Yesterday, as soon as I woke up and gathered up my kids, I phoned my Mom to wish her a Happy Birthday. She laughed and said, “You’re a day early, call me back tomorrow”. My step-daughter thought that was ridiculously hilarious.Her birthday is October 22nd, I know that, but I either thought Friday was the 22nd or that
Her birthday is October 22nd, I know that, but I either thought Friday was the 22nd or that I woke up and it was Saturday. I’m not really sure. This is small potatoes when you consider that my mother once threw my Uncle a surprise birthday party a month early by accident. This got me thinking about how it seems I’m quickly turning into my mother. Glasses, Fro and the ability to sleep any and everywhere.
In honor of my beautiful Mom’s birthday (October 22nd, in case you’ve forgotten), I thought it would be fitting to recognize some of the traits I’ve picked up on my way to becoming my mother. A more crass, much louder and severely unstable version of her.
I am always mixing up my children’s names with each other, the pets and my partner. When I was a kid, it drove me nuts when my Mom would call me by my brother’s names. Of her 3 kids, I’m the only girl, so I deserve some sort of special place in her brain. I’ve kicked up her mo a notch by throwing my own name into the rotation, gets me some street cred.
I notice IMMEDIATELY how loud music. In a store, at the playpark, in the car or in my house. Why is it so loud? Who is loud for? You? Me? The neighbors two blocks away? If it’s past 10pm, not a song that I regularly listen or poorly mixed with techno you better believe I’m turning it off/down or walking away. Unless it’s music that I’ve put on, then there are no rules.
I love to tell my step-daughter that I’m funny. I make jokes, she rolls her eyes, I bust a gut laughing and she says “that’s not even funny”. To this day, my mother’s response to “you’re so funny, Mom” (sarcasm font) is, “thank you! I’m glad I have you kids to remind me how funny i am!” And I still roll my eyes, just like I did 20 years ago. Well, the torch has been passed and I proudly carry on her legacy. My children may not laugh but I will for I am the star stand-up comedian in my mind. And that’s all that matters.
When I’m pissed as hell at my kids and I’m telling them they better get outta my face before I beat them (jk I don’t’ say that…) I can feel the essence of my mother circa 1988 rise up from within and take over. It’s as though I don’t have a choice, I can hear her words coming out of my mouth, “That is NOT how we behave or how we treat people.” I even spit a little when I yell. *sigh* Just like she did when I was a kid. I appreciated the spittle, though, it’s how us kids knew what level of anger she was at and how long we should hide out in our bedrooms.
Baking with my kids is pretty much one of my favorite things to do, partly because I love eating and because it reminds me of being in the kitchen with my mother. I loved baking with my mom, she would always invite us in to help with whatever it was she was working on. Being ever so kind, she would let me mix the cookie batter and pretend not to notice when I stole some from the bowl to eat. I can’t publicly admit to letting mine eat the mix because of our current knowledge of salmonella and the internet police/judgment but you know (wink wink).
I love Mariah Carey’s Christmas album. I know other people love it but we ain’t talking about them. Our love for that album runs deep, passed down from generation to generation. If my kids are lucky, they’ll get to dance around the kitchen, listening to the great MC sing “All I want for Christmas” while waiting for the biscuits ( a recipe passed down from Great-Grandma) to come out of the oven.
Just like Mom and I would do.