Shit! Double shit! When did I become my mother?

• 

Sometimes when I open my mouth, my MOTHER comes out….
author Unknown

Life obviously has a wicked sense of humor. For I’m sure every single one of us ;swore on our childhood,that we would never turn into our mother! That it would be a cold day in hell before you used the following phrases on your offspring…

-“If your friends ran down the street naked would you do it too(seeing that I grew up in Colorado and didn’t want to get frostbite on my ass. The answer was obviously always NO)?”

-“You better eat your dinner! There are starving children in Africa that would be grateful for it(First of all, have you ever been to Africa? And second of all if they tasted your cooking they might choose to starve too)!”

-“I’m going to knock you into next week and when you wake up your clothes will be out of style(Okay, my mom never said this but my dad did. No, he wasn’t abusive like this. But I thought this was a good line)!”

I’m sure by now you get the point. But something else I inherited from my mother was anxiety. Now, for years I have denied it. But after last night’s adventure I can no longer pretend I don’t have it. I had witnesses to my melt down(a.k.a. my kids). Before I unload that wonderful episode with you let me give you a little family history lesson. You see my mom’s side of family is wonderful. I am very lucky! The only problem with the women in our family is that we don’t inherit big boobs(well okay maybe I’m the only one that got skipped over) but you sure in the hell inherit huge anxiety problems. Ya, totally won in the genetic lottery(this is written in sarcasm). Like being flat chested, cross-eyed(that’s finally fixed but did make talking to people fun. Like they never knew what eye to focus on) with a speech problem(S’s make me sound like Kaa from the frickin Jungle book) and now it looks like anxiety is going to get thrown in the mix. Yea Me!

So, last night I was going to skip out on my sister’s day party. I know I’m a schmuck! But in my defense it was snowing. And even though I’ve lived in Colorado for most of my life. I hate driving in the shit. But after my daughter guilted me I decided she was right! I couldn’t miss it. So, time we left was when there’s heavy traffic on the interstate. So, being the natural genius I am. I decided we would take the back roads. Because my dad took them earlier and they were clear. That was my first mistake. Going by a 4 hour old weather report from my father. My next mistake was deciding to drive on roads that are the last to be plowed.

At first, I was fine. Roads were just wet. Snow was coming down. No big deal. But as our journey continued, the road looked like some Coke Head decided to decorate the pavement. I couldn’t see if I was even in my lane. At this point I’m starting to white knuckle it. If the steering wheel was a real person. It would have been dead at this point. I put it in 4 wheel drive. And that usually calms me down. But after the 2nd time I slid I lost my shit. I started yelling at my daughter for talking me into going. I’m cussing so much that if I was younger I would have had to eat the whole bar of Irish Spring soap. I’m threatening to turn around. But have no place to do it. Basically I have turned into the crazy lady having panic attack in the movie Airplane(if you are too young to know what I’m referring to look it up). I’m freaking out and I’m sure my kids are about ready to take turns slapping me! It was not a pretty sight people!

My kids had two choices…1.)knock me out like it’s a carjacking or 2.)treat this like a hostage situation and take me into pulling over. Luckily, they went with option 2. Of course, I’m sure they wish they had a pez dispenser filled with ativan to give me. Or duct tape. Because I did sound like my mother when I became a “back seat “driver. Not only that I had to be all dramatic. I was hanging on to the glove box. Because for some reason Jeep thought that was a better place to have an “OH, SHIT” bar! Actually, that was a really good idea on their part.

And to make matters worse I have a very active imagination. So, I’m thinking we are going to die! Or get in an accident! And if that happens. With my luck I’ll have so much head trauma that I’ll have to walk around with one of those damn helmets on my head. And I was also thinking about how my mother always taught us to carry a pair of clean underwear in our purse in case we get in an accident. Which of course I never do. Because I just don’t get the reasoning behind that. First of all, if I’m stuck in my jeep after my accident. I’m not going to hurry up and change my panties so that the whole fire department doesn’t see that I shit myself. If that happens I’m sure that will be the least of my worries. And it’s not like they you get to wear them when you get to the hospital. I work at a frickin hospital. The only thing we give you to wear is the “look my ass is hanging out” gown. And if patients do request some kind of panties to wear(which I totally understand because I do not like to go commando either). I give them a pair of the Victoria Secret’s special edition of mesh panties. Which if you ever had kids you will totally know what these are. They are the uncomfortable fish net looking underwear from hell that were invented by a sadist.

Of course, since I’m convinced we are going to get an a accident all I can think about is that I’m going to have to stay in the hospital. But that doesn’t work with my schedule because I have to be back to work Sunday night. And why the hell didn’t I clean the house before I left. And what happens when I finally get discharged. Last time, I got discharged from a hospital my husband forgot to bring me clothes to go home into. I can’t have that again. But I can’t have him picking my out an outfit either. Because half the clothes in my closet don’t fit me. But he doesn’t know that. So, he’s going to bring me the jeans I can’t button or breathe in. And the blouse that sucks onto me like a jellyfish and shows all my fat rolls. I can’t be seen in public like that.

By now;as you can see, I’m freaking out about my invisible hospital stay instead of the roads. And then it hits me. Like a light bulb. But not one of those energy saving ones. But one of the old school “light up my life” bulbs. HOLY SHIT. I have anxiety problems. I’m tripping out about stuff out of my control. Stuff that might not even happen. But to me seems like a real possibility. Then, I think back to all the times I’ve made fun of my mom for stressing out about stupid shit(I know I’m a real asshole). And look at me? I’m one paper bag away from not breathing. I have officially become my mother! And there’s not enough alcohol in the world for there to be 2 of us. God help the men in our lives. And the women after us ,who swear never to become us.

*Till you get to know me. I want to make sure you know I joke about shit going on in my life. And that I love my parents. Even when I’m making fun of them. Because guess what? When after you become a parent. You realize they really weren’t sadists out to ruin your life. That everything was done in love. And they have no control over what genetics they hand to you. Guess it could be worse. Not sure how. But I know there’s a silver lining somewhere out there.