“This pandemic is far from over and there will be many emotional ups-and-downs. Ride those waves, mothers. Ride them like a day-drunk Boomer at a currently open Georgia water park.” —Tina Fey.

My mother is, right now, in her apartment, most likely puttering from one room to another, as her coffee brews, thinking about what she should eat next, an egg or some toast with avocado, the latter of which she’s been eating for decades, before it became a requirement of hipster brunch. She’s 80, her daily life, the one pre-COVID, was a social one, where she visited with her friends, and went to the mall, and did Shabbat services. I’m completely in awe of her resilience over the last eight weeks, how quickly she’s pivoted to sheltering in place, how she’s adapted to it, how she’s finally and thankfully embraced technology on another level, Zooming with her girlfriends. For me, and for The Teenager, we do a weekly WhatsApp video call, so the three of us can see one another’s faces, and laugh while my Mother proceeds to tell us racy jokes and stories that have no beginning, middle or end, but somehow make sense. I speak to my Mother every day on the phone, sometimes she’s the last person I speak to in the course of my quarantined life, sometimes she’s an afternoon break, but she’s always, always there.

Being a Mother is an everyday life, and everyday existence. As many Mothers will tell you, every day is Mother’s Day.

So this Mother’s Day, as I have every Mother’s day  over the course of my adult life, I salute my Mom.