Writing, Running, Being.

The finish line is a shifty Thing and what is life, but reckoning?
Ani DiFranco

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

ugly snow boots

So there I was in the shower. Thinking. Just like I always do in the shower. When suddenly I gasped out loud upon realizing that I have done almost everything I have (at some point) vowed never to do. These things include:

wearing Crocs
holding hands in Wal Mart
procreating with someone under the height of 5'10
creating "bathroom art"
reading Harry Potter
becoming obsessed with Harry Potter
thinking like my mom
talking like my mom
going to church like my mom

I've noticed that my hands are starting to look like my mom's and all I can do to prevent their further evolution is keep on biting my nails (and putting off that ring). When I was in the 3rd grade my favorite chapter book was called "Mom, You're Fired!" It was about a girl my age who was constantly embarassed by her eccentric mother. I remember when my only wish in the world was that my mom wouldn't have her jeans tucked inside her snow boots when she picked me up from school. My stomach would ache with anxiety as the final bell rang and I'd gather my books and papers slowly, putting them in my backpack neatly as other kids crammed theirs in and dashed out the door. My heart would fill with mortification at the sight of her standing outside that silver Volvo, waving to me as if I didn't know where she'd be parked. All I could see were those awful snow boots. The shin-high-black-and-pink-g
reen-laced-damaging to my reputation-snow boots with the jeans tucked inside so all my friends could see them.
I hated Minnesota because before we moved to God-forsaken Burnsville, my mom had never owned boots like that. She had always worn normal shoes as far back as I could remember. She wore New Balances in Texas. She wore leather sandals in North Carolina. She wore Sauconys in New York.
My mom's style has since improved. For this, I applaud the ending of the 90's. She now lives in Kansas, where the snow is never deep enough to warrent anything more water resistant than her regular brown teacher shoes. So my question is this: Why do parents get cooler once you move away from them? Why do they turn into regular people just after you learn to disregard them? And how can I ensure that I don't become "that mom" myself?

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