

I miss you.  Have I mentioned that?

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If you could write your mother a letter, what would you tell her?

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