I really am my mother

     AS I was digging in the dirt, digging, weeding, playing, getting dirty, I glanced at my hands. As I watched them it dawned on me that I had my mothers hands, they look  just like hers. This lead me to think about my mom, and myself, and how alike we are in so many other ways. This is ironic, because I clearly remember being a teenager and hoping, praying that I would NOT be like my mom. She was so uncool, her clothes were not cool, her car was really not cool, her cooking was not great, she spilled things and was a basic “clutz”. Every cake she tried to bake turned out a mess, lopsided, broken and ugly. Do I even need to tell you where this is going? Yes, yours truly is the same way. My cooking, not so bad, pretty good, but baking, forget it.  To this day when someone makes a mess, or I mess up something I tried to cook we say “you did a Libby” which is her name.      

                                                                                    (I tried to bake a cake. I did a Libby)

     On so many occasions she has called me to tell me she just picked me up something, and wouldn’t you know I had just bought myself the same thing? Or she and I pick up the phone at the same time to call each other and the phone not even ring because we were already on it calling each other. My dad has said on more than one occasion how much I look like her years ago, and act like her.

     Frugal, that is a mild way to describe how my mom managed the house back then. As a teenager, the horror I would have in my gut if she made me go to K-Mart with her in her awful, un cool car, a station wagon. I was so embarrassed I would actually lie down in the back of the car for fear a friend would see me in that terrible car. And forget about being able to show my face at school if a class mate were to spot me walking into K-Mart, a discount store for gosh sakes. Well, now, as a mom myself, I know that Wal Mart, K-Mart and coupons are not for the “cheap” but the smart, like my mom was and like I am. Why pay more when you don’t need to. Right? Seems to have all been a smart move by her as she and dad travel extensively now, have two homes and have no worries.

     Let me digress on how terrible my parents were. I thought surely they should have been arrested at times for the horrible things they did to me, or should I say did not let me do…. Can you believe they did not let me go shopping for clothes every week with my rich friends? or buy me a car when I turned 16? or made me go to college instead of marrying my high school boyfriend at 18, like I wanted to? The torment of it all. It’s a miracle I survived. Thankfully, growing older means growing up and maturing (if your lucky) and thank goodness they were so mean 🙂 Not letting me do these things was the BEST thing they could have done for me. Thanks mom and dad.

     So, for this girl who was so afraid of growing up to be like her mom, I am daily thankful that yes I did. I am my mothers daughter, in every way. My mother is my hero. Hopefully, some day, my daughter will feel the same about her terribly uncool, cheap,mean mom.

My daughter, me and mom. Mothers and daughters, the best bond.


3 thoughts on “I really am my mother

  1. I need to see a bigger picture of that cake. It looks like a coffee ring..haha

    I remember my mom chaperoning something in elementary school and she pulled up in our lime green station wagon. I was so embarrassed as the other moms had the cool minivans and my schoolmates were making fun of me. Mom came through though because of her noted lead foot, we beat the rest of the kids to the park. So I went from chump to hero. Thanks mom.

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