The soups belong together. That was my mom's justificaiton for re-arranging my cupboard when I'd gone hunting for the peanut butter and had to call her in confusion. And she giggled. Giggled like a girl who has just held a boy's hand for the first time. It was her secret. Like the knick knacks she leaves behind at my and my brother's places. It's a where's waldo of crap she plants in hopes to make our homes up to her standard. Which is beige. And clean. And filled with everything you can find in the home decor aisle of TJ Max. Boy howdy we could fill a dumpster with the candles, rugs, plates, wreaths and vases of "dead sticks" she has hidden away only for us to find in a heaving sigh of some things never change. Did I mention this was after I deep cleaned my already spotless apartment for 3 hours sure she'd find nothing to change?
But that's mom. The mom we know and love. She came out this weekend to see me for a mother/daughter weekend, and it was really great. Great because she's not my mom, she's my friend. And that's what is so special about this age. Our parents become buddies and confidants, instead of the opposing end of a constant curfew arguement. We ordered drinks and swapped stories. I loved it.
But I love that she's still my mom, too. Still my 7:00am vacumming, knick knack hoarding mom. Even when she reorganizes my aprtment, because I open that cupboard and smile and think of home.
The soups belong together.
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