We are not our mothers

I honestly don’t know how our mothers did it.

Today, my mother-in-law called to tell us she was coming over to visit. I immediately panicked. Both of our mothers keep immaculate homes. Apparently this trait skipped a generation because Jeff and I are terrible housekeepers. We started running around the house like lunatics trying to dust and vacuum so the house would be acceptable. Now I know my mother-in-law wouldn’t care if my house was not up to the museum quality condition that our mothers’ homes are always in. I, on the other hand, start having heart trouble when I know she is planning to visit.

I just don’t know how they do it. Trying to find the time to vacuum and dust is just not on my radar. I don’t know if it’s because I never put together a routine or if it’s just that I would rather have a root canal than spend a day cleaning my house.

Do you ever sit and wonder how our moms cooked, cleaned, worked and raised us? I can’t be the only one who thinks there are Stepford copies of our moms hidden in the closet somewhere.

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