Editorial

No Sunday Scribblings this week. Too much to do, brain overloaded.

I just wanted to put out to blogland that my Mom posts are the sum of conversations turned into fictional dialogue for the sake of humor. Its a cathartic exercise. My mother is a beautiful, funny person, who I love and adore. I never would have thought growing up that she would really care so much about my haircut, my clothes, how long I have before I hit menopause and the inability to give her "grandbabies" (though she has two already) or when and if I settle down would effect her so much. It has though. My mother taught me to be an independent thinker, never doubted my intelligence, and has always wanted my happiness. I find it ironic that her and my definition of my happiness are so different. She has a hard time trusting me, and I have a hard time trusting she has my best interest at heart. Apparently this is a biological occurence for most parents as they have children AEB the responses. I too will wonder why my child has cut her hair the way she has, or find a Terret impulse to tell her she is my "itsy bitsy sweety," and my mother has already stated she will be there to laugh at me and give my children candy when I tell her "No".

In short, we have become a cliche. Both of us.

My mother has given me the gift of laughing at myself...and apparently her too. Thank you, Mom.