It is no surprise by now that my mother is my best friend.We are completely opposite in some very key areas, we are alike in all the onesthat count, and we bring out the best (and I guess worst) in each other incertain instances that take me by surprise.
Of course, as I am sure most daughters of mothers (yes ladies, that would be all of us) can attest to, there was that one moment whereI realized, “oh my gracious, I’m turning into her!” It started harmlesslyenough, when I realized I wiped the sink down in my first dorm room the way Isubconsciously watched my mother do so many times. As time went on though, Ifound myself doing things- saying things- SOUNDING just like her. I saw a signonce that said, “sometimes I open my mouth and my mother comes out.” I smirkedonly because I’ve never read anything more true.
I’m going to be honest- as a grown adult with my very ownjob and bills (hooray!...), it is so easy to be best friends with my mother from8 hours away. I miss her, I cry for her, and I look forward to our dailyconversations. But it took a little adjusting when she recently came to staywith me for a week and a half. How couldshe not know to turn the lights off? I don’t think I have EVER turned the lighton in my spare bedroom. How dare she move my expertly placed decorative pillowson the couch. And, gasp! She tried my eye cream??!! I’m not sure how Ms. EsteeLauder would feel about that.
To figure out the level of my ridculousness, I shared thesethings with the always level-headed Shane. Not even half-way through mydramatic, adjective-ridden spiel, however, he just couldn’t help the smirk. The smirk quickly turned into laughter and I just stared at him. “What is sofunny!?” I said, gaping. “Honey,” he began, still laughing, but a gentle handon my shoulder. “You act JUST like her.”
So there it was. As a 24-year-old woman who prided herselfon independence, whit, savvy shopping, and promptness, there was no escapingthose little quirky quirks of my mother. They were swimming in my veins. Therewas no alternate exit. Pass “go” and collect 500 genes.
On a recent trip to visit her family in Pennsylvania (see a previous post about this wonderful place here), mymother sent me a picture. It simply said, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am mymother after all.”
So, ladies, if it hasn’t happened yet- take heart. It iscoming…and probably quicker than you would think. You will wake up one day, look in the mirror,and realize that face staring back at you is not your own. It’s the face, voice,mannerisms, idiosyncrasies, laugh, fashion sense, and dance skills of noneother than mommy dearest.
Good thing I happen to have a mother who is beautiful,charming, fashionable, funny, AND a great dancer. I certainly lucked out.
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