Moms sometimes tell me that they are turning into their own mothers.
Usually this realization is brought on by certain words coming out of their mouths that sound all too familiar- words like “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about!” or “Starving kids in Ethiopia would be grateful to eat this asparagus!”
For me, the realization has come slowly, a dim awareness creeping over me like a fog.
I felt its chill the first time I gardened in my church clothes, spattering mud and water all over my skirt and crusting dirt under my fingernails right before Sunday services.
It breathed down my neck when I took the dog for a walk in a bathrobe and bright red rain boots.
A note on the toilet telling visitors to “Use Pencil to Flush” (our old toilet handle broke so for a while we had to lift the tank lid and trip the mechanism with a pencil) brought me a step closer to Melissa Finifrock-dom.
“Fixing” my car stereo with duct tape and a bungee cord was ALMOST a breakthrough moment…
But it was not until today when I took the kids for a bike ride to Ralph’s, bought a dozen eggs, then knelt on the cement and ripped the carton in half in order to stack them into my cooler that I realized… I AM MY MOTHER.