I am my mother’s child

That statement sounds like something Captain Obvious might say, I know.

But, see, I’m adopted. So genetically, who the hell knows what I was programmed to do? What I know is that my mom has shaped me into the person I am today.

I’ve been struggling for the last couple of weeks trying to get the grass mowed and weedeating done while Sunshine works in the ArkLaTex. I’ve been out here alone trying to deal with the little mouse in the house, the bees that are trying to take over the magic bus, the new job, and creating some crochet items to sell on consignment at a couple of local shops that are interested in them.

I knew that moving out here to the middle of buttfuck nowhere wasn’t going to be easy. I just didn’t know that I’d be doing so much of it alone.

I just don’t know how NOT to do it, even if I am alone. I learned it from my mom.

My dad was sick for many years before he died. Mom raised three kids, she held down a full-time job, she nursed a sick husband, she kept the house clean, she kept her kids fed, she kept up with the yardwork…my mom had to do a lot.

Part of me hasn’t wanted to fuck with the grass. Like, seriously, if Sunshine doesn’t care then why should I? If Sunshine isn’t going to take part in the shit we need to do to thrive out here, then why should I struggle so hard to try to do it alone?

Then I remember my mom pushing a lawnmower until she almost passed out from heatstroke. So I get off my ass and I grab an Amish weedeater and do the best I can with it. I ride the lawnmower until the wheels fall off. I run the weedeater until I just can’t anymore. I figure out how to remove the vent covers and add the wire screen to keep the bees out.

Then, when I come inside, so tired I just wanna cry myself to sleep in the floor because I’m tired and I hurt and I’m too dirty to get in the bed, and I see little Mollie sitting there hoping I’ll play with her, I just want to cry harder in the floor. Except my Mom never did that shit. So I get up off my ass and I play with the dog, and then I cook her some dinner. Because that’s what mummys do. Well, mine did.

Here we are, coming up on Father’s Day, and I can’t help but think about the mother that had to be both mom and dad to us three kids.

I wish I could just say “fuck it”. I can’t. My mom never did. And I am my mother’s child.

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