Moms at the Mall

My girlfriend called today, 7:34 am. The sinful sound of a ringing phone on what should have been a sleep in Saturday yanked my head from the curve of my pillow. I called her back a few groggy minutes later.

"Hi, were you up?" she asked in a tone that told me she'd been up for hours.

"Sort of," I answered, peeking at the pillow marks still fresh on my face in the bathroom mirror.

"I was wondering if you'd be up for shopping this morning. I have nothing to wear for the holidays," she said. The baby wailed in the background, and I could barely make out her words as the phone bounced while she balanced her brood. "Close the fridge," she shouted to her taunting toddler. "I'm huuungry," he howled.

I pulled on my pants, and slapped on some lipstick, haggled with my husband for some go time, and about an hour later I was pressing her door bell, trying to buzz above the kitchen clatter. Stepping in, and smiling I saw the baby squirming on the floor, her six year old daughter in her pink pj's chattering on the couch next to her husband who was cozied up with his laptop. Her preschool son peered up at me from a plate of pop tart pieces. She spit out a few instructions, and we slammed the door behind us, scurrying to the car like squirrels up a tree.

At the mall we ditched our double tasking, and tossed out our "to do" lists. We transformed from mothers to giddy school girls, swiping sweaters off sale racks, and twirling in front of tall mirrors in tiny dressing rooms. We tiptoed in three inch heels at the shoe store, sniffed lavender and lily at the candle shop, and sipped lattes at the coffee café.

A few hours floated by like bubbles in my bathtub. Then a mid mall phone call from her husband stole us from our shopping.

"Well, guess we should get going," she said, snapping her cell phone shut. We both breathed our last breath of freedom, and then scanned the stores as we hurried out towards the parking lot. Pointing at the purses that were "too cute," and the dresses that hung on the playful plastic women in the windows."Wonder what my little guys are doing," I said, glancing at my watch. Feeling a bit guilty for staying so long.

I walked through my own door some three hours later, tossed my keys on the table, and before I could shed my coat collided with my adolescent army. I fixed my eyes on the Lego city littered on the kitchen counters, the silhouette of a sluggish cat curled on the couch, and the form of a father burrowed in the big chair in a cable T.V coma.

"Hi, guys," I said.

"Mom, what are you making to eat?" was the greeting, and at that moment I realized that a mere trip to the mall would not be such a blessing were it not for motherhood.