Margit's Note
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Margit’s Note: Mom, Mother, Mommy, Joyce

“I’m turning into my mother.”

A phrase usually said with some disdain, regarding a particular quirk, like twirling your hair as you ponder, leaving post it notes on the coffee maker, wearing a mélange of tan-colored clothing.

But then there are the wonderful things we can only hope to become. The brilliant teacher, planner, sacrifice-maker, survivor.

Throughout our lives we oscillate — being overly annoyed by these idiosyncrasies and amazingly graced by the power of the woman in front of us. We call them by various names that (in this language) begin with M or by their first name. Now we might have children of our own. We remember what it was like to be a teenager, to be hell on wheels and now, as my sister puts it, “It’s about to be payback time.”

As mothers, what do we want for our daughters?

“Every mom wants her daughter to be better than she is,” says in-house mom Adrianna. “That’s why it’s a little bittersweet when you turn into your mom.”

I called my 76-year-old mom on her cellphone to ask her — she happened to be in line at Trader Joe’s.

“I have my shopping list on my iPhone,” she fumbles with the phone. “Hold on I don’t want to lose it.”

So Mom, just wondering — what is it you want from me?”

“Well, a friend.”

I laugh. “No, no sorry what is it you hope for me in life? Like, you used to say to us kids, ‘What will become of you?’”

“That was said with pure curiosity back then, and now I’m not curious anymore.  You’ve achieved it.”

Aww thanks Mom. Here’s to you — as funny, quirky and awe-inspiring as you are. We love you.

This week:

Here’s to Moms everywhere! But especially my own. Screenshot 2014-05-08 19.20.19 Love, Margit


  1. Pingback: Editor’s Note: Are You My Mother? | Tue Night

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