“Here comes another.” I smile, tipping my head toward the entrance. My mom glances over her shoulder and smiles a confirmation. “It’s so funny,” I say, “You can tell right away; they look alike.” We watch pair after pair of mother and daughter enter the coffee shop from our window alcove table; our Mother’s Day tradition in full swing.
The younger mothers, we observe, are accompanied by an entourage of toddlers, strollers and husband, but the seasoned mothers have learned to take Mother’s Day at a different pace. I take a bite of my smoked turkey and pesto wrap and watch the unhurried pace of the people outside. Mother’s Day is always the same for us. We slip off without a reservation, a plan or a particular direction. We usually end up discovering wonderful shops we had not taken the time to visit, pieces of art to marvel at and a great sandwich shop or Mexican hideaway. The most important rule on Mother’s Day is that there are no rules.
This Mother’s Day stands out as special to me. We delighted in a perfect lunch at Cilantros and window shopped all over the green, but the treasure I found was not in any of those places. It was in the company of my mother.
Our relationship as mother and daughter has evolved over the years; somehow ever constant and yet ever changing. My mother was a balance of nurture and stringent. She taught us to be responsible, and at the same time was there to pick up the pieces when we faltered. She sat through hundred of baseball and football games, rain or shine. She spent an eternity at the dance studio and the doctor’s office, school concerts and conferences. She could sew anything, bake everything saw to it that we kept clean rooms.
Through my rebellious years, I swore I’d never be like her. During my new mother years, I tried my hardest to do it all just like her. Now that my children are older and there is more room in a day for me to be me, I realize how assimilated we have become. Our bond is no longer a balance of needs and authority; we have reached equilibrium.
Being in my mother’s company for me now is like slipping into a well-worn pair of faded jean; the ones that fit perfectly and make me feel great. It’s like coming home to the smell of cookies baking or a rainy day with a good book. Conversation is easy and unnecessary. We communicate as easily with a look or a gesture as with words and there are no boundaries; no judgment. I managed to string this Mother’s Day out into several days with my mother; like faded jeans, warm cookies and a rainy day book all together.
