Three generations

It started with the feet.

A few years ago, my daughter started sharing my shoes. Flip flops and sandals but not my wedges. Too young for that.

She got her ears pierced and she started wearing some of my earrings. And the diamond necklace I got from her father after she was born. (Only for special occasions.)

Then she started trolling through my closet. Little cardigans. Camisoles. Sweatshirts.

Now she’s passed me in height. Just a little taller. But she has some more growing to do.

And we’ve started sharing boxes of tampons. Bought from Costco in bulk.

I don’t mind sharing things with her. Sharing everything with her.

And now that I’m here, in this place as the mother of a daughter, I understand why my mother has always shared her things with me. Well, more than just shares. Generously gives. Her new striped cardigan with the tags still on it. Her blow-dryer whose power I admired. The best garlic press ever that isn’t made anymore.

And it’s not just material things. We lend our ears. Our shoulders. We give our hearts. Even when we don’t get back the same.

No matter what, we’re always there when our kids come back for more. Because they always do. Even after they’re all grown-up, married with kids, divorced and re-married.

This is what mothers do.

Thanks Mom. For this. And for showing me how to be a good mom.

Happy Mother’s Day.

I love you.

My new favorite striped cardigan.

My new favorite striped cardigan.
Thanks Mom!



PS And yes, I am a mother to a son as well. That’s a whole other thing. For another day.