mirror mirror on the wall,
i am my mother after all
a list of things my mother did growing up that i made fun of her for that i now do myself:
- fling my bra off as soon as i get home or often on the commute home
- sing a happy song when there are leftovers in the fridge and i don’t have to cook (sorry about complaining about leftovers for so many years, mom)
- take very, very hot baths to the point of almost passing out before bed bc it feels so good
- read seven books at the same time so it takes me months to finish just one
- think that i am hiding all my emotions in public situations but showing it all with one facial expression
- clean out all the trash from my car whenever i gas it up
- ask for an obscene amount of extra napkins wherever i go to eat. and use them all bc i am a slob
- avoid wearing white
- own a closet of neutral colored clothes
- chew with my mouth closed
- keep my elbows off the dinner table
i have read over this list many times laughing and smiling. because as much as i thought i was nothing like her and never would be during my sassy years, i am in fact, her. granted, my mom and i may not agree on anything politically and also have very different worldviews-i am still her mini-me. we think very differently, but i think that my strength and fierceness comes from her. my ability to say whatever da fuq i want– that comes from her. my ability to call bullshit, speak up for myself, and not take shit- comes from her. and i love her to pieces. for years she has been a mom and dad to me, a provider, a boss bitch, a lover, and a fighter.
i love you, mom.