Yes, a tribute to loving, fussy mothers everywhere (and I do mean, everywhere) whose love reaches us forever in some way because they have thought of everything to prepare and assist us in our lives.
This is day three of the great cellar mop-up and I’ve finally toggled up the nerve to open up the wet-bottomed barrels in which my life is stored; the pink crocheted teddybear that slept beside me in the cradle, the little one-eared red horsey that was next in line, all the way up through the huge golden doggy that was flattened down to three inches high by sleeping underneath me constantly while I battled with pneumonia, to the baby clothes and wisps of hair (born bald, my first wisp came at the age of three), a plastic Hopalong Cassidy and all his cohorts and their steeds, and report cards through the years–even the one with the “D” in art that still makes me cringe, my First Holy Communion dress and crown and veil, my gold Honor Society banner from high school, and so much more. All safe, all dry, all perfectly preserved because my mother, who we had threatened with our intent to bury in an oversize baggie, had everything lovingly held in plastic bags that kept the water out.
Sure wish I could tell her now that she was right.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Three cheers for your mom!