It was a chilly fall day back on Arrott. Back when the gas heater still worked, but a chill still managed to seep through the cracks of the windows.

   We still had pumpkins from Shady Brook, when I went to the pumpkin patch with my grandparents and cousin Grace. My mom’s school bake sale was coming up, so we decided to put them to good use. We made pumpkin walnut muffins.

   I was at the age where my mom still needed to help me bake. I would crack the eggs, and pour in the measurements she made. I would whisk a bit, and she would give it the speed it needed to conglomerate into the dough. We put down some cooking spray and muffin liners, and waited for our masterpieces to come out of the oven.

  Their sweet smell filled the old kitchen. They tasted delicious. I never knew the mush inside those pumpkins could taste so good.

   We made a few for the house, and the rest were saved for the bake sale. They went fast. We knew they would.

   They were made with the love from a mother who absolutely adored her daughter. Even if said daughter threw her mom’s phone at the mall on Black Friday because she “got bored”. Or made her mom take a trip to the ER because she was curious what would happen if she stuck one of those fire legos up her nose.

   I don’t need Mom’s help baking anymore. When we make our holiday cookies, or banana bread, I’m able to follow the instructions. I just need Mom to help put them in and take them out of the oven.

   I still steal her phone all the time, to look at old photos, but I don’t throw it into some random place while she’s not looking to make her play scavenger hunt. We really got lucky that an old lady found it and returned it to her. 

   And, luckily, my mother has not had to go on a trip to the ER because of me in six years. There have still been some medical mishaps in the family though.

   But despite all of our growth, learning, and changes, one thing has remained constant. Our love for each other. The mom that loved that crazy little girl, who always had one thing or another going on, still loves that now young woman, who is independent but still needs her mom’s help taking things out of the oven. Despite how “grown up” she is, she’ll always need her mom’s help. Her shoulder to cry on. Her direction to guide her. Her support that, no matter where this whirlwind takes her, she’ll always have somewhere to go home to. And that is enough.

   Happy Mother’s Day Mom. I love you so much.