Spending a week at my parents house is always wonderfully weird. I no longer know which drawer the spoons are in, even though I know exactly where they used to be before the remodel. Being a guest in the place which was my home puts me in a place to reminisce, and also to re-evaluate. All the goals I had for myself as a 'kid' seem so much more present when I am in that 'kid's' home. And so far? I'm pretty sure that the teenaged me would be horrified at the boring, responsible mom I've become. She'd also be horrified at the wrinkles and stretch marks, but as I am trying to overcome my vanity as a useless cause, let's move on. It reminds me of something my grandfather wrote about my mom--that as a teenager she thought her parents were hopelessly old fashioned and out of date, but then she grew up to be an old fashioned kind of mom--which Grandpa thought was the best kind of mom to be.
So, as I move past my horror of becoming my mother I am more able to see the gifts of following in her footsteps. It's a gift of perspective.
We wandered about a fair amount last week, visiting places I love and love to re-visit. Hopefully as my kids grow up and have these same places treasured in their hearts it will bring us closer as they fondly remember. Maybe someday they'll even forgive me for being such a fuddy-duddy and understand.
Although, I doubt they will ever understand the impulse which makes me want to bring home as much fresh citrus as I can pack the van with. ;-)
there’s nothing wrong with kids that trying to reason with them won’t make worse
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4 comments:
Even if I still qualify as an "in-between," I'm starting to realize exactly what you're talking about. It's interesting to incorporate the "old-fashioned" into little things each day. Also interesting to see what sticks.
What do you mean, not appreciate loading up on as much citrus as possible? Who DOESN'T understand that one? Our in-laws always ask us to bring some for them! :)
It's interesting to watch the house you grew up in become "Grandma's house." And it's a good thing not to be the kind of mother your teenage self would want.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
I am my mother after all!
Thank goodness, you have a great mom. And I loved your post.
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