i am turning into my mother.
for those of you who know my mother, you would think this is a lucky occurrence for me. great smile, 117 lbs of cuteness, size six, and just the person many people turn to when they need help getting over a crisis.
and very, organised. she and her friends (all likeminded and bodied individuals, i might add) of course had to take their tendencies and form the anal retentive club, and they have regular meetings, proper notebooks, and there are never crumbs on the table or condensation rings from the drink.
i used to lay on my parents bed (and long as my dad wasn’t in it…if my dad was laying down on the bed i had to either get off it or sit up) and laugh at my mother as she hauled out her suitcase and started packing. why the laughter? oh because THE HOLIDAY WASNT FOR ANOTHER SIX WEEKS. seriously. she would put odds and ends in, a pair of nylons she had bought for the occasion, the new toothbrush, her bathing cozzie because she wouldn’t be wearing it until she went on holidays…you get the picture.
and i thought this was hilarious.
my packing habits were about (aboot?) 180 degrees opposite to the fair maureen’s. the day before the trip, i would do my laundry. and empty my purses. and bring all my shoes that were downstairs, upstairs, so i would know exactly what we were dealing with. and from there, i would pack. because i had everything together, which would give me an up to the moment idea of what i had to work with. and of course i had things like straps broken off hats, a stain on a favourite tee shirt, but i didn’t care. it took me 25 minutes to pack. and there is no chance of me forgetting to pack items i use on a daily basis, because as i finished using them, i would just throw them into my suitcase.
the day i went into labour with sebastian i had time to pack my suitcase and make sandwiches. in my own way, i am organised.
last summer, i did my last minute packing for myself and made the MASSIVE concession of packing the kid’s suitcases the day before. big step, psychologically.
but this year, i have turned into a tiny meatball. the other day, right at the end of a nice family dinner, i pulled out the annabel karmel cookbook and a bunch of yellow stickies and placed them on recipes i wanted charles to photocopy. i then wrote down the unusual ingredients so his dad or our girlfriend anne would be able to shop for them in advance and have them waiting when we arrived in toronto. no kidding. and magcharles says, "don’t send the list to anne just yet, we want the stuff to be fresh on our arrival…it’s only april tess, and we arrive in july."
does mc think i LIKE being this way? a slave to lists?
i have made a list of drugs to take on the plane and items i need to buy (personal sized hand sanitisers, personal sized wipes) for the plane. i admit, i have not started packing my own clothes, but i have started tucking things away in a corner for people i will be seeing. a shirt for my niece who was SO HELPFUL with the babies last year, a book for a friend, a dvd for my mother. WHO IS THIS PERSON?
my mother.
and if i stop in my prepacking frenzy and listen, i can hear her laughing.
i am turning into my mother.
does that mean i can be 117 lbs too?
