Leaving Marks

     Yesterday was a day of many revelations.  That sounds deep, I know, but don't get your hopes up.  I realized yesterday that I really am morphing into my mother.  Now, heaven forbid, I morph physically into my mother!  Oh, no!  That would just be too much to ask!  She's thin, beautiful, lady-like, and has hair that never (and I mean never) looks out of place.  Honestly, the woman crawls out of bed looking like a million bucks!  Me? Well, let's just say that I'm not thin or beautiful.   I was and pretty much still am a tomboy, and if I go to bed with wet hair, I wake up with an all out afro! 

     Some of the words and phrases I heard myself saying were clear indicators that something had changed in me.  Words like “at”.  That may sound unusual to some of you.  Maybe I should type it the way it sounds when it comes out.  “AAAT!”  It’s the sound that automatically blurts out when your child is getting ready to grab something or break into a wail of discontent.  Does anyone else yell, “at”?  I’m curious now.  I wonder when Altar and Avonlea learn about prepositions, will they give a slight jerk or twitch, recalling the times I threatened them with it?  With “at”, that is.    

      Then there’s “You just go ahead and see what happens!”  Now, this isn’t spoken in a loving, supportive “I’m here for you no matter what happens” way.  No, it’s usually spoken standing up straight, staring them eyeball to eyeball…sort of like Clint Eastwood’s “Go ahead, punk.  Make my day.”  They probably hear this one in their nightmares.   

     The list could go on and on, but the point is that I was the one saying these things.  Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying.  My mother is wonderful!  The problem is not me being like her!  The problem is my children being like me!  Mom warned me of this, by the way.

     My favorite, most loving high school teacher will appreciate this.  A few days ago, I was cleaning the girls’ playroom.  I picked up naked baby dolls (thanks to the teddy bear parade), books, plastic horses, and princess crowns.  Then, noticing a few crayons in the corner, I bent down to get them and stash them away in the little old-fashioned desk I had found the girls in Amish country.  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

    Now, let’s look closer. 

     Yes.  That’s writing.  I literally stood with my mouth gaped open and eyes popping.  “Myrna Hill would laugh a million laughs at this”, I thought.  I brought Altar in and lovingly, calmly explained why we don’t write on anything but paper.  Okay, it probably sounded more like the Clint Eastwood thing, and then when she picked up a pen, I probably screamed “at” at her…but she learned from it.  And I remembered. 

     I remembered the look on my teacher’s face when she looked down and saw my name ,not written, but carved into the top of her desk.  (Talk about the daring life!)  I remembered her gasp and look of awe.  Then, I remembered her laughter.  She literally guffawed!  She not only laughed, but went into other classrooms and brought teachers in to laugh with her!  (Now you know why she was the most loved. I'm so thankful for her patience with me!)

     The point is this:  Your children will be like you, and you’re not perfect, and if you’re as fortunate as me, you’ll be enough like your mother and be influenced enough by the mercy of others to survive it.  Every day, I see me in my girls.  It’s terrifying (no comments, please), but it’s also a gift from God.  What better way for your day to be interrupted, than by memories of your childhood?  And what better people to bring those memories to mind than your children?