Gifts from my Mother

When my family finally rousts themselves out of their beds, we will make French toast with the remainder of the 20 challahs and 12 dozen eggs we needed for last week’s Bat Mitzvah extravaganza.  I have a few moments to myself now and as I just received word that a present from my mother has just shipped, a few stories occurred to me.

Early last winter, Bob and I purchased a VERY warm Land’s End jacket for the never-warm-enough Boo. The jacket – in screaming fuchsia with an underjacket of black that zips out – is undeniably warm and was a phenomenal companion for any activity in the subarctic temperatures of this past winter. You know, like waiting for the bus WITHOUT either of her embarrassing parents. After it arrived, Bob realized HE didn’t have a jacket warm enough to keep his manly parts toasty in the New England freezer either and then found another such jacket, in testosterone-supporting green, also on sale: one click and it was his.

In a telephone conversation, entirely without motive ulterior, I mentioned the jacket to my mother and that both Bob and Boo were very happy with them.

“Do you want one?”

“That’s really not why I mentioned it; they’re great jackets.”

“Would you wear it?”

“Mom! I HAVE jackets!”

“Are they warm enough? How about I order a jacket for you – small, right? – and if you don’t need it, you can keep it just in case.”

“Uh.

“Honey, I am happy to do this to keep my daughter warm. You’ll see, you’ll do this for your daughters, too.”

Sigh “Thank, Mom’

I wore that jacket all winter; she was right, it’s fabulous.

_*_

Last weekend, while I hosted 30 people for brunch, my mother got a good, critical look at my kitchen garbage can.

“Honey, look at the way the lid has to be touched to be opened. It gets filthy very easily – VERY unhygienic. Would you mind if I got you a new one?”

“A new lid?”

“A new garbage can! You sister ‘Ka just got us one and we love it. You really should have a pedal to open your garbage can. Brushed stainless steel or black?”

Looking at my grinning sister, the gifter, I gave in and had a good laugh.

“Sure, why not? Thanks.”

“Oh,” said my mother looking down at my slippered feet, “I’m getting you new slippers too. Those are full of holes and duct tape and are thoroughly disreputable.”

Since, post Bat Mitzvah, I had no intention of spending ANY money to replace my slippers, I could only thank her in bemusement and gratitude.

I don’t know if it’s because she lives far away or because she loves how easily point and click sends things wending their way from Amazon’s vast stores to my driveway, but this has lately become a much more obvious trend, certainly during the six months when my father’s precarious health prevented their crossing the US border. By far, the largest components of this kind of giving from my 70 year-old mother are books; if she just read it and liked it, she’ll more often than not buy a copy for my sisters and me. I don’t mind that she does this; it’s endearing, but the best part is that she’ll usually ASK before typing in her credit card numbers. And she’ll listen if what she decides will make my life that much better isn’t something I would use.

Will I do this when my kids are older?

Probably.

PS: While I speak here of the material gifts, I should also credit my mother with my love of words, science fiction, fantasy, interesting patterns in textiles (like socks and scarves), Dutch and other European chocolate, the knowledge of how not murder defenseless growing things in pots, snarkiness in general, how to get straight to the point, and how to be a reasonably good person. And MANY other things.

But she also buys me jackets.

Because, you know, they may come in handy.