Fights and Strawberry Pajama Pants

I've never really had big fights with my mom. Today I did. And although I know she's still alive, I feel as though I've lost her. I'm sitting in my apartment and everything I look at reminds me of her. The pink polish on my toes reminds me of her. The coffee table, her. The leather chair we bought before freshman year of college, her. The naked magnetic David sculpture on the fridge, her (naturally). My barely surviving ivy plant next to the strong proud bamboo, her. I don't know why I'm looking at all these things remembering when they were acquired and the fun we had as if I'll never see her again. As if she's gone. It was just a fight.

But I suppose that's the thing. We don't really have big fights. And she's not in the best health, so I worry about her. And I keep wanting to call and check to make sure she's okay. I keep reaching for the phone, wanting to dial, just to hear her say hello. But we fought. And I'm afraid she won't answer. And maybe that's why I'm looking at all these things, because I'm afraid we won't do all those things again.

And so I sat like a crazed woman sobbing as I traced the outline of the strawberries on my pajama pants. I began thinking about these pajama pants and how in high school I decided to show some school spirit. Or so that was a great excuse. Really it was just we had pajama day and that sounded pretty great to me. Only I didn't really do pajamas. Was never really a sleep in pajama bottoms person. So my mom and I ventured to Dillards and spent quite a while looking through their selection. I didn't want something girly. But I didn't want them to look like regular pants either (the black ones kinda did). My mom patiently wandered around for far longer than necessary looking for the perfect set. Come to think of it, I'm not sure this is that set, because I kinda feel like these might have been a target buy. But I do know that I've only ever worn this full set once. I don't even have the matching top anymore. But that journey was typical for us. We'd set out on some bizarre mission and have a great time in the process.

I still enjoy watching her look at pajama shorts in Target, convincing herself she doesn't need a pair of really cute pink plaid shorts because she probably won't wear them often. I always think they're very her. And if she wants them, she should have them, because they're under $10, it's Target, and she's worth it (well, more than worth it). But that's my mom. Always giving, but rarely taking.

And so I smile briefly as I think of her, and then continue to sob at the empty feeling. I hate fighting with my mom. She's a wonderful person. And she deserves better.

I can't help but smile as I think about the last time we hung out. We were hanging pictures and somehow managed to accumulate three hammers. I bet she still has all three of those in her office. As she should. She never loses hammers.

I realize I'm blabbing. I suppose that's the beauty of a blog.