The older I get, the more I realize that I am quickly turning into my mother.
Once upon a time, I would’ve NEVER admitted this in writing–or even thought it possible. But, today not only do I recognize it, I’m actually VERY proud of it. My mother loved and parented me well. I did not make her task easy (I know you’re shocked), but she played the hand she was dealt with grace and excellence. Today, we are close friends, seasoned with years of celebrations, heartaches, and challenges. I am proud to be her daughter, her baby, and her favorite child. (Yes, my siblings read my blog.)
We often parent our children in the manner in which we were parented. I almost fell in the floor the first time I heard myself say to my daughter, “I know you didn’t mean to. You have to mean NOT to!”
It was like all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room. My kid panicked at my horror-stricken face after the words rolled off my tongue. I grasped at the hole in my chest where my heart had once been and choked out an explanation, “I’m sorry baby; I just channeled your Nana.”
This weekend, another episode of “Stuff my Mom Says” occurred. While chatting with a friend on Facebook, the internet connection blinked out for the fifteenth time during the conversation. I slammed my fist down onto the counter in frustration and shouted, “This cussed internet!”
A light bulb went off. (Apparently, it visibly went off over my head because both my mom and my sister looked up at me.)
I brought my finger down over my lips as I pondered what I’d just said. “People in real life don’t use that expression. No one says ‘cussed’,” I thought out loud.
Mom began to laugh. “That’s what you say when you’re trying not to say a cuss word.”
Oh… bless my sweet Southern Baptist Mama’s heart.
I’m not sure what it is that is so funny about the combination of my mother and profanity. Maybe it is because it was always such a big deal in our family to keep our language clean and proper. Whenever she was REALLY frustrated about something she would hiss, “Shhhhhhhhht.” I didn’t realize until I was twenty that this was simply “shit” but omitting the letter “i”.
Why do I write this tonight? My son has a blister on his foot and when the bath water stung it earlier, he shouted, “Shoot fuzzies that hurt!”
Thanks, Mom, for three generations of sounding stupid. 😉
Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you. ~Robert Fulghum