like mother, like daughter

As predicted, my mom and I had the best week together. Seven days and six nights of walking, walking, walking; lots of laughter; oogling over boots and dresses and jewelry and scarves and anything shiny/sparkly/pretty; snapping endless photographs; and drinking glass after glass of wine during our nightly two-to-three-hour dinners. I couldn't have asked for more.

I won't bore you with the play-by-play of each day (though you better believe my mom and I both have a fully detailed report in our individual journals), but I will give you a random selection of The Best Ofs.

Seeing my mom in the airport, sitting patiently by her baggage cart, waiting for me to realize I'd been waiting in the wrong terminal for an hour. Having her arrive, safely, and pull me into a motherly embrace.

Lunch on the first day, at one of my favorite spots. We ordered our first of many half-liter jugs of wine and let our mouths motor away (both talking and eating).

Taking my mom to yoga and listening as she squealed with laughter behind me when the instructor made us hold really difficult poses for longer than she could handle.

Waking up to her padding into my room to lie down next to me and rub my arms and back the same way she's done since I can remember.

Spending hours going from booth to booth at the outdoor markets, becoming giddy with all of our fantastic bargain purchases, our arms growing heavy with overstuffed plastic bags.

Walking in silence through the bustling city, watching her take it all in.

Sitting in warm sunshine at outdoor cafes, lingering over coffee and croissants, people-watching.

Getting to ask my mom questions about her life - hearing about roadtrips and old friends, her youth, her dreams. Listening as she recounted my dad's proposal to her on a mountain in Colorado. Watching her become lost in old memories, wearing the same look she gets when she looks out at the ocean.

Ordering two half-orders of meat, then realizing that a half-order in Argentina is equivalent to a double-order in America, and giggling over the little table at the absurd amount of food before us.

Walking arm-in-arm through the streets, window-shopping.

Eating too much ice cream out of styrofoam containers; two spoons, one tub.

Renting bikes in the ecological reserve... tooling around on rickety old frames down gravel paths; taking in the fresh air and lack of city-ness; hearing the marsh come alive with spring peepers; seeing the long shadows of the city's skyscapers stretch out over the pampas grass; racing down a crowded boardwalk to get our bikes back before closing.

Drinking really strong margaritas and laughing at their powerful effect.

Eating dinner with my host family, and translating between my real mom and my "adopted parents" for two-and-a-half hours... having my mom be able to experience the family dynamics and daily routines that have become my life here.

Just being able to show her the little things - have her meet people who have become so important in my life; taking her on neighborhood tours; pointing out random shops and places that hold memories for me; and, of course, eating lots of good food.

I felt so fortunate the entire week. To be here, in this beautiful city. To have my mom all to myself for an entire week. To have full bellies and money to shop and a warm place to stay. To have a relationship like I do with my mom, so full of love and support. To learn new things about her. To see her in new ways. To realize, once again, how every day I become a little more like her.

I broke down when she left, crying in her lap and then later in the street, trying to explain to her driver through snot and tears that he should drive carefully or she'd get sick and puke in his car. It wasn't even sure why I was crying... I think I was just so sad to see the week end, and it was mixed together with all of these emotions I was having trouble putting my finger on - gratefulness for all that I am blessed with; a deep love for my mom; a sudden panic that I hadn't asked her enough questions about what she was like when she was young; a realization at how quickly the sweetest days of life go by. The world suddenly seemed so beautiful and melancholy all at once.

I ended up tucking those melancholy feelings away, and as I recounted the week in my mind, I couldn't help but smile. I know this will be a week we'll remember forever; one of those trips that grows more monumental with time. And I also know that I am one lucky girl, to have my mother here in the world... to love, support, hug, and encourage me... to listen to my dreams and questions and give me advice... to tell me that I'm a beautiful young woman and she's proud of me.

I'm proud of her too.