I should be wickedly ashamed

Yesterday was Mother's Day and I intended to write a "tribute to my mom post". I actually planned one in my mind well before the first of the year. I thought it would make a better surprise- not so cliche- to post such a thing NOT on Mother's Day but the day crept closer and passed without such a post from me.
I have so much to say about my mother, and the night is getting late but here are a few short words... I wanted to scan one of my favorite pictures of how I remember my mom, how she looked when I was small- Her long hair and bright eyes. But how do you capture in a photo things like the feel of her hand when she held mine, the smell of her soap and the security of knowing she'd come down the hall if I yelled "MOM" from my dark room, just to pat me on the back? How could a picture show the hard work she endured for me?
I have a skewed view of childhood and it's my mom's fault. I remember getting up on New Year's Eve to make noise on the porch and holler "happy new year" into the night. I remember Easters with white gloves, Dogwood clippings, baskets and church. I remember perfect birthday parties, where girls wore dresses and the cakes and games were homemade. I remember summers at the pool, swimming lessons and suntan oil (no sunscreen for these 70's children). I remember raking leaves and jumping. I remember baking cookies every Christmas, without fail, and dressing in red velvet. I remember a charmed life, Norman Rockwell had nothing on us and my clumsy words don't do justice. But in all these things, I remember my mom, always there, loving, supporting, creating memories for me to treasure. Mom, I treasure you- not only on Mother's Day but on every day of the year.