August 18, 2008

Our Genes Make Us Immortal.

The apple doesn't fall from from the tree, you are your mother's child, et al. The list goes on and on, the adages that describe the eternal connection between parent and child. I see traits in myself that I watched rear it's head - be it ugly or endearing - in my parents while they were raising me.

I'm quick-witted. I don't forego the opportunity for a wisecrack and I'm the first to poke fun at someone's comical misfortune. I got this wonderfully controversial trait from my mom. The difference between her and I is that I know when to bite my tongue: she'll continually make rude remarks in someone's general direction even when etiquette (and common politeness) dictates you should shut your yap.

I have a fantastic memory for all things that happened months and years ago. My mom has a good memory too. I can vividly remember waking up at 3 a.m. on my first day of kindergarten because I was so excited to start school. I got myself dressed in a lilac-colored sweatsuit, combed my "Dorothy Hamill" haircut and marched into my parents room, all kinds of proud of myself for being ready on time. I was welcomed by two bleary-eyed, sleep-addled bodies who told me it was too damn early and for god's sake, go back to bed. Not to worry, it didn't extinguish my excitement for my impending education. Mom's always telling me tales of her youth; the sock hops, going to dance halls, shenanigans with her sibilngs. I love hearing those stories. It speaks to a different time that I will always long to have experienced.

I have a perpetual need to help people. So does my husband. This kinda makes us doormats for people who always need help, but time after time we're happy to help. My dad was a helper. Ask anyone who knew him and they'd tell you that he'd have given the shirt off his back to help someone. You need something hauled? He was there with his truck. That, incidentally, was his logic to my mom when he bought the truck: What if something needs hauled?

And, as it goes, we look for our personalities in our own children. I'm quickly discovering that Beth didn't just inherit my stunning good looks (don't let the soda shoot out your nose!) - I jest, she's freakin' adorable - but she got a few other traits as well.

She's hell bent on doing things HER way. You're in for one heck of a tantrum if you try to force her to do anything she doesn't want to do. You might recall a recent trip to the beach. Or perhaps the hot dog incident.

I'm the same way. Even if it means walking ten miles to go ten feet, I'm doing it MY way. The world can kiss my ass as can everyone I'm inconveniencing!

She's...and I mean this in the NICEST WAY POSSIBLE...kind of an airhead. I am too. I openly admit it: I'm a ditz. It's like my husband likes to say of me, "I don't know how someone so smart can be so dumb sometimes!" It's not said in malice, nor is this sentiment towards my daughter. She's smart as a whip, has the memory of a friggin' elephant, and at times can confound us with the conclusions she draws all on her own. But sometimes you ask her the most basic of questions and all you get is this blank stare accompanied by, "Ummmm...*tsk*...Ummmm...*tsk*" I do lament passing on this unfortunate trait but as there's nothing I can do about it, really, I may as well teach her to laugh about it.

She has very selective hearing. I believe this may apply to all preschool-aged children but I wonder if she doesn't have Beth Filters over her ears. It blocks out all the things she doesn't want to hear that don't promote her interests white noise and allows in just want she wants to hear. I'm accused of possessing this trait on a near-daily basis so I have to assume it's true. *shrug* Que sera, sera!

Everything else you can credit to her dad. Her stubborn-as-hell attitude, her apathy towards learning new things, her insistence that things can wait to be done until she's damn good and ready, and her way of dodging questions whose answers can only lead to trouble.

As far as I'm concerned though, she's nothing but good. Even her impish side, the side that causes her to wreak havoc in my world, I love all of her. She's my SnuggleBug, my baby, my love. Wouldn't trade her for the world!


template by : background by Tayler : dingbat font TackODing