I Am My Mother’s Daughter

(image couresty of postsecret)

I strive to be even half the woman, the wife, and one day the mother that my mom is. My mom is my hero and my best friend. I haven’t yet mastered her patience or her home-made biscuits, but we’re 2 peas in a pod when it comes to interest in world religions, we’re both painfully introverted and we share a love (ehm, obsession) for Rocky Horror Picture Show (Not many people can relate when you say you’ve already watched it for the 5th time that week… on a Tuesday). She passed along much of who she is to me, and for that I’m so thankful. Except for one thing…

My mom has an aura that screams “Walk all over me! Use me! Please! Please! Take advantage of me!” My poor mom gets no respect. Like the time she was in Italy with my dad, they were the only ones in the restaurant for a late lunch. My dad was given a handsome, leather bound menu, while my mom was tossed (No lie, it was actually tossed to her) a dirty, food stained stapled stack of paper listing their food offerings. She could see a tall stack of fancy menus, but it was no surprise that they wouldn’t waste one on her!

Back home in America, when we go out to eat, the waiter or waitress will refill every empty glass except mom’s, sometimes they look right at her, turn with the half-full water pitcher and leave the table. Then there was the time the storage top on the car came open on the interstate during a family road trip, of course, the only bags that flew out were mom’s.

Just last week she tried to reach the 32nd floor of a hotel, the elevator wouldn’t move. She tried another but still wasn’t taken to her floor. Other guests rode the elevator with ease. She traveled up and down with them, never stopping on her chosen 32nd floor. She finally asked another passenger to push the button for her, and, of course, it worked then. Poor mom.

This, this is what I inherited from my mom. Not her ability to clean any stain, her charm, her vast knowledge about everything (basically), nope, I got this. A lifetime of empty drink glasses and lost luggage at the airport. When our couple’s massage appointment was “accidentally cancelled” recently, LT Fromage just sighed and said, “You defiantly are your mother’s daughter…”

Thanks, Mom.

Be sure to check out her blog, which she no longer updates, ehem, mommy dearest, but reading thru her archives is sure a lot of fun. Also, you'll notice this post is more than 4 years old... how come she didn't market her own snuggies?