matchy

Scrambling five minutes late out of the house, I give us both the once over in the mirror on the back of the coat closet door.

And many mornings, I think, “Huh. I seem to have dressed us a little alike today.”

We are not running around, mommy-and-me-style or anything. It’s subtle. But I notice.

A coincidence? A subconscious thing? Another version of I am hers and she is mine?

Pinstripey “menswear” and something red

The first thing I do when we are home again is kick off my shoes.

My mom used to step out of her shoes when she got home from work. First thing. In the middle of the kitchen, or sometimes, the living room. Then she would go take out her contact lenses. And, to me, anyway, it meant, “Now is the time for winding down.”

Blue dresses, brown leggings and cardigans

The fact that it’s not in my closet right now means my brother must have stolen it back: A Levi’s jacket that belonged to my dad. I don’t know how I got my hands on it. But it fit. More or less. If I cuffed the sleeves. And it was hard to believe my dad had worn it too. That my dad had worn a jeans jacket. That my dad had been someone other, someone younger, than my dad.

What she lacks in boots, she makes up for in barrettes.

Stripes and dots

(When one of my old coats finally fits her, will she slip it on? Will she bury her hands in the pockets and pull out something familiar – some reflection of herself in me, some echo of me in her – that she did not expect to find there?)

What you can’t tell in this last one is that, behind the camera, I am
She-Ra, Princess of Power. Even tougher together. Count on it.

Wonder Woman. First Halloween. 2010

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6 thoughts on “matchy

  1. Pingback: threads | mi mamá me mima

  2. Pingback: and kansas, she says, is the name of the star | mi mamá me mima

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