I'm becoming my mother

I've had two people in the last two months mistake me for my mother. Granted, both people were probably over the age of 80, had never met me, and since they feel so young at heart they didn't realize that 30+ years had gone by since they had seen my mom. However, their mistake in idendity leads me to believe what everyone fears: I am turning into my mother.

What is odd for me to think about is that when my mother was the age I am now (almost 31), my brother was 5, and I was 2. That is very similar to the ages of my children (6 and 3). But my mom seemed so much older then than I feel now (does that make sense?) There are days when I do not feel like being an adult. Today was one of those days. We came home from camping back to reality. Our yard needed cleaned up, I had laundry to do from the weekend, our freezer and refrigerator needed emptied of the unrescued perishable items and cleaned from the melted popsicles in the freezer and miscellaneous spills that had happened in the refrigerator over the last 5 years. We had to transfer our saved freezer/refrigerator items (which when you coupon shop and have a garden, it's an abnormal amount of food) from my in-laws house to our house. Noone had eaten, Elizabeth got a bloody nose, Anna ran into the corner of the table, the kids wanted to watch a video, and when we tried to turn on the t.v., we realized it was another casuality of the storm. But on days like today, you have to suck it up and dig in. Of course, that meant I had to do the responsible thing and not get on the computer, but I got a good start on the laundry, cleaned the appliances, Jason went and got the food from his parents' house, bought a new t.v. at Wal-Mart, and picked up Arbys. (What's gonna work? Teamwork. That's for all you Wonder Pets fans.) I didn't say it was a cheap day for the Wuertleys, but maybe all that money we saved from no electricity over the last three days will help pay for it. Today was an unusually busy "adult" day, but there are many days when I would rather not face the responsibility of being in charge of not only my life but two other little lives. Now that I am an adult, I can appreciate the responsibilities that my mom handled when I was growing up - going to work, cooking, cleaning, the list goes on and on. And now it is my turn to be on the other side of that, and because I witnessed her do these things day in and day out, it's been a much easier transition.

I see other areas in my life where I am becoming my mother. Summertime was garden time, and that meant shelling and freezing peas, snapping and canning green beans, and shucking and freezing corn. My Grandma Bowman would help my mom. Now my mom helps me. When we moved into our house, I finally had enough yard space to have a garden. Each year it seems to get a little bigger, and between what I yield from my garden and what my uncle so generously lets me get from his, I am continuing with the garden tradition. To be honest, and I hope my grandpa doesn't ever read this, I prefer the taste of store-bought canned green beans to garden canned beans. I'm pretty sure my kids do, too. But my mom always served us garden beans (it was a treat to go to my Grandma Porter's house, because then I got the store-bought kind), so that's what my kids will get, too. There's nothing like garden corn, though. Also, my mom was always really involved in the church. She sang in the choir, served on countless committees, and was active in Sunday School. Her areas of involvement were a little different than mine, because I tend to volunteer more in children's ministry, but nevertheless, I grew up understanding that you are to be an active part of the church body. I find myself making the same meals I had as a kid growing up - and using my mom's recipes. I even drive the same make and model of car, just a different year. And I've just had a mini-revelation about my phobia of the dark - my mom couldn't stay by herself all night, either, and that was often during sports season when my dad was coaching. My grandma would come and stay with us. Am I a product of my environment or what? I could be used as a great example in the whole Nature vs. Nurture argument.

This post is turning out differently than I thought it would - I'm not sure if it is a tribute to my mom, a chance for me to complain about being an adult, or a comparison between my mom and me. Regardless, for those of you who know my mom, she is a pretty great woman, so if I am turning into her, that's fine by me.