When Did I Become My Mother?

Mom.  The woman you can’t escape.  She can find you in your college dorm room when you’re about to take a shot of tequila, and she can sense when you’re at the grocery store 3 states away and decides it’s a great time to call for advice on her taxes. The woman who can make you feel guilty just by mentioning that she birthed you.  Sure you love her, but as a woman – she’s the last person you want to become.  Not because she isn’t an amazing person, but because she’s your mother.  The woman with all of the embarrassing behavior, and habits you find annoying or ridiculous, who will never be cool, or up to date with technology, the one you love – but couldn’t possibly become.

And then some time after 30, you realize that you have become her.  I’m certain this realization creeps up slowly because if it hit you all at once, you’d end up in a coma.  But creep it does, and you wake up one day realizing it’s happened.  You are your mother.

I’ve only recently come to terms with this, and the more I realize it, the truer it becomes.

How I Know I am My Mother

1. I own a crock pot.

That’s right.  I’ve discovered the convenience of crock pots, and casseroles, and foods that reheat well.  Gone are the days of gourmet cooking and massive amounts of take-out.  I spend my time on Pinterest looking for crock pot recipes.  I may do this in secret, but it happens.

2. I go nowhere without a hostess gift.

I can no longer walk into someone’s home without bearing gifts.  Like a wiseman on Christmas morning.  I have the same dialogue in my head the entire drive over to every single home I visit.  “You don’t need to bring something, you’ve been here 36 times” or “It’s not appropriate to bring a gift to dye your friend’s hair” or “I’ve never met this person’s aunt whose house I’m walking into for the sole purpose of helping move a piece of furniture”.  But, without fail, these arguments are soon followed by my mother’s voice “It is so tacky to show up empty handed at someone’s front door!  I raised you better than that!  Get a nice box of chocolates and a card, and not one of those raunchy, funny ones!  Write a nice note, with your HAND!”.  And because of this, I’ve put the Russell Stover children through college.

3. I’m typing this wearing control-top pantyhose.

Gone are the days of bare legs, I now appreciate the benefits of the 10 pound slimming effect of pantyhose underneath my work pants.  Full.on.pantyhose.  The ones I’d never be caught dead in.  I hang on to the last thread of my dignity by telling myself ‘At least you don’t wear the suntan shade mom wore’, but that only rarely provides comfort.  Because you can’t find comfort when you’re wearing pantyhose. It’s not possible.

4. I can no longer identify 70 percent of the celebrities on gossip sites.

I confuse celebrities constantly.  Someone brings up a hot celeb and I can only picture Julia Roberts and the 6 I grew up watching.  So I nod.  And pretend I know who they are talking about.  And then I google it.

5. I talk to myself.

Full on conversations.  Muttering things I need to do, talking myself through what I need to grab before walking out the door, repeating my grocery list ten times in the produce department.  It started off as arguments in my head in the shower.  The arguments you always win because the other person is oddly silent and witless.  If I’d known I was sowing seeds of nuttiness I might have zipped the lip and focused on lathering.

6. I spread her words of wisdom.

I’ve unknowingly become an evangelist, for the church of my mother. You know the words you’ve heard 1000 times that you used to roll your eyes at?  ‘A man will only treat you as well as he treats his mother.’ ‘This, too, shall pass.’ ‘Why buy the cow when he can get the milk for free?’ ‘If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten.’  ‘The greatest indicator of someone’s future is what they did yesterday.’ ‘Never pay retail.’ ‘Wear clean underwear every time you leave the house.’

7. I wake up at 7 a.m. on a Saturday.  No matter what.

Gone are the days of convincing myself I can catch up on sleep.  Or laying in bed until noon because sleep feels so good.  Nope.  I’m awake, even if I got in at 3 a.m., at some ungodly hour on the weekend.  And it’s not enough that I’m awake, I instantly start thinking ‘If I get to the grocery store now, I’ll beat the rush’.

8. My purse has become a utility belt.

I don’t even have children, but I’m prepared for every situation I could possibly encounter.  Safety pins, Tide stick, hand sanitizer, pair of socks (um, what if I spontaneously go bowling and am in flip flops?), extra jewelry (just in case I need to dress up an outfit), a spare deodorant, bobby pins, hair ties, hard candy, duct tape (it can solve many wardrobe malfunctions), anti-static cling spray (for the pantyhose), clear nail polish (pantyhose, again), hairspray, cordless straightener, healthy snacks, Crystal Light, a book or two, nail file, small screwdriver, sunblock – the list is endless.  I’m fully prepared at all times to rest comfortably on a deserted island, save a life, pick a lock, or play Let’s Make a Deal.

9. I’ve learned the value of a dollar.

This wouldn’t be awful, except that I have odd ways of showing it.  You wouldn’t know I’ve learned the value of a dollar by looking at my shoe collection, but I exhibit in other ways – like clipping coupons, and then never using them.  Or hunting down the item I want online, on 15 websites, for 3 hours, to save 5 dollars or get free shipping.

10. I’m convinced that anyone exhibiting a symptom is dying of a horrendous disease.

I do it.  I google every symptom.  It started as a precursor to calling my mother, because I knew if we discussed my sinus issues or a night sweat, she was going to tell me I had a tumor in my face or that I was pre pre pre menopausal.  Now I do it because I’m convinced every possible ailment could be a debilitating rare illness that my capable doctor has never heard of, and my life will most certainly be saved by my use of the internet.  Or by something I watched on an episode of House.

As I sit here, with the crock pot cooking, wearing pantyhose, talking to myself about coupons that will soon expire, and considering my backache might be due to a rare spinal illness when it’s most likely from carrying my 35 pound purse – I can’t help but smile.  Because, there are certainly worse things in life than becoming my mother – I just can’t think of any right now. Likely, because I’m preoccupied with deciding what I’m bringing as a hostess gift to my friend’s home tomorrow night.

Thanks mom.