We’ve been told all our lives that the day would come. The day when we will officially turn into our Moms. It’s universal. It’s a mysterious phenomenon that can not be avoided and can not be controlled. One day you wake up and bam! – You can’t keep your kids names straight, you remind people to grab a jacket before leaving the house and you’ve become a bit more judgmental. *You’re going to wear that?*
I noticed the change slowly. I shrugged off the first few warnings, thinking it was just paranoia. I brushed off the comments when people started saying I looked so much like her. I ignored the first few signs, thinking they were just coincidences. A little similarity here and there. A comment about turning this car around, which I swore I’d never utter. The gestures. The mannerisms. All the little things. I’d catch myself standing with my hands on my hips, with a “because I said so” attitude all over the place. I chalked it up to a bad day, while in the back of my mind a quiet voice whispered to me, Good Lord, it’s happening.
I’ve noticed recently that I’m prone to spilling little bits of my lunch or dinner on my shirt. Something my Mom was famous for. It happens most when Clark is with me. “You’ve got a big blob of something on your shirt” I got tired of today’s young food servers staring dumbfounded at me, a look of confusion on their little freckled faces when I asked for a small glass of soda water to dab on my spill. So, I’ve started carrying stain sticks around in my purse. That’s right. I admit it. I carry stain sticks. Oh, I’ve seen older men just eat with a napkin tucked in around their neck to catch the spillage, like a big adult sized bib, but I think I’m a few years away from that yet.
The metamorphism has taken place slowly. Suddenly, running three errands to three different stores in a single day is exhausting. It’s just too much. And, I run the errands early because I feel the need to be home by 4:00 to start thinking about dinner. (By the time Clark gets home from work, I’ve usually got the restaurant all picked out. Hurray!!) It’s not that we don’t have enough food in the house to cook a dinner. No, we have plenty of food. After-all, I’ve started to stock up on things (just like my mom did) because if a storm or inclement weather is predicted, God forbid we don’t have enough tuna in the house. Or, frozen bread. My mom stocked up on things because there was a big sale she could not pass up – even if it was for something she never used. I’m on the lookout for that habit to start creeping into my everyday happenings.
So, why is it that our biggest fear in life is that we’re turning into our mothers? As a young girl, it’s a dream to be just like your mom. But, as you grow older it’s more like every woman’s nightmare. No matter how amazing our moms are, (and let’s face it, they truly are amazing) there is something scary about turning into them.
But, is it truly the fear of turning into them that has us all tied up in knots? Or, could it be the acknowledgment that we’re simply getting older. We suddenly start to walk into rooms and completely forget why we went there in the first place. *what was I looking for?* Our tolerance for alcohol started to diminish. It’s that second Cabernet or Martini that always puts me over the edge. (But what harm’s a little cockie now and then?) We shut the drapes at dusk so we can get into our jammies and be comfy and we get up at the crack of dawn declaring ourselves “morning people” when in reality, we are just getting older and need less sleep. We start to choose to stay in on weekend nights rather than go out and when we do go out, we go close to home.
So, have Mom’s been getting a bad rap all these years? Are we really so opposed to “becoming” the women who raised us and nurtured us and guided us through everything we know about life?
They were there for us when puberty turned us ugly and hostile. They stood by us when we resented their very beings and didn’t hold anything against us when we came out on the other side and became human again. And, as we grew into adulthood our mom’s actually became our friends – someone we enjoyed spending time with and talking to. All in all, when you really think about it, there probably are worse people we could morph into.
So, remember what your mom always told you. One day someone is going to be thinking the same about you!
How Absurd – we’re cool! Who wouldn’t want to be like us??