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
  • dusting
  • 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

5c62b8fc-7a5d-47cd-bb30-7308fc477968

circa 1990

 

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 wantРthat 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.

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