Miriam and I loved to shop. My husband, bless him, accepted that it was perfectly normal for his lovely daughter to have trendy outfits, shoes (oh, those shoes) and purses, although he did express some alarm when she outgrew her bedroom closet and took over the guest room closet as well.

It was a lovely life—shopping together each week, going out for lunch afterwards to discuss our purchases, school, and the latest boyfriend. But Miriam cut me to the quick; she moved to New York to go to school.


I panicked. Without my daughter, how could I justify sprees at Guess, H&M, or Bebe? Or Betsey Johnson? Oh, no. Betsey, my Betsey. No one would believe this overweight fifty-five-year-old bought clothes in any of those high fashion stores. It was bad enough that my baby deserted and left me lonely, but must I be denied the shopping sprees, too? Life was cruel.

Then it came to me in a flash, an epiphany, really. I could send my daughter Care Packages.

The first one was tentative: some of her favorite Halloween candy—miniature pumpkins and candy corn—a warm sweater from Ireland, oatmeal, and a blanket to keep her warm. Then, I found a cute skirt at Guess to match the sweater. And I added red shoes. Miriam loved them.

Validated, I could hold my head high in the stores again instead of lurking in the shadows.

“I’m making a Care Package for my daughter,�?I crowed to the clerks at the counters. Life was good.

I filled the second box with adorable Thanksgiving chocolates that looked like tiny turkeys, two perfect little-black-dress outfits, stunning pumps, and long strands of pearls from Betsey Johnson.

About this time, my son Ben decided he needed a makeover and asked me to shop with him for new clothes. Well, hello Hugo Boss. An entire new world of shopping opened up. Not Betsey, but most impressive and satisfying.

As I had with his sister, I treated Ben to lunch. That’s when he dropped the bomb.

�?A target=_top href="http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2008/10/general.msnw?action=get_message&mview=1&ID_Message=134493#">Mom, I applied to the Berklee School of Music, in Boston. It’s why I need the clothes. I have an audition coming up.�?BR>
“That’s wonderful, Honey.�?I tried to sound excited when in actuality my heart sank. “I hope you get in. It’s what you’ve always wanted.�?BR>
Meantime, I set to work on another Care Package for Miriam. Godiva chocolates with a sweet, stuffed teddy bear. And, of course, a new outfit for a Christmas party. Good ol�?Betsey provided not one, but two dresses that were absolute must-haves.

Okay, here’s the thing. To send each package across the Canadian border into New York, I’m required to itemize the contents and list their value. A small glitch, teensy tiny. Nonetheless, my darling husband offered to mail the New Year’s Eve package—with another Betsey outfit, shoes, and matching coat. To be honest, I really didn’t think anything of it until he returned home.

“You spent $849.00 on clothes?�?he roared. “What were you thinking? We already pay her tuition and rent and food�?and a cell phone bill that’s outrageous!�?BR>
“But she needs clothes,�?I protested in a voice that sounded lame even to me.

After that, my husband and I came to an�?understanding: I can only send one care package a month to Miriam. If there is a valid reason. And if it costs well, well under $500.

It’s as if someone cut out my liver and threw it to the dogs. I look longingly at the stores in the mall, but I no longer enter them. There’s no point. I’m desolate.

To make matters worse, Ben just announced his acceptance to Berklee and will head for Boston in the fall. Another one leaving so soon? How can this be? I’m not even used to Miriam being gone. How will I cope with two children out of the house?

Ben smiles at me with an adorably mischievous grin. “Chin up, Mom. You’re not losing a son. You’re gaining an opportunity—another Care Package to send each month. The clerks at Hugo will love you.�?BR>
Sweet, wonderful Hugo Boss. I’d forgotten about him. Victory and validity are mine once more. I will rise from my lamentable woe and loneliness and joyously shop, shop, shop. It’s my duty as a mother. Hugo and Betsey, here I come!

Um, but only once a month.