turning into my mother

i’ve already told her this, so there will be no “i told you so” from her, but only because she already said it.

when i came home from my exam yesterday, i promptly began to clean. i started by cleaning out the spice cupboard which was long overdue for a proper cleaning and filtering through. who needs 14 different ways to season poultry or seafood? i only threw away the ones that looked really gross and old, and by this i mean the packaging looked like there were from the 1970s.  the cupboards were my next victim, but this was more a matter of reorganizing than trashing anything.

as i go around cleaning the kitchen and i pick up the boys’ messes, i notice the same things irritating me that irritated my mother as we grew up. chewkie had a planner sitting on the ledge about the kitchen sink – just a small black planner in no one’s way, but i demanded he take it to his room. all their junk on the table? ‘put it in your room’. the mail strewn about? ‘put it in your room’. and it’s not just the junk left around. it’s also choice items like food caked on the stove, counters not being wiped properly, the sink not being wiped til sparkling clean…and i have to ask myself…WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?

however, the one trait i have yet to inherit, and i’m hoping i stave it off (it’s chewkie’s least favorite, too). my mom would be sitting comfortably watching tv, and we’d hear her call one of our names.

“[unlucky chosen child] will you get me a pop?”

mind you, our pop (or soda or coke, depending where you live) was kept in the garage, and with my mother being in the living room, there was a 100% chance she was closer to it. unfortunately, “you’re closer” doesn’t work on the woman who birthed and raised you (even if she cheated with a c-section).


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