I haven't blogged in a while because not a lot has been going on. Well, that's not entirely true. There is a lot of schoolwork going on (but that's not exactly an enticing blog topic) and some personal things going on (but I don't like to use this as a therapeutic vehicle) so I guess what's more accurate is that I haven't felt like there is anything blog-worthy going on in my life. Except that my mom came to visit.
My mother and I have an...interesting relationship. I am her only child; she is my only parent. We were alone together for most of my life, minus a brief, wretched hiatus when we merged temporarily with her new husband and child to form one of those "blended" family that got so much attention in the 90s. (A disaster. "Nuff said.) Because she waited until "later" to have me, I was going through puberty while she was going through menopause--as if the mother-daughter relationship isn't difficult enough! All sorts of factors combined during those years to make life difficult for both of us, but eventually we got to the point we are now. We respect each other as adult females who are not just mother and daughter, but also sort of friends.
She came to Columbus for nearly a week, and I joked with friends that we would kill each other after only a few days: teeny, tiny apartment, two big personalities. But we did ok. I was more patient with her than I probably used to be (living alone does help with that as I don't have to mediate another relationship in the house), and she was more easy-going than I remember her. We did all sorts of things--on her dime, thanks very much!--visited campus, went to the art museum, toured the gardens at a Conservatory, ate and shopped at the North Market. She cooked me three delicious dinners, helped me with my temporary car crisis, adored Morris ("my only grandchild, probably," she sighed), and saw a movie with my friend Matt. Sure, she drove me nuts a few times--in the grocery store, every night when we tried to sleep in my bed (we're both tiny but take up tons of space while sleeping), and each time I drove us somewhere. But generally, we had a great time together.
What probably helps is that my mom is "young at heart" and I am an "old soul" so we sort of average out our 35 year age difference. She has tons of friends, many of whom are closer to my age than hers. She is physically active and hikes, bikes, and kayaks. She religiously goes to yoga on Saturday mornings, walks the "rail trail" a couple times of week no matter the weather, and has taken up both cross-country and downhill skiing since she turned 60. She is constantly out to dinner with this friend or that, participates in various community activities like the library book sale, choir, and church bazaar, volunteers with the Humane Society and for the hospital migrant outreach program, and the list goes on. She is wildly popular, fantastic at her job, kind, generous with others (though frugal with herself), takes care of the neighborhood feral cats, and would feed the birds with her last dollar. She reads voraciously, takes herself to watch the opera on the big-screen, and considers a head of broccoli with melted cheese and a glass of wine dinner.
Don't get me wrong, my mother is certainly not fault free. She hovers, nags, is super overprotective-still-and impulsive. I mean, the woman won't spend $20 on a pair of jeans, but she'll decide on a whim to buy a car even though she lost the ability to drive on a highway around 1990. She is technologically challenged--she still calls it 'the email'--and as someone who has spent most of her adult life taking care of herself and living alone, she has moments of selfishness (I mean, who doesn't, but still). I joke that she's a hoarder, but it's more honest to say that she's a pack-rat who enjoys "decorative clutter."
I hope that people believe I embody many of my mother's positive traits. I do tend to spend money on others before myself, like to be active in various things, have the need to work out frequently (though I head to the gym instead of the great outdoors), and graze for my meals. I'm also impulsive and clearly can be selfish. Though we look nothing alike, our body types and mannerisms are practically identical. We're both tiny-waisted and generally petite, but we carry our weight in our lower halves. We have wide rib cages but narrow hips, short legs and small breasts. We talk with our hands, double over when we laugh and even show excitement the same way, with sort of a whole body electricity. We're both liberal animal lovers who listen to NPR and love being in love. We both enjoy sending magazine articles or funny comics to our friends and need to eat all the time. Seriously. An ex-boyfriend once said that he had never seen someone my mother's size eat like that after she devoured every food you can find at a fair.
Oscar Wilde wrote "[a]ll women become like their mothers. That's their tragedy." With some, maybe. But not for me.
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