Big Things Come in Big Packages

On my birthday five years ago, a box the size of Idaho arrived on my front porch. For nearly a decade before, I was accustomed to receiving lanyard necklaces and clay paperweights, trivets and beaded birds, homemade creations that grew in sophistication along with my two daughters. The best kind of gifts. From my mom, cards would appear in the mail, sending compliments and love and urging me to spend the enclosed checks on something fun or something pretty, maybe, to wear on a date.

“I’ve seen little sparkly tops all over,” she’d say from New York, knowing that I hadn’t been out at night…