When I was just a little girl . . .

Given the time of year, I tend to think back of the moments of my mother and I. Most of those moments tend to be the funny . . . it's funny because most of those stolen happy moments I recall so often with my mother are ones that were so far and few between. Especially as I got older. However, my mind continues to hit rewind and play just the happy ones. I'm not disillusioned or that forgetful that I do not remember that most of the time, my mother and I fought like cats and dogs. I think at this point in time, it doesn't really matter. When I look back at times with my mother, there is already enough regret that just recalling the miserable times with her doesn't really make sense. So, yeah, I choose to remember the yearly Easter tradition where my mother gave me a chocolate Godiva bunny. Or the fit of laughter that she and I broke into when she thought she saw (identical) twins on a double date - and I mean, identical twin sisters on a date with identical twin brothers - only to realize that the couple was sitting right next to a mirror. Or the suddenly quick drives home when we had KFC in the car. Or the numerous times when we'd be out shopping and my mother would want ice cream, for example, and rather than just tell me she wants ice cream, she'd ask me if I wanted some. If I answered no, the woman would just stand there and pout and tell me I'm no fun.

The times that were the most fun were ones that usually involved shopping. Put my mother and I in any retail setting and the tensions that were between us simply melted away. I really have no explanation other than the fact that my mother and I always enjoyed shopping together. The purpose didn't matter, because usually there wasn't one. As I got older, the teasing would begin when one of us would be looking for something for me or come across something that I would like . . . when it was decided that I would get it - I generally played the "oops, I left my wallet at home" reel and though my mother would give me grief, in the end, she picked up the tab. And that was our song and dance. At the time, I always thought that I was pulling the wool over mom's eyes whenever she would finance our shopping trips, because let me tell you, when my mother and I went shopping, it was an all out event. We rarely came back empty-handed.

Looking back, though . . . I can't say that I was actually getting over on my mother. Looking back, I think it was her way of expressing a level of love or emotion that she was unable to articulate. Growing up, my family never really expressed our independent feelings. Nor was there ever many displays of affection, either. And my parents never really showed much affection towards each other. I think this always made me feel like a fish out of water because I always wanted the feel of my parents - something to make me feel safe. However, I rarely ever got that. It was generally a pat of some sort from my father and not much more from my mother. But, when it came to shopping or other events - it was no holds barred. As an adult I've come to realize that buying things or giving me excessive money when I went out was their way of showing their love. Though I thought it often as a child, it wasn't them trying to buy my love, but their way of just expressing their love because for whatever reason, they knew no other way. To engage in personal conversation or touch was beyond them.

This weekend I was on a mission for new black boots. I was also in quite a funk missing my mother. After some encouragement and nudging from my incredibly awesome boyfriend, I ventured to the outside world and went to find boots. When I finally managed to peel myself from the chasm of blankets and sadness, venturing into the outside world felt good and refreshing. After I successfully completed my quest of looking for new boots . . . I took a trip to a favorite store of mine to see what I could pick up. A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. While in the store, I was trying on a trench coat, admittedly the only trench coat I own was purchased well over 5 years ago and it was clear that it really doesn't fit properly. So, there I was standing in front of the mirror asking all the usual questions - does it fit right? Does it look okay? Will it fit properly even over a suit? And then I was hit with a wave of sadness. Suddenly, I couldn't help but notice that my mother wasn't here to answer my questions. That she wasn't around to tell me that I had indeed found the perfect trench coat. Before I could sink too far into the abyss of sadness, I hear a woman's voice telling me that the coat suits me and it looks great. I ask her if it's too big explaining that I had a thin t-shirt on underneath, she said no because I'll likely be wearing a sweater or suit jacket underneath. I thanked her and said she helped make my decision easy as she answered questions I was struggling with in my head. Before I had a chance to walk away, the very same woman asked me for my advice on two dresses she was holding. And for that moment in time, for that brief exchange with a complete stranger, it brought me back to those moments in time when my mother and I shopped together and had similar exchanges. As I walked to the register to pay for my belongings, all I did was smile to myself and knew that my mother was with me as she always has been and always will.

And as I walked out of the store, I recognized another sign that my mother was right there with me . . . I was humming one of our favorite songs.