My Mother's Child-

Growing up I vowed never to be like my mother. For one, she worked too hard. She was the engine behind our home-made bakery; always travelling to the nearest town to procure flour and sugar that always seemed to be in scarce supply. Easter was around the corner and our Easter buns had to be out in time. Or there was the time when she was about 7 months pregnant and did not think that she needed to take a break. You could find my mother hopping on the next bus to find the best deal on getting supplies, again, for our bakery. Never mind the baby kicking for a little rest!



Oh, I vowed never to be like my mother when I had kids. You see my mother is a shouter! That's how she got the attention of my siblings. I never did anything to upset her. Is it okay to honk my own horn? Hey, why not? It did not matter if we were in the kitchen together or we were down the block. She would get our attention!

My mother has no idea what it means to rest. She gets up early for work, because "I want to be home early," she says. She gets home, drops her purse in the kitchen and opens the fridge--not for a cool drink or a snack--but she pulls out the pork that has been marinating overnight. Yeah, we are having jerk pork for dinner! Never mind the fact that 2 hours later her 'work clothes' are smothered in jerk sauce and maybe some curry powder. Yes, she just dashed some curry on the chicken for tomorrow's dinner.Wow!

But then I became an adult, with my own house and my own children. Remember, I vowed never to be like my mother. It's six p.m., and I am on my way home from work, five minutes from home. It has been a long day. I am mentally and physically drained. My phone rings: "Hi Mom, we need more milk," says my younger daughter.
"Okay," I ended the call and made a u-turn for the Walmart 11 miles away.
Sigh! I vowed never to be like my mother.

I got home, dropped my purse on the kitchen stool, opened the fridge--not for a snack or a cool drink-- I pulled out the chicken that had been marinating overnight. I smiled  shook my head. No, I am not like my mother!

I ran upstairs and dumped a load in the washer. Oops! I just splashed Clorox on my favorite brown suit--sorry Alfani, call it an accident.Gosh, why didn't I change out of my office suit?
No, I am not like my mother!

The washer stops. I yell from the kitchen to tell my daughter to load the dryer. An hour later the clothes are still in the washer. "Hey," I yelled.

Who am I fooling? Of course I am like my mother. After all, I am my mother's child.