Tradition

This week is all about tradition: The Mother-Daughter Weekend. Every year, my mom and I go on a pilgrimage to the city for one night during the summer, usually in August.  We have been doing this for six years, so we have it down to a science.  We have learned from past experiences, and have perfected our routine.  The weekend starts with a full day of power shopping.  And trust me, I am not exaggerating when I use the word “power.”  For weeks leading up to the date, we cut out articles in magazines and newspapers about new stores, cool areas, and killer sales.  We compile a list of all the stores that we must hit, and those that we could stop at if we have extra time. List in hand, we set out in the morning and shop until I start to feel a bit dizzy. 

Next, we check into the hotel, drop our stuff, and set out for dinner.  We eat and then walk around downtown Chicago for a bit before returning to the hotel for a movie.  We scan the list of movies that the hotel offers, usually choosing one that both of us hate and later regret watching.  But that is no matter, because my mom always falls asleep within the first hour.  This year, however, was different.  I looked over at her three-fourths into The Lovely Bones (which, by the way, we both enjoyed) and saw that she was still awake.  I think that I actually did a double take because I was so shocked and dumbfounded.  This is the woman that fell asleep during The Bourne Identity when it was blaring in our living room with surround-sound.  So that was a first.

More importantly than any of this, however, are pillow auditions.  Now, pillow auditions are not unique to this weekend, as they occur every time my mom leaves the house for a night.  Nevertheless, this is the perfect opportunity to talk about them, as I witnessed them on this particular trip.  My mom is extremely picky about her pillows, and a pillow can either make or break her night.  So just as she is about to fall asleep, she lines up all the pillows in the room and tests them out one by one.  And when I say all the pillows, I really mean it.  Not just those on her side of the bed, but everyone’s pillows must face my mom’s cruel judgment.   As the pillows wait nervously on the side, my mom plucks one from the pile and places it on the bed.  She begins the session by rolling back and forth across the soft white cushion, but then begins to thrash violently about, so much so that I often get up and watch from the other side of the room.  She then insults the pillow, saying things like “Ugh! Horrible!”  and throws the poor thing to the floor, where I pick it up and try to comfort the dejected little cushion.  I swear, sometimes I can hear them sniffling in the corner.  She also has different categories for the pillows.  The overly soft ones are called “tushie pillows” because they enclose your face from the sides.  And the “potato sacks” are the lumpy ones.  I got stuck with a potato sack on this trip. 

All joking aside, this overnight trip called for a bag that I could take shopping, carry some of my clothes in, and take to dinner.  Can you guess which one I chose?  That’s right, my tote bag.  So when you find yourself going on a weekend trip and you need a bag to do the job, you know where to find one!

-Emma