Turning Into My Mother

You hear people muse about turning into their own mother. Typically this is said with some, how do I say, chagrin, am I right?

I will be the first to admit... I am turning into my mother. Let me count the ways.

1.) The second my husband gets home from work, he starts foraging in the cupboards for snacks. Wait, I stand corrected. First he gets out of his work clothes into some jeans and a t-shirt. I personally never do this... I'll stay in my work clothes until bedtime. I have come to realize that people who change out of their work clothes after work are passionate about this topic. Nick would rather die a fiery death than stay in his work pants and shirt one minute longer than he has to. Aside over...

The foraging for snacks drives me insaaaaane when I've spent an hour making dinner. This was something my mom used to say all the time during my childhood. (And, ahem, post-college adulthood in which I squatted with them to avoid getting a place of my own and having to pay rent and thus spent my first-job measly paycheck at the local watering hole with my BFF on a weekly basis.) "Stop snacking, dinner will be ready in five minutes." But to that cupboard I'd go, and then sit at the dinner table and eat two bites of her meal. Now the thought of this literally makes me twitch with annoyance, and I have that "Ohhh NOW I GET IT" moment and make a mental note to apologize to my mom for all those years of five-o-clock snacking.

2.)

OK, well, I guess I didn't fully think this post out, as I can't even come up with a number two. I guess there is only one recent example I can think of in which I proclaim "I AM TURNING INTO MY MOTHER!"

Oh wait, I've got another.

2.) DOG HAIR. OH EM GEE, THE DOG HAIR.  When we rebuilt our house this summer, we were presented with several options, one of which was flooring. I mulled over the idea of going with an all-hardwood downstairs. I was afraid of the dog hair, though. Dog hair is insanely visible on hardwood floor. Despite this, I took a crazy pill and decided to go with it. (REGRET CITY!) (Not only dog hair, but rugs are not cheap!) AND LET ME TELL YOU. I am driven bat-shit-crazy-insane by this dog hair. Swiffer gets, like, a B- when it comes to keeping the dog hair under control. I am, quite frankly, too lazy to do anything else (such as research other cleaning options) and simply resort to bitching about it instead. This sums up the last four weeks of my life, by the way. Me pulling out my hair (haha, punny!) about dog hair collecting on every inch of my first floor. So, I guess that's another way I'm becoming more like my mom... the omnipresent grumble about dog hair.

Weak example, I know.

BUT! I've decided that me becoming more like my mom is not a bad thing, not at all.

Did you know that my mom turned 56 years old a couple of weeks ago, and that on her birthday she ran her 30th marathon? Does your 56 year old mother run marathons for fun? Pretty bad-ass, right?  It was also her PR in this particular marathon (her 8th time running it) and her 2nd fastest marathon ever.  My dad and sister made her this awesome sign and my dad held it up for her at various points along the course. (My sister ran the marathon as well.) (My whole family is pretty awesome.)

 

So if I can become more like my mom, I think that's a pretty good thing, don't you?