How I Spent My Saturday

I am not a morning person by any stretch of the phrase. So when my mother asked me to get up at five forty-five a.m. on a Saturday to go to an estate sale with her, I asked what I was going to get out of it. Greedy, I know, but when it’s that early in the morning I need some form of incentive.

Mom does this every once in a while—ask me to get up at an un-godly hour of the day. And it’s almost always for an estate sale. You see my mother has been trying to amass enough antiques and knick-knacks to start up a booth in the South County Antique Mall. It’s always been something she wanted to do, but she truly didn’t consider it until college was looming in front of us.

My Mom and I are really close, closer than your average teenager and their mother. I have no doubt that it will be excruciating on the both of us when I leave. I’ll have a college campus to keep me semi-occupied at the very least, and now Mom decided she was going to live her dream.

I’ve been very supportive from the get go and have constantly urged her forward. Admittedly, my urging got a little more forceful when our living room was piled high with collectables, but I have always wanted her to succeed in this. Finally she took the plunge and got a booth of her own as of October first.

So this weekend I was being recruited to help stock the booth, but before that could happen we had yet another choice estate sale to go to. I’ve only been on one or two estate raids (probably because of my grumbling). The woman who has run them is named Dottie. I like Dottie—even if she is part of the reason my butt is being dragged up so early—because she’s got spunk. She’s also really good to dealers like my mom.

My job as co-raider of the estate sale is to get what my mom wants. Mom tells me what she is looking for and I go get it—like a terrier. Despite the fact that I am incredibly cranky, I get the items in question quickly (I even get my own little basket). I think the other reason my mom brings me along is people seem to be irrationally afraid of teenagers, especially some of the older people. Not all of them mind you, some of the little old ladies chat my ear off as I grab the goodies I’m supposed to nab; they are so sweet I can’t help but smile and converse back, even at this early hour.

Other people seem to be afraid of my tenacity or perhaps it is my growling demeanor (either way I’m still a terrier). They give me wide-eyed looks or they give me lots of personal space. It’s as if they’re saying, “Oh God a teenager! Head for the hills before it slays us!” This happens particularly when Mom wants to ask about a price and I am to stand guard over said object. So I stand, arms crossed, over the object; in this case a turquoise chair and glare at anything that comes within five feet of me like a good little pup. I think it is hilarious that people scurry away from me when I do this! I mean, for the love of God I’m a five-foot two blonde pipsqueak, who weighs about one hundred and five pounds. I am not intimidating. But apparently my bouncer stance is quite off-putting.

Anyway, Mom doesn’t find the price of the turquoise chair to her liking and we head off with our items, promising to come back at noon when Dottie drops the prices. Next we make a run to the house and gather more stock items. Boxes of silver, depression era glass, and Halloween decorations are piled into the back of our CRV, as well as a few hatboxes and two chairs that we bought at the estate sale. We also slide in supplies for making tags, and cleaning supplies so I can polish the furniture (I am a multi purpose tool). Even after we fill the car Mom says it will take another trip to get the booth stocked.

Let me just take a moment to mention how immensely proud of my mother I am. I really admire that she’s going after her long time dream. I know she’s scared, but I keep telling her that she’ll do fine. I know she will because this is what she loves to do—there is no way she can fail. I believe in my mom’s success but more importantly I just want her to have fun.

All of this is being discussed on the way to the Antique Mall. I can tell how nervous Mom is by the way she’s gripping the steering wheel. We finally get there and start unloading the chairs onto a cart we snagged from the back room. Mom leads me through the street-like rows that compose the quaint little mall to her booth. It’s a striking blue-green color she tells me is called Lilly Creek. The only other items there are a pink china hutch and a charmingly worn mantle that Mom purchased for display purposes.

I get to work polishing the two chairs and when I’m done the booth carries the faint aroma of the cedar polish I used. I help Mom unload her products and start arranging decorations. I place a white faux pumpkin topped with a raven that I have affectionately named Fred on the mantle, and a smiling gourd goes on top of the pink hutch. Soon I’m punching holes in tags and tying them to silver pitchers, and paintings.

A couple of hours later we return to the estate sale and buy the gorgeous turquoise chair for a marked down price. Mom’s eyes shine with glee at her acquisition, and I’m just happy because she is. Again we head home to stock up on more decorations and filler items. Before we go back to the mall I make Mom uphold her end of the estate sale bargain—she has to take me to the used bookstore and buy me a McFlurry. For some reason the time it takes to make good on the bargain feels like a nanosecond, and I’m excited to get back to Mom’s booth—I’m just so darn proud of her!

Once again the car seems to be the place for doubts. Mom bites her lip and asks me, “What if I don’t sell anything?” I tell her it will never happen, and reassure her that she has good taste that people will respond to. We return to the mall and grab the items from our trunk. Winding our way through the alleyways of the mall I stop once we enter Mom’s booth. I look around askance at the Lilly Creek walls and remark that something is different. It’s like a game of Where’s Waldo.

I notice the large silver pitcher has been moved, and Mom says two vases were set down differently. I thought that might have been it, but then I see it—the blank space that used to hold a picture of a rustic farmhouse. I grab my Mom and whisper in her ear, “You sold something! You sold something!” She looks around to where I’m pointing and has the world in her smile. Seeing her so excited and tickled from something so small was so pleasant and heartwarming. Mom had a secret smile on her face for the rest of the day as she draped doilies and placed the new turquoise chair in a place of honor. She was just so happy that she sold something and made a profit, and I was just so happy to be a part of her experience.

At the end of the day being dragged up at five in the morning was worth it to see Mom smile. Seeing how wonderful of a job she did on her first day made me think that we would both be okay. I’m proud of the booth my mom put up, but more importantly I’m proud of my mother.