She called at 10–when I was (gasp) still in bed. “My picture’s in, would you like to go to Hobby Lobby with me to help me pick out some stuff to go with it?” Sure I’d go, I said, as soon as I got dressed.
She got a gift card from the church as a thank you for the last twelve years teaching Sunday School. Something to use to decorate her “new” house with.
We went and played around with flowers and vases and little statues and this and that. I didn’t feel that useful, actually. I dug about, searched around–kept her looking at different flowers much longer than she probably would have preferred.
After we got everything inside and arranged the way we liked it, I announced that I’d be heading back home. “Thank you,” Mom said. “I don’t have a lot of confidence with that kind of stuff.”
Maybe not. But I have confidence enough for a dozen women. Probably just another example of “fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” Somehow I never got the “timid about taste” gene. I’m not the most genius decorator, I’m not even really THAT artistic. But I’m not afraid to give anything a go.
I trust Mom’s sense of style and her judgment. I’m sure that (even with her lack of confidence) she would have picked out something that would have looked great. But I’m pleased nonetheless that she invited me to share her little shopping trip. Nothing better than Hobby Lobby with Mommy.
Just for the record: No, I do not call my mother “Mommy” (except when I have an opportunity for a bit of assonance.) I call her “Mom”–or “la madre” or “mother” or “mother dear” or “los padres” (when referring to both her and my dad.)