My daughter recently attended a birthday get together for a dear friend of hers. The birthday girl turned 15 years old and all the girls in attendance were in their mid-teens. As part of the festivities, the girls were escorted to all their favorite places: Barnes and Noble, Ed McKay's, Claire's, and the Mellow Mushroom, to name a few. Along the way, they discovered a little market selling all kinds of handmade goods. After looking at what the sellers had to offer, my dear daughter pulled out her own hard-earned money and bought her mother two gifts.
The second is that over the last few months mom accidentally broke not one, but two of her very special mugs--mugs that had lots of sentimental and symbolic value. Third, mom has a medical condition that causes her hands to break out in itchy red rings when they are too dry or irritated. Cheapo hand lotions don't do a lot to alleviate the condition.
When my daughter came home, she had a brown bag with paper crumpled in it and a crazy grin on her face. The bag was for me. As I unwrapped what was in that bag, she told me all about the little market and the artisans there. Inside the paper were two gifts: a container of home made shea butter lotion and a lovely hand- thrown mug.
But wait, there's more. The shea butter is for my hands and the mugs is meant to replace the ones I broke. Now my daughter doesn't like the idea of deep water or anything floating on it--I mean she REALLY doesn't like it. But I do. My original major in college was marine biology and I adore everything about the tall masted ships. Despite her distaste for the decorations on the mug, she knew I would like them, so she bought it for me. ( I can imagine her squeezing her eyes shut as she gingerly reached for the salmon-colored mug).
Isn't she something? She went to the party, but I got the gifts.
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