My mother is here visiting for 3 weeks. I love her, I couldn’t wait to see her, I am thrilled that my son remembers her and wants to spend every waking moment with her.
She is driving me crazy.
She follows me around, cleaning and tsking that I have no place to put all of the laundry she washed, dried, and folded. (Why do you think there’s a perpetual pile or two in the laundry room, Mom? Ain’t no room in this-here apt. for all that stuff.)
She complains about the weather. Considers going out to breakfast an “outing for the day”. Must have a real glass to drink out of. Can’t understand why I just can’t get everything done-she can, after all. Ten minutes on the internet is something I’m doing that’s more important than her. But she won’t complain or ask me to finish. She will just sit quietly, accusingly if one can do that with a slight smile on their face, until I give in to the guilt and log off and sit with her.
Oh my. I wonder if daughters are destined to either turn into their mothers, or have the misfortune of never understanding who they really are. I’m in the latter camp, definitely.
