An Inheritance From My Mother

When I visited my mother this year she reminded me for the zillionth time how important it was that when she died that I not overlook the gems that fill her house and comprise my inheritance. She knows me, knows I'd sooner level the place with dozer than pick through her life's collection of multi-sized clothing, dishes too good to use, and books about decreasing clutter.

The material things I look forward to inheriting from my mother are few. There is the beautiful family ring that will be passed to my daughter, and - God willing - her own after that. I also look forward to keeping few of the vintage 1970s I-was-a-hot-rocker-mom keepsakes, specifically the wood and green leather platforms and the suede vest with the fur and bead accents. I will also possibly make some sort of memory quilt from the towels that have lived in my various of mother's bathrooms for as long as I can remember and which I can only assume will continue to be there once she is not.

But life's not about things. What will stay with me longer than any jewel or nostalgic terry cloth memento are the physical traits I've inherited from my mother. Certainly she will snicker from beyond every time I fill a cart with Poise pads, as I similarly teased when an ill timed sneeze sent her away for a change of clothes. And I don't doubt it'll happen, as evidenced by my husband's frequent warnings to the children to 'stop making Mommy laugh - she'll pee". And let's not forget the single persistent chin hair (oh please, stay singular) and the thicker than necessary thigh zone. Why oh why I didn't get those 2 extra vertical inches seems especially cruel in light of the aforementioned thigh situation.

Completely beyond the physical are those personality traits mom gave me. There's the knack for smart ass remarks (often at wildly inappropriate times), the delusional belief that everyone should like me, and the significant disdain for authority.

Despite the passing down of all these material, physical, and emotional legacies, there is one inheritance I am most afraid of receiving. It is more terrifying than sorting my mother's clutter and facing the lone, hearty chin hair. It is more fearsome than any absorbent feminine necessity and potentially as dangerous as the worst personality flaw.

It is the curse.

Perhaps your mother has issued the same to you:

"I hope when you grow up and have kids you have one just like yourself."

Why a mother would inflict that kind of pain on her own daughter I will never understand. Unless of course, it comes true. In that case, perhaps I will utter those same words to my still-sweet little puddle of sunshine - right after I lock her in the closet.


This post was written in response to a brilliant prompt by the Parent Bloggers Network to promote Johnson's Celebrity Hand Me Down Charity Auction.