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Like Mother, Like Daughter

Like Mother, Like Daughter

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(Via text, 2 days prior to our family reunion in Tennessee)

Me: So…Ingrid woke up with a runny nose and Gus is coughing. We’d be super disappointed not to come but I’d hate to infect anyone. What do you think?

Mom: Just come. Drug ‘em good.

Me: Can I quote you on that, Grandma?

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There’s nothing like a little Mom-time to remind me just how alike we are. Below are 10 tell-tale signs I’m becoming my mother:

1. I abide by our own version of the Urban Dictionary:

Lens juice- contact lens solution

Pit juice - deoderant 

O.J. - orange juice 

Dog bologna - bologna not fit for humans

2. I break spaghetti noodles in half for cooking then throw one against a wall to gauge doneness

3. I enjoy Hallmark murder mysteries solved by bakers, contractors, librarians and antique store owners

4. I have a strong affinity for cooking in the microwave, in particular, bacon and hot dogs.  Hot dogs should be cooked until resembling a blown tire.  You know how I feel about bacon

5. I have a propensity for clumsiness. Case-in-point: Once, helping Mom unload groceries in the rain, I ran for her back door in a pair of flats while carrying a 24-pack of bottled water.  The moment I hit the slick wooden deck, I slid with the effortless grace of a seasoned ball player in the final seconds of the playoffs.  I’m proud to say I never let go of the water

6. I store discarded meat bones in the freezer until trash day

7. I shred paperwork for fear of identity theft then unplug the shredder for fear of an electrical fire (note: Mom also unplugs the toaster, coffee maker, printer and phone chargers.  The microwave, however, is never unplugged)

8. I maintain a stash of mini-sized yellow legal pads - in the kitchen, on my nightstand, in the glove compartment of the car

9. I’m unable to consume food once a hair has been found in it, even if my own

10. I bloat

In the future I will:  keep a crossword puzzle book and the Sunday funnies on a table next to the toilet, only watch TV with the volume set to an even number, laugh a lot more - to the point of having to literally run to the bathroom (already I’ve given up jumping on trampolines), mix 1/3 c. Hershey chocolate syrup into my coffee, wear a giant bluetooth earpiece in public.

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“Am I becoming my mom?” I ask my husband, Sean, in the same way I inquire, “Am I PMS’ing?” After 15 years of marriage he understands these are rhetorical questions best answered by being repeated back. “Do you think you’re PMS’ing?” So, yes, I am becoming my mom and this pleases me. She’s unforgettable.

PS. Mom and I shared a good laugh last night over my concerns for the kids’ colds. Who’d have guessed we’d spend our first day of the reunion quarantined while being treated for head lice?

Chardon Who?

Chardon Who?