This post is dedicated to my mother.

Long before twitter, long before tweets, I was Bird. For as long as I can remember, that is what my mother has called me. JulieBird. Never two words separated by a pause, always concatenated into one new word. Usually said very quickly and if ever shortened, just to Bird. She hardly ever calls me Julie.

That nickname came from my eating habits. No, I was not picky and did not peck at my food. It was more like I consumed twice my weight in food daily. Like most birds, I had awesome metabolism (note the past tense). I could eat more than my brother in one sitting, easy peasy, and kept skinny with no effort. Of course that didn’t last, and the physical change that overcame me at eighteen sent me into an anorexic tailspin, but that’s another story.

Fly like an eagle - first tattoo

Bird used to be just a nickname my mom gave me, but over the years it became an important symbol. It serves as a reminder that freedom and independence are critical to my happiness. A permanent post-it-note telling me to spread my wings every day. So important, I had it tattooed on my body – three times! So far.

My mother was ahead of her time. She invented tweeting.  You heard me, Al Gore.

When my children were small enough to sit on her lap, she would wait for them to say “tweet tweet” and then feed them a spoonful of bananas in milk as a reward. Hm, maybe it was more of a Pavlov’s dog brainwashing kind of thing. Either way, they love that memory. Their tweets didn’t reach millions. No hashtags, no followers, no twitterverse. But those were some sweet tweets, the cutest communication between grandmother and grandchildren I’ve witnessed. Those tweets will last forever.

Mom always makes lasting impressions on the people in her life. Most don’t permanently ink it into their skin, but she’s a lady you don’t soon forget. You can’t unmeet my mother. If that sounds like a criticism, it’s not at all – she’s one cool old chick.

Love you, Mom.

Tagged as: Bird, confessions, Mom, tattoo, tweet