like mother like daughter

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She’s looking out the window eating mandarin oranges.

Behind her is a circus of boxes and train tracks and blankets and laundry.  My moving emotions have taken a back seat to the elephant in the room looking at me in the nicest way possible saying, “Um, Rebekah, you’ve got two and a half weeks before the U-haul truck arrives and it still looks like people live here.”

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My mom is on her way and it’s snowing outside.

I’m not worried about it.  This is my latest coping strategy that just about drives everyone else nuts–I’m not gonna worry about it.  So when she called and asked if she could come down and help for a day or so I couldn’t talk for about thirty seconds.  I was crying too much.  I was hoping she’d be able too.

She’s the perfect packing partner.  Mom and I both have a googleheimer (GOOgle-hy-mer) way of getting stuff done.  Googleheimer is the word she made up years ago to describe the weird/resourceful/not-exactly-the-right-way-but-somehow-it-still-works way she goes about doing things.

It’s one of my most favorite things about her.

 

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