I knew it would happen. It was bound to happen. It probably could not have been avoided.
I’ve become my parents.
My husband even recognizes this phenomenon and occasionally calls me by my father’s name. It’s a great name: for dads and Hollywood dolphins. For me, not so much.
For some reason God decided to mesh my parents together and He came up with the idea of me. (And then later, somehow, from the same two people, He came up with the idea of my brother, He’s cool that way, being all Creative and Almighty and Everything.) Now, dear reader, please don’t misunderstand, I am forever great-full. There is much to be said for turning into Mimi and Poppy. Albeit a somewhat shorter version. Sigh.
When you’re a kid your worst nightmare is that you’ll turn into your parents. And you swear you’ll never do and say the stuff they always did and said when you were a kid. And then you find yourself cringing when you do and say those very things. Yeah, been there done that.
(“Don’t make me pull this car over!” and “There better be blood to go along with all that yelling!” )
Today, I evidently channeled (not really, gosh!) a person whom I love very dearly and is of the maternal persuasion, but who shall remain nameless.
I stockpiled. Oh, yes I did.
I saw that butter was less than $2.00 a pound at my fav grocery store, my heart lept out of my chest in I-can’t-believe-my-luck excitement and I dove into that refrigerated case as if the Dairy Police had my mug shot and was rounding the corner. And when I came up for air, ice crystals dangling from my damp bangs and coat sleeves, I stood there for a good three minutes trying to decide whether or not I should throw another two pounds in the cart. I did.
You heard me. Because that’s just the way I roll.
I had holiday baking in mind, not how-am-I-going-to-fit-this-into-my-apartment-sized-fridge. I managed. Because it’s all about the Martha Stewart Sugar Cookies and Granny Longfingers’ Nut Rolls, people!
But, I digress. Rapidly.
This person whom I love dearly is known for her stockpiling tendencies. We never (and I mean NEVER) ran out of Miracle Whip when I was a kid. Or tuna. Or cereal. Or toilet paper.
You get the idea. The essentials.
This is tricky business. Yes, the bringing home 92 pounds of butter part, but more importantly the turning into my parents part. There’s so much to live up to.
And as for another clear indication of the fact that I am indeed turning into my parents: it’s OK.
I chalk it up to character building.