She Always Knows

So I’m sitting in my apartment at 2pm on a Tuesday, surviving on vending machine snacks and whatever’s left in my fridge (which is basically condiments and hope), when there’s a knock at my door.

She Always Knows

It’s my mom. With a cooler. Because somehow, from 45 minutes away in Durham, she had “a feeling” I wasn’t eating real food.

She was right. Of course she was right. Moms have this terrifying sixth sense about these things.

Still warm tamales at 2pm on a Tuesday

The cooler was packed with homemade tamales (still warm, HOW??), rice, beans, fresh fruit, and enough Tupperware to feed me through finals week. She didn’t even lecture me about it, just started unpacking everything onto my kitchen counter like she was restocking a grocery store.

Calling to say thank you (and that she was totally right)

Twenty minutes later I’m on the phone with her, actually eating real food for the first time in probably a week, and she’s just laughing because she knows she nailed it.

First real meal in probably a week

I kept trying to thank her but she just kept saying “that’s what moms are for, mija.” Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. Definitely loves me better than I love myself, at least when it comes to making sure I eat vegetables.

Now I have enough food to last until my next paycheck and a reminder that no matter how grown up I think I am, I still need my mom sometimes. Maybe more than sometimes.