Monday, May 11, 2009

Many twins, particularly identical ones, claim to sometimes know what the other is thinking or feeling while the pair is physically separated. A sudden sensation that is completely out of context with the current surrounding indicates what their distant twin is experiencing. I wonder if mothers have this same quality in a one-way fashion about their children. For example, I'm quite certain that my mother instinctively knows the following three things about her children:

1) Cold Feet - As a bonafide southerner, Mom has little to no tolerance for cold weather and, by extension, being cold. Particularly offensive to her are cold feet. Which could explain her near-obsession with socks. I'm not absolutely certain, but I think that when her chicks have cold piggies, she knows about it.

2) Empty Stomach - Mom is the consummate southern hostess - meaning she finds hungry strays unbearable and wants to fatten up the general population. In some circles, my mother is known as The Bread Lady for her delicious homemade sourdough bread and now Amish friendship bread (available in lemon, cinnamon or chocolate). My friend Jenn once brought someone over to my house and introduced our abode as "the place where there's always something to eat." I remember calling home while traveling and reporting that I hadn't been fed a meal in some time. I would have had less reaction from saying I was bleeding to death.

3) Wrinkled Clothes - A constant in our house growing up was the giant can of Fautless Spray Starch that occupied the table in the corner by the ironing board. Most people would swear my dad's work shirts were dry cleaned and starched, but they were simply attended to by the master laundress. I think I might have been the only girl on my hall my freshman year of college who had a full-sized ironing board in her tiny 10x10 shared space. I remember ironing a pair of pants one day and my roomate inquiring about why it mattered so much. "I just know she'll know if I wear wrinkled pants."

My mom is sort of like the Statue of Liberty, inviting the cold, the hungry, the wrinkled masses. A safe harbor of warmth, sustenance, and crispy shirts.


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