I love my mother. It’s been interesting watching her grow old. Really. Her voice sounds the same, though, but now – every time I look in the mirror I see her. We look a lot alike, she and I, and we think a lot alike, too. It’s almost spooky.
When I was little, she was this young and vibrant thing – I’ll never forget her 28th birthday. The neighbor baked her a cake with one candle. I asked how old my mother is and the lady told me that at my mother’s age you don’t ask those kinds of things.
Pffffft! I asked anyway. Even at the tender age of 5 I was a free thinker and I always backed my free thinking up with free doing, and that’s how I kept my mother occupied. She always seemed to have the right answer, though – even if there was no answer.
So — just how well do our mother’s know us, anyway? Well, I’ll tell you – mine knows me so well it’s embarrassing.
A few months ago we were talking on the phone, as we always do, and she tells me that she’s sending me a package. How the heck she knew I needed new underwear is beyond me, because even though we talk every day on the phone, there are just some things I never tell her! And we haven’t even seen each other face to face for 18 years – we are separated by miles and miles and miles.
“What size pants do you wear?” She asks. (I thought she was talking about pants pants, but heck – she’s my mother, so that means pants is really under pants, and underpants is really granny panties!)
I had no idea of what size “pants” I wore – it’s been so long since I bought any. I guess I could have looked but the size stamp washed out long ago, so I couldn’t tell. All I knew is that the ones I have don’t fit me any more, thanks to middle-age spread.
Lo and beholdeth – the package arrives a few days later, and there’s this package of granny panties. HUGE looking things, too, might I add!
“Well, these will never fit! They’re way too big!” I thought.
HAH! Who was I fooling?! I’ll be darned if the things didn’t fit, and comfortably, too. The only problem is that being granny panties they’re high waisted so I can only wear them with my dresses or nightgowns. But that’s okay, I can go to church or to bed and not have to worry about the circulation being cut off to my legs.
How did she know I needed new undies and how did she know what size to send after all these years? My mother hasn’t bought panties for me for over 30 years, and hasn’t seen me for 18, so how did she know?
Must be one of those ancient motherly secrets. I wish she’d share them with me, I’d love to use them on my own offspring so I can enjoy watching them freak out.