Those were some of the best days of my life. Days when it was just me and my mother sitting on the bathroom counter making each other fabulous. And later, she would make breakfast, and if I was having a particularly bad day at the sandbox, she would make me her famous strawberry pancakes. I’m not kidding either, her pancakes were famous. Julia Child had once called them spectacular, which is definitely saying something about pancakes.
We would sit out on the porch, still in our robes, watching the traffic- Mom liked the bustle of city life- and drinking mimosas. Mine were just orange juice, but they were still in a fancy glass, and every time with a little pink umbrella. Mom liked blue. But we would sit there watching cars and the birds fly, and she would quiz me on which ones flew south during the winter, and which ones stayed. I never understood why any of them stayed. If I had wings I would have been long gone.
And I would have taken her with me.