Mother May I

I am my mother. Over the years I began to sense the transformation. The need to find a home for all of my college friends to go for Easter dinner, the sudden urge to save my empty toilet paper rolls, the thumb that, once licked, took the place of the napkin when wiping dirty faces. Today confirmed it.

Mark and I are boarding a plane for Las Vegas (YIPPPEEEE!!!) in about 2 hours. We are leaving the girls with my sister for 2 days and my brother and sister-in-law for the remaining 2 days. Based on the sheer volume of lists I have compiled with instructions as ridiculous as "When dropping Cora off at preschool, you must use the back door and enter through the gate," you would believe they have never met my children. I have lists about what food they eat and when, what color their toothbrushes are and how long to brush for. When they nap, pee, snack, bathe and breathe. It is official. I am her.

This realization terrifies me. Not because my mother is a bad person (a bit crazy, but whose mother isn't!), she is just the opposite. She is caring and considerate. She refuses, despite my repeated attempts, to gossip. She volunteers and spends endless hours in her classroom to ensure her students have the best education available. She is giving to a fault. She always puts others before herself and is amazingly smart. She is a wonderful mother. So why does becoming her scare me?

Well it just means that regardless of how hard I try, or how many times I say something (ie. I will never do (insert motherly thing here) like my mother!) that after enough years have gone by, it will inevitably happen anyway. So here's to fighting tooth and nail to not become our mothers, but becoming them anyway. Just one request, if I ever start wearing pantyhose with my capris, can someone grab me by the shoulders and shake me until I come to my senses! (Regardless of the fashion faux pas, I still love you mom!)