I Have Become My Mother

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

It is inevitable. We all eventually become our mothers. It isn't necessarily a bad thing. My mother is a fabulous woman who sacrificed for her kids and is now a terrific grandmother. Why is it that we can only focus on our mother's bad, or undesirable, traits that we slowly develop over time? Why can't we focus on those traits that we are happy we inherited? For example, I can make a mean pan of ziti. Where did I learn how to just throw those ingredients into the pan until perfection is obtained? My Italian mother, of course. However, I tend to not give her credit for that. My lack of patience, on the other hand, is ALL her fault. (OK, not really.)

Growing up, my mother had three traits that DROVE ME CRAZY. I am not even airing my dirty laundry here. She knew these things drove me crazy. I think I complained about them on a daily basis.

What were they? Well...

1. She ALWAYS drove the car until the little pointer thing (hey, I spend my days with a two year old) was PAST the "E", for empty, on the gas gauge. ALWAYS. This was before they had lights and alarms to warn you that you are at 1/8 of a tank or less. And, yes, we did run out of gas at least once. My mom claims it was only once. I think it was twice, maybe three times. I spent my entire childhood checking the gas gauge each time I got into the car and made comments about how much, or how little gas we had. (To this day, I HAVE to fill up as soon as the red light comes on. My husband tries to convince me it is not quite the emergency I make it out to be, but I just can't risk it.)

2. EVERY TIME we left the warmth of the indoors to go outside during cold weather, my mother would have to turn around and go back in to go to the bathroom. EVERY TIME. (I am going to pay for this one!)

3. My mother could NEVER find her keys whenever we were out and about. Never, ever could she find her keys. Every time we would leave a store, she would be convinced that she had lost her keys. Forever. She did this almost daily. She always found them at the bottom of her purse, after she emptied the contents of her purse while standing in the middle of some strange public place. By the time I was ten or so, I just stood there waiting for the, "Oh, here they are, at the very bottom of my purse. Imagine that."

Guess what? I can never find my keys now.

I used to think it was just my mom. I now think it is moms everywhere. (If this does not include you, humor me. K?) Us moms have to have diapers, pull ups, wipes, extra clothes, snacks, sippy cups, and so much more swimming around the inside of our purse. I always told my mom that she needed to carry a smaller purse so she could find her keys. How could she? She had to be prepared for any and every emergency.

I get it now. I live it now. My keys are always at the bottom of my purse. Hidden amongst all of the items I am sure we will need. If I don't have them on me, we will definitely need them. How can I risk it?

Someday Sweet Pea will have a list of things that I did during her childhood that drove her crazy. I am pretty sure that my issue with my keys will be number one. She'll learn...