SHORT SHORTS

My mom called me the other day and let me know she mailed me something and to keep a look out. I love my mom’s packages. I get the same feeling of anticipation I used to get in camp or in college when she sent me something totally delightful and unexpected.

In this particular parcel, she said she placed a pair of shorts. She walked away from them in the store, went back, bought and then tried them on every day for a week (we girls all have been there), before deciding they weren’t for her. But maybe I’d like them. I love it when I'm the beneficiary of my Mom's impulse purchases.

I was expecting to open the Priority Mail box and find a nice pair of bermudas. (I mean, if I’m 42, and my mom had me in her late 20s, then … I guess I just assumed a conservative cut …) No. I should’ve known better with Mary Jo. No. I opened the package to find a rockin’ pair of the shortest short shorts made from the cotteniest cotton I’ve ever seen — in drab green, of course; classic mom.

Now — I really don’t know why I expected anything different. She once came home and told me she’d found my wedding dress while on a trip (I was set on vintage, but she had visions of my aged couture unraveling around me down the aisle), and presented a box no larger than a standard Christmas gift box they hand out at Macy’s. I thought she was joking and bought me lingerie, or something to that effect. But, no — and yep. My wedding dress was the shortest short short nothing of a lace dress I’d ever seen. I loved it at first sight.

There’s a really funny picture from our wedding of me and my dad ‘rounding the corner into the parlor (at least our wedding site was vintage), and one of my mom’s friends faces in a big “OH!” expression in the background. I thought the tulle on my floor-length veil compensated and complimented my mini wedding gown nicely.

I love my mom. There is no one else on earth to whom I’m closer and could ever know me better. I love our friendship, but I also love that she is my mom. She is the coolest, most beautiful and courageous person. I think more than anything, she taught me to be myself, no matter what. I have to remember that as an individual and a mom to my three, now. She was never June Cleaver, nor did she ever claim/want to be, but she was always true to herself, and by extension my sister and I. I can only hope the same for my children.

She constantly surprises me, and I think it’s the coolest thing ever my mom still wears short shorts. She inspires me. I have mine on as I write this … thanks, Mom.