I never met someone who loves the world more than her

Today is my mom’s birthday, you guys. And not just any birthday, it’s the big 5-0. She may think she’s getting old, but really, as a 27 year old, having a 50 year old mom is such a blessing! She’s still young (although not always hip, sorry Mom but I’ve heard about your watching the Grammys) and fun, and she cooks, and she tells it like it is, and she’s pretty much 100 percent of the time not only on your side, but will defend you until the death.

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Here is a photo of us at one of my BFFs weddings late last year. My parents were pretty much the life of the party, with my mom running the dance floor (and bossing the DJ around) and my dad out with the boys.

I love that I have a mom that people want to dance with on the dance floor. I love that my mom dances probably later than most 20 year olds. Seeing my mom is more like seeing a really, really good friend that you haven’t seen in a bit – but that doesn’t matter, because you can gab about anything and it’s like you talked yesterday.

I am sad to not be there, although with the technology these days I was able to Facetime in to her ice cream cake singing. But I am glad this is such a big year for us – the year of her 50th, my sister’s 30th, a new baby on the way, and plus, Jeff and I are getting married. I can’t wait for all the fun this year will bring – and I am glad I get to share it with such a sweet family, and such an awesomely cool mom. Happy Day, Mom. xo

www.marycostaphotography.com-Katie-Tom-Married-in-Boston-094

 [Photo by Mary Costa of Mary Costa Photography]

Saturday is…

Getting in to the airport at 5:25 am. Van ride to Nashua. Napping the morning away. Cheerios and chatter. Fixing the garage door (or attempting to.) Pnemautic nailer. Rosie the Riveter = me as I attempt to use the pneumatic-nail the door. Yelling “Hayford” to chastise Jeff, only to realize I am surrounded by the three Hayford men. Pizza as a reward for our hardwork. Olives. Onions. Peppers. Sausage. World cup soccer: 1-1, and an embarassing goal for England. Part of a movie, a nap for the boys. Checking in back home. Red Sox, and a delicious dinner. A family talk over tea: cake for the birthday boy and girl. Up to midnight, chatting about everything under the sun.

Saturday is…

Saturday is:

Sunshine. Waking up early to go to Trader Joe’s. Basil from my plant. Making pasta salad, on the phone with my mom. Gossip. Coffee. Sunscreening around tan lines. Fifteen passenger vans. Fourteen friends. Malibu. Glee soundtrack. Wine. Lots of wine. Tire swings shaped like horses. Rustic picnic benches. Wine tastings. Adirondack chairs. In yellow. Friend trivia. Red wine. White wine. Rose wine. Flip cam. Nikon cam. Point and shoot cam. Film cam. Cheese. Pasta salad. Tuna salad. Fruit. Veggies. Occasionally, some water. Live music. Heart-to-heart’s. Walking to the top. Walking to the barrels, taking photos. Laughing. Smiling. Talking. Eating. Tanning. Chatting. Crying, a little.

Back in the van. Don’t Stop Believin’. Six hours, sunburnt. In all the right places. No more tan lines. Cake. With sprinkles. Rainbow kind. Happy Birthday. Chattering away. Dinner. Pizza. Water, water, water. Two boys jumping in a pool. Fully clothed. Apples to apples. Laughing until you cry. Ten o’clock. Hugs. Hugs. Hugs.

Good, good night.