Buy yourself something special, Leah! Love, Mommy. I beam at the note and reread the words. Wow! This is simply… amazing!

Mommy is the epitome of Hungarian when it comes to cooking, but she’s oblivious to shopping fads when it comes to teenagers.

And I was okay with it, that is, until the subject of sleepaway camp came up. Because while I have Baila to help me munch on homemade babka and chocolate chip cookies, I was determined to expand my circle of friends, to actually make it.

And clothing, I believe, will be the dominant factor in reaching the ranks of popularity, particularly for my first year of camp.

I hesitantly broach the subject on Thursday while peeling potatoes for the kugel. “Mommy, I’d like to stock up my wardrobe. You know, like, for camp. I’ll need some new stuff.”

Mommy clicks the Braun into place and turns to face me. “Clothes? Leah, don’t you have enough?” She shakes her head. “Didn’t we just buy you a new Shabbos dress?”

I know what she’s thinking. Elisheva and Shifra, my two older sisters, didn’t need stuff. They were happy with what Mommy bought them. But then again, when they were my age, no one needed Adidas sneakers and long floral skirts to help them climb the social ladder.

“We did,” I say. I assemble the potatoes in a row. “It’s… it’s just that I want something that’s a bit more in.” I sigh. I need Mommy to be supportive of my passion. I need her to understand that my camp experience this year won’t only depend on late-night DMCs, campfires, and swimming pools.

“Hmm.” She slips a potato into the food processer and nods. “I’ll think about it, sweetie.”

Shabbos is a blur of nephews and nieces and food and schmoozing. Mommy doesn’t bring up the subject even once. But on Sunday I find a 50-dollar bill resting on my dresser. There’s a green Post-it Note attached, scrawled with Mommy’s looped handwriting.

Buy yourself something special, Leah! Love, Mommy. I beam at the note and reread the words. Wow! This is simply… amazing!