Further Proof that I Am Becoming My Mother

Not that it's a bad thing, mind you - I've always admired her. I used to think that I would naturally fall into Dad's camp because I'm emotional, musical and more inclined to find a faster way to accomplish a task rather than sit down and actually do it. Not that my Dad is a high-strung lazy person! He's not - but he is a musical-genius-engineer type that likes figuring things out.

However, I have found that as I grow older (and slightly more OCD) I have developed a rising affinity with my mother's character. Chiefly, an obsession with my glass-topped stove.

When we moved to NC, back in the early 90's, Mom had her very first glass-topped stove. She was instantly smitten. No more grungy burner plates or icky tin-foil liners! A perfectly smooth glass top - free from stain or build up! It was love at first sight.

While the rest of the after-dinner clean up was left to the kids, Mom would lovingly clean the stove-top - bringing it to a streak-free shine. If we did try and clean the stove-top she would smile, wait until we left the kitchen and then, clean it again. It was perfection.

Now that I have a glass-topped stove I too have fallen under the same spell except that I'm not nearly as nice as Mom. Everyday when I come home from work I am greeted by a gleaming stove top! *Joy!* Sometimes, through the course of the evening, I discover a smear or fingerprint. My eyes widen in shock and horror! I rush to the sink and procure a sponge to immediately lift the offending smudge. Then, I ruthlessly track down the culprit.

"Muffin! What have you been doing to Mommy's stove!" I ask dangerously.

Looking up from her puzzle she replies "What do you mean? I know better than to touch the stove!" with slight indignation as if she is appalled that I would question her knowledge of self-preservation.

"Yes, I realize that - so why did you touch it?" I say through gritted teeth.

"I didn't touch it, Mama. You touched it when you reached into that cabinet." She answers calmly and turns back to her puzzle.

"Oh, that's right. Of course. I was just teasing." I laugh and turn around quickly so as to hide my shame.

My Mom would have handled that scenario with more grace and dignity I'm sure - but, whatever! Kids have short memories, right? I'll just keep telling myself that.