For the last couple of days, husband has insisted we listen to Will.i.am’s “Got it from my Mama” when driving into his early shift at work, which starts at 6:00 a.m. Having only one truck between the two of us, I get stuck driving him in early, so I can get to work three hour later.
“I like to get pumped up before work,” he insisted. At 5:40 a.m., I was in no mood to argue.
I mean, I like the song, it’s just not a 5:40 a.m. kind of song, at least to me.
Typically the first song I hear in the morning stays in my head all day, and this is no exception.
That said, I started thinking about inherited traits, nature versus nurture, and all the things passed on to me from my own mama, or mum as I like to use.
I definitely have her hands. This is made even more clear by our shared fixation with keeping them well-moisturized. As I get older, and pay more attention to not biting my nails, I notice they look more like her hands, the ones I saw from knee-height when I was little, rested on the counter. Or on top of tissues at the kitchen table, with nail polish in the process of drying.
I definitely got my hair from her and for that I count my lucky stars. It is straight as a board, even after a shower without combing it, and in its primal state was a glorious strawberry blond. Admittedly, I get a little help now and then returning to my five-year-old colour, but whose strawberry blond hasn’t faded to a weird, drab brown? Thanks, universe, just when I was entering my beauty prime! It grows well, is a good balance of not too thick and not too thin, and even in this arid climate of the Yukon retains a nice shine.
It’s weird to compare, but I also have her knees. I find it hard to describe what makes our knees our own, because I mean, how do you describe knee shape? Difference between us is hers are rather pale and freckled, while mine are darker and bruised, most days. But they are ours and if we sit side-by-side on porch chairs in the summer wearing shorts, we are definitely knee twins.
Aside from these things, we don’t look much alike. I am tall, tan easily, rarely burn, have high cheekbones and big eyes. She is short, more full, light-skinned, and has cute little green eyes.
But I have so much more from her, things that had I been adopted, I can only wonder what would have passed through to me.
I inherently worry about the people around me before myself. I grew up seeing her tend to our cuts, hunger, discomfort and sadness. It was always immediate, tender, shusshed and quiet, but she was always there to make things better for us. Now that I am older and in a position of relative independence, I recognize an innate desire to help where I can. Bandaids, pasta dinners, comfy blankets abound.
I love being outside among trees and water bodies, even though I grew up in suburbia. We both love to have camping vacations in tents, canoes and on grass, even when given the chance to do something more exoitc. Its a comfort, a simple, basic enjoyment easily achieved but wholly enjoyed.
I’m sure as I get older and older and become a mum myself, I’ll pick up more things she’s given to me. And then those words, “I’ll NEVER be like my mother!” expunged in teenage angst will come back to haunt me.

Labels: family