A history lesson, or, reason 8,492 that I love my mother

I decided to try again with the shopping thing. I put on regular clothes, a bra that works under non-exercise attire, and put a pair of dressy work heels (the one pair I kept) in a little bag to take with me, in aid of the trying-on process. I had a cup of coffee and a protein shake. I was going to head straight to Honolulu, where I could hit the Nordstrom/Macy's/Neiman's trifecta from one parking spot, but then remembered there's another mall on the way that has a Macy's. Why waste gas, right?*

As I drove, I made my (at least) daily phone call to my mother.

"I'm heading back out to the mall."

"I didn't want to say 'I told you so' on your blog."

"It's OK, Mom. You were right."

We talked about shopping a little bit and then moved on to her favorite topic.

"How's Zeke?"

"He's fine. Going through a bit of a cranky phase in which he gets pissed off about something and throws a temper tantrum, but I think it's pre-language frustration over an inability to communicate his needs and wants."

"That's probably accurate. Just be patient with him."

"Oh, I am. I don't get mad, I just ignore it."

"Good call."

"My bigger concern is trying to get him to eat decent food. I've been killing myself trying to figure out a way to get him to take in some green vegetables, but he just spits them out. I've covered them with cheese, paired them with potatoes, tried slathering them with ketchup, nothing works."

Peals of laughter emanate from the phone.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, honey, you're so conscientious. I love you. I don't think I'll remind you of how you ate as a child."

"I know, I was very picky."

"But I didn't bug you about it because you ate enough to sustain yourself, you were happy and healthy, so if you were a little picky, I wasn't going to make a big deal of it."

"I know. I don't worry about his health, though it doesn't seem like a good idea to subsist on cheese slices and Chef Boyardee mini raviolis."

"Remember, honey, the Mongols survived for hundreds of years on nothing but fermented mare's milk and horse meat. He'll be fine."

"You're right, you're right, I know you're right."

I wonder where I can find some fermented mare's milk.

________________________________
*As it turns out, the Macy's doesn't sell suits. Nobody in Hawaii wears suits. There were some random suit separates on the sales racks at Ann Taylor, but nothing that really worked. So fuck it. I'll go shopping in Denver.