“You sound JUST like your mother!”
This from my chosen child, who actually has no inkling whatsoever how my mother sounds. I’m sure it would take her less than a week to straighten him out.
“Don’t look at me like that. This is our home, not a democracy; you don’t get a vote.”
Really, there are far worse folks I could “sound like”. Twenty years ago, I would’ve argued the point, just for the sake of argument. The same argument that always ended the same way.
“I don’t really care who started it, I’m ending it. My major was English, not Drama; if you MUST cry, please close the door.”
One of us always seemed to be crying (usually Blondie). Mama had a no tolerance policy.
My son fully expects me to jump through hoops to help him find legitimate sources for a report he’s supposed to be working on. He’s had the assignment for more than a week.
“Dry it up and be honest. It doesn’t matter how big you are, I’m still your mother. Don’t mutter.”
My mini me is naturally intelligent. Intelligence is equally blessing and curse. He’s found it easy to let things go until the very last minute, and generally still slides by with marks high enough to keep me feeling guilty for my over-inflated expectations. This week, he’s up the proverbial creek.
“Speak English. It’s your native language. PLEASE stop dog-earring the books. No, I won’t spell it for you. If you can’t define it, don’t use it.”
It’s been incredibly difficult for me, trying to chill and let him learn to handle his business. I’m sticking with it. Not without the echoes in my head, though.
“Nobody said life is fair. Somebody has to drive the trash truck.”
My mother is hilarious. Obviously.
I wonder if she realizes she sounds just like her mother…
Be appreciative children. Be blessed, Y’all.