My mother died sixteen years ago and it’s been a lot longer than that since she told me what to do. Yet, whenever I prepare to leave the house, I still hear her admonition, “Go to the bathroom and get a drink.” It doesn’t matter if I’m strolling three blocks to the post office or embarking on an all-day ride in our ’65 convertible, I can’t walk out the door until I’ve followed her rule.
When I left home as a young bride, I vowed I wasn’t going to be like my mother. The first time my husband upset me, I was as shocked as he was when her words shot out of my mouth. Marriage quickly taught me how frustrating a spouse can be.
Mom was a good cook and instilled in me a love of cooking. One of the first things I did in my own kitchen was buy a set of measuring cups and take them apart. I put the 1/4 cup in my sugar canister and the 1/2 cup in the flour like she had.
It took me a while to realize I didn’t have to search for a role model. My mother was a wise, strong, independent, hard-working farm woman who showed her love for me with her actions. I’m a town gal, but I’m trying to fill her shoes that often were spattered with cow manure.
Do you strive to be like your mother or do you rebel?