The Mother of All Care Packages

My mother used to send me the world's stupidest care packages.

Before you feel bad for her, and think badly of me for trash talkin' my mama... let me explain further.  The first one I ever received was when I was away at a college for a sports camp.  All my friends got care packages in the mail, and I was hoping that I would get one too.  When I finally saw mine arrive, I was beyond excited!!

Would it be chips?  Would it be cookies?  Pretzels?  Wait... could it be gummies!?  Oh, yes, please let it be gummies!

Nope.  It was not gummies.  It was a pen that didn't write anymore.  It was the last four sheets of a pad of post-it notes, the kind where the sticky strip isn't sticky, but is kinda brown.  A crumpled receipt and a crushed mint covered with bottom-of-the-purse mung.  There was also about 40 pamphlets from the bank about how to get the most out of your home equity loan.  If I was really lucky she would throw in an old coaster and a fridge magnet (right from our own fridge.)

If you are a normal person, you are thinking:

  • A)  "Oh, maybe they were poor.  That sounds like something someone would do if they were really, very poor."
  • B)  "I know, her mother must have had a severe mental illness.  The poor thing must think that these inedible pieces of garbage were treats!  How sad!"
  • C)  "That sounds like one cruel, sick woman."
  • D)  None of the above.
The correct answer is D. none of the above.  (Welllll... and maybe just the tiniest dash of the other three.)  The true story is that nothing made my mother throw her head back in a maniacal fit of laughter like a haphazard and pathetic care package.  If there is any question about the origins of my twisted sense of humor... here you go.  Enter, my mother.  I picture her like a mad scientist, releasing a low Cruella Deville laughter with each new addition to the box.

"Oh, and this half a frisbee will be perfect!  MwAhahAHaHAHAhaHAhahAHa!"  

Since I am using the next 31 days to be kind and focused on others instead of myself... I thought for Day 9, I would send care packages to a couple of totally unsuspecting friends.  I didn't think anyone on this planet (save my sisters) would understand or appreciate a traditional Provencal care package.  So, I opted for actually sending something nice.  Less twisted, less funny, probably way more kind.  

So, two friends who are living away from home, will be receiving a little something in the mail.  They will absolutely never see this coming.  I feel very excited because:
  1. Even if they hate the contents of the package... they will still get that feeling of excitement of discovering a package just for them on their front step.  Trust me, that is where the excitement ended for me on care package day, so I know that that is enough. 
  2. Even if they hate the contents of the package... they will maybe read this and know that I really did my best given what was modeled for me.  (As long as I am not sending whatever trash is under the back seat of my car, then I have improved upon the family legacy.)
  3. Even if they hate the contents of the package... they will know that I tried. :)
While at the post office, I paid for five stamps and asked the postlady to keep them at the register, so that the next five people who came to buy a stamp would get one for free.  I piggybacked on this idea from my friend Sam who left half a roll of bubble wrap at the Post Office for the next fragile-gift-sender, and my mother, who bought an extra movie ticket and left it at the register for the next person who came to buy a single ticket. 

You've come a long way since those care package days, Mom, I love you.  Ya jerk. xoxo