Are You My Mother?

Last night was Prom. If you want Lola's story, you'll have to ask her. Here on my blog, we're going to make Prom about me.

Of course it's a time for reminiscing, reliving my youth, and all that. Mostly it's about me trying to prove that I'm not my mom. Actually, I am my mom in a lot of ways, but not when it comes to costume parties or formal balls. My mom has always been a last minute kind of person. She's a genius, an artist, and a perfectionist, and everything she does is awesome. She also drove me insane with the not having anything ready until the last second. Ever. When it came time for Prom, I'd had about eighteen years of this and I knew the drill. I begged her to finish the dress early. Nothing doing. She was literally following me out the door making the last hand stitches on my gorgeous dress. I'm not exaggerating or kidding. At. All. I know there are those out there who can vouch for the absolute truthfulness of what I say.

Anyway, let the record state that I had Taylor's dress ready an hour before she left, and I even got to bed early the night before. For some reason, I feel like I've won. It's a hollow victory though, since I'm the only competitor. If I shared this triumphant moment with my mom, she'd say vaguely, "Oh, well, you're amazing." But I'd know it wouldn't matter to her. The last minute thing wasn't ever a real stressor to her--just me. Which is why I vowed I wouldn't be like my mom. And I'm not, except for the ways I'm exactly like her. And truthfully, that's not all bad.