I was having drinks this weekend with another smart, gorgeous, 30-something Gal and at some point she remarked how much she was like her mom. What was really interesting was the way she said it – not in the typical “what am I going to do, the world is ending” groan, but in a really pleased, self assured tone that said “and I’m really proud of that”.
That got me thinking. In our early twenties, coming into our own fabulousity, none of my girlfriends would have been caught dead admitting she was like her mother – much less being pleased with it. But now it seemed un-escapable – we do become our mothers, it’s just absurd that we didn’t see it coming!
My own transformation is undeniable. Not only is there a strong physical resemblance, but our habits, our talents and even our downfalls are eerily familiar. Now keep in mind we’re talking about a woman who stockpiles toilet paper. Almost to an apocalyptic degree. It is a source of total amusement to my brother and I – it seems like she picks some up every time she goes to the store. Though in her defense, when asked why she bought yet more TP, her response is always “Well, you don’t want to run out, do you?” Um, no. Good point.
If I stop to think about it, the list of similarities is quite long. We wear the same lipstick shade, the same nail polish looks good on us. We both had a phase with Guerlain’s Shalimar perfume in our early twenties. We have the same crooked toes. We’ve suffered the same illnesses and share a mutual love for Ambien. We share a perfect black dress, passing it back and forth for events. We both love to be in the kitchen and tend to show our love for others by cooking for them. We both like to keep a stash of candy around the house. When my issue of House Beautiful shows up, I read it quickly and share it with her and she returns the favor with her Bon Appetit. I’ve watched my mother read for years and she absentmindedly holds her fingers up to her lips. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught myself doing it too. And we can both deliver a brutal tongue lashing when we’re peeved. Don’t say you weren’t warned…
And then there is the list of things my mother knew long ago about us that I’m just realizing. She made me wait to get my ears pierced until long after my friends’ had theirs done. She seemed to think it was over-hyped. And today? I rarely even wear earrings. I wasn’t allowed to perm my hair, because it would “ruin” it, to my eternal despair, and yet these days I don’t even like to blow it dry for fear of damage and my healthy, straight hair is my most complimented feature. The oddest trait I’ve embraced? When we were young and my mom would drive us around, no one was allowed to remove their seatbelt before the car was turned off. Even in the driveway. We always thought it was ridiculous – after all, it’s not like we were going to fall out of the car going 2 mph. And then last week it happened. I was driving around town with a pal and as we pulled up to the house he popped his seatbelt. And I lost my mind. “Are you crazy? Don’t take off your seatbelt until we’ve stopped!” I screeched. The expression on his face was priceless. Like looking in a mirror at my twelve year-old self.
So yeah, I’m turning into my mother & so are you. But just think – our moms hooked our dads, so it can’t be all bad, right?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pick up some toilet paper. You know, just in case.
p.s. - This is my 100th post! Thanks for reading.