Without question, my mom is my biggest fan — in my work and, generally, in life.

These days, she almost always is complimentary. Trust me, it wasn’t always that way.

As a teenager I struggled with her judgment, often feeling frustrated that she found it necessary to insert so much negativity into my perfectly good plans — especially considering that I already knew everything about, well, everything.

Back then, as I wrested with her judgments, I’m sure she was wresting with her desire to strangle a teenage me.

Now a mother myself, I have experienced similar episodes where I, undoubtedly, have frustrated my sons in equal doses.

As they age — both are now legal adults — I try to voice my opinions less frequently. Yes, I still sometimes find it hard not to roll my eyes, but I’m working on that.

Likewise, as I aged, Mom’s judgments of my youthful, shall we call it, “exuberance” have slowed.

These days, she just supports, and that can have a very tranquil effect.

It’s not rare for me to see a quick email pop onto my phone on a Sunday afternoon or Monday morning. “Really good article this week, favorite daughter.”

She’s referring to my regular Sunday column. (And, just to be clear, I’m her only daughter.)

Last Tuesday, I got a message from her praising not only last Sunday’s column about the approaching World Press Freedom Day, but also my involvement in an event on Tuesday in which members of the Youngstown Press Club read names of the 82 journalists who died around the world in pursuit of a story over the past year.

She called it “a very important thing you did,” and ended her email with, “Proud of you.”

Somehow, she always seems to be in awe of even the little things I do.

On this Mother’s Day, I have to say, the feeling is mutual.

Mom turned 80 earlier this year. She still chooses to keep a part-time job at small library near home where she works behind the counter, assisting patrons and shelving books. It’s her “retirement job.”

I am writing this column in my newsroom office as the clock in the corner of my computer reads 9:08 p.m., so I must have gotten my work ethic from her (and, of course, from Dad). Both worked hard their entire lives, but never were too busy for me or my brother.

Mom began working outside the home when I entered third grade. She took a part-time job as a bank teller. Through the years she moved into full-time posts and many different roles at the bank.

Before I turned 8, she had worked only for a short span when I was a pre-schooler and Dad was laid off from his job as assistant manager at a local supermarket because, if I remember correctly, truck drivers were striking, making shipments to the store and customer visits sparse. Dad stayed home with me while my older brother went to elementary school, and Mom worked in a local sewing factory.

After the strike ended and Dad was called back to work, Mom returned to being a stay-at-home mother until years later when she went to work at the bank.

After I graduated from college and worked briefly at a company downtown near her banking office, Mom and I carpooled to work together. As she would tell you, I’ve never been much of a morning person. We still chuckle about those morning commutes when I said not more than two words from the passenger seat, and she gripped the steering wheel, not daring to look my way.

She still drives to work today and keeps plugging along.

I don’t plan to be working by the time I’m 80, but I sure respect her for keeping going. She says it’s good to get out of the house and keep moving.

These days, I live about three hours from my hometown, and I don’t see Mom and Dad nearly enough. Frankly, I’d give a lot to be able to carpool to work with her again, just for old times sake.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, from your favorite daughter. Proud of you.

blinert@tribtoday.com