Last week, I called my mom to see what she wanted for Mother’s Day. She told me she didn’t want a gift, she just wanted me to write a blog saying nice things about her, instead of the usual drivel. (Don’t worry, I’ve watched my dad fall for this trick too many times, I still got her a present.) But, per her particular gift request, I also wrote this blog about the gifts she’s given me, Lessons I’ve Learned From Laura:

Always look on the bright side. When I was little, my hair didn’t grow past a shaggy bob until I was almost four, my skin was the color of the paste I ate, and I had to wear an eye patch. I looked like a tiny albino pirate boy in a dress. I was not a cute kid. (My mom disagrees with this, but when I called to ask for a picture of me wearing my eye patch, she couldn’t find one — evidence that those years were worth burying forever.) My mom, however, treated the eye patch as an opportunity to accessorize, and every day I’d get to pick a new fancy sticker to put on my patch. No one else got to wear a sticker on their eye!

Wear sunscreen. When I was a kid, then teenager, all I wanted to do was look like everyone else. And everyone else wanted to look like Topanga, Britney Spears, or Jessica Alba. I thought if I just stayed in the sun long enough, the burn would eventually turn into a tan. My mom drilled it into my head that it wouldn’t. It turns into skin cancer. She always made sure my brother and I were thoroughly greased in SPF 70, and told me if I didn’t get a tan to look like everyone else, when I got old, I wouldn’t have wrinkled, wrecked skin like everyone else. And who doesn’t want to look like Nicole Kidman?!

Soaked in sunscreen, no doubt.

Do what you love. My mom loves to act. If you’ve ever met her, you know she went to the same high school as Meryl Streep, and she was the one winning awards and getting to play Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker. Even when she had kids, she’d perform in children’s theater shows. Because she loved it. It wasn’t about making the most money, or being the most successful or famous, in order to be happy. It was about doing the thing you love.

Believe in yourself. When I was a kid, I loved to dance. I was as passionate as I was shitty a dancer. I was regularly cast as the troll/elf/grandma, and only ever won the “Heart in Your Part” award. Looking back, I know this award really meant “At Least You Tried. Really Hard. But Failed.” But at the time, I remember feeling beautiful and graceful, thanks to my mom encouraging me and believing in me. And this blind belief in myself, instilled at such a young age, gave me the courage to pursue the insane career I’m currently chasing.

The original Dance Mom.

Throw kickass parties. My mom was the queen of parties; had Pinterest been around in my childhood, I truly believe she’d have a book deal. One year, my brother was obsessed with Jaws; for his birthday, she paper-mached a giant set of jaws around the front door and decorated the house to look like an ocean with a “boat” in the living room. When I became as obsessed with Hollywood and the Academy Awards as she was, she made a red carpet and threw an Oscar-themed birthday bash for me and my tween friends; everyone wore fancy dresses and got an award she personalized for each girl. And for my high school graduation party, she hired the water polo player I’d had a crush on for years (but never actually talked to), to be the lifeguard.

Don’t change yourself or life for a man. My mom and dad dated long distance until they got engaged; she was living it up as a flight attendant, living her dream of traveling all over the world, and didn’t move until he put a ring on it.

Mom, in uniform.

Marry a good man. This is a wedding blog, so I want to acknowledge how lucky I was to grow up with an example of what a good marriage looks like. My mom always says she married my dad because she knew he’d be a good father, but watching them, I know she married him because they were, and still are, crazy in love.

Mom & Dad, on their wedding day.

Bake. Often. Some of my happiest childhood memories are in the kitchen with my mom. She always had a new recipe for us to try, and some fun way to decorate whatever we were making, whether it was green cupcakes for my St. Patrick’s Day birthday, or black-and-white cookies made to look like our dog, Freddy. Life’s too short to not have a treat, and you’re the only one who can see those extra few pounds, anyway.

Pretend you’re in Paris. Every day, when I got home from school, my mom would put on Edith Piaf, make us a snack, and we’d go out on the patio and pretend to be gossiping French ladies while I told her about my day. Why sit in the kitchen, when you could be in Paris? And if you can’t be in Paris, improvise.

Family comes first. My mom put my brother and I ahead of everything in her life, and still does. My parents drive the six hours to L.A. anytime I have a show, and buy pizza for the whole cast. They live four doors down from my mom’s parents and ten minutes from her sister, and do a weekly dinner (and almost-daily cocktail hour). And as my mom (impatiently) waits for grandkids, she makes outfits for and stages photo shoots with her dogs (and takes them on weekly trips to In-N-Out).

My brother took this picture.

Worry less. Above all, stop worrying about what other people think! Worrying, like the sun, gives you wrinkles. And anything that gives you wrinkles is the devil.

My mom, taking the world’s first selfie. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

Dream big. When I was little, I wanted to Michael from Barney & Friends to come to my birthday party, so she turned it into a project and we put together a glittery fan letter-invite. More recently, when Charlie Hunnam dropped out of 50 Shades of Grey, my mom left a breathless voicemail on our machine, saying “Tony’s agents should send shirtless headshots, so he can have the part. Tell him not to worry about the nudity, it’s worth it, and my book club and I will be there opening night to support him.” Neither of these dreams came true, but it was so much fun dreaming about them, the outcome was almost an afterthought.

There is a solution to every problem. When my little brother was born, my mom was concerned I’d feel neglected or replaced; so, she got me my own baby to take care of, a kitten named Daisy, and I got to be a “mom” too. This mostly worked, as I was too distracted with “my baby” to worry about hers; but, it had its downfalls, like when I tried to give the kitten a bath in the sink, or feed my brother “my baby’s” food (cat food).

Do something that makes you happy, every day. For my mom, this includes watching Dr. Chris, Pet Vet with her Saturday morning coffee, and writing poetry about her dogs. She looks at every moment as an opportunity and a gift, and there’s no better way to live than that.

I wore this dress every day for a year. The year before that, I wore a Dorothy costume from The Wizard of Oz every day for a year.The year before that, I wore a pink frilly dress every day for a year. When I asked my mom why she let me do that, instead of taking me to a doctor to diagnose me with OCD, she replied, “Because it made you happy.”

Halfway through this blog, I realized I have enough material for a book. My mom spends every day actively trying to figure out how to make her kids’ lives better, and there are too many memories to write about here. I was really lucky to have such a fun, funny, selfless woman for a mom, and those are going to be tough shoes (okay, glamorous-but-comfortable heels that were 50% off, because you should only ever buy things on sale) to fill, if I ever get to be a mom, too.

My gorgeous mama.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I love you!