Oh Fiddlesticks

There are millions of jokes  about women turning into their mothers.  I assume these jokes are almost as old as motherhood itself.

I am not worried about turning into my mother at all.   I don’t look anything like her or anyone on her side of the family.  I am not a mother of humans (just cats).  We have wildly difference senses of humor.  We have wildly different world views.  We don’t like the same music or TV shows.  The only thing I can concretely point to that I got from her side of the family are my mental illnesses and GI issues.

However, I have an entirely different concern.

I think I’m turning into my dad.

Of course, there are certain ways I cannot become him.  I’m a woman.  I’m not a parent.   One of his go-to expressions is indeed Oh Fiddlesticks.  Mine are, well, more colorful.   Our world views don’t line up all that well. We have wildly different tastes in media.

But.

We have similar body types and are the same height.  I have his innate ability to put a really positive spin on almost everything, even when it borders on the absurd.  There are overlaps in our senses of humor and joke delivery.  We both rely on intuition instead of asking for directions when we are lost.   We are both known to make unintelligible sounds when confused or upset.  We both have very strongly held opinions on things that are not really important in the grand scheme of things but God help anyone who gets us started.  Don’t EVER mention wind chill in my presence unless you have 45 minutes to spare.

But the most telling sign might be the “Philisms” that I spout out with more and more regularity.    Examples include “it’s raining pitchforks and hammer handles”  “The easiest way to carry your coat it to wear it” and “It’s a toad drowner” And yes – I’m just realizing how many of them are weather related.  I guess that’s logical since he is a farmer.

So yeah- I think I’m becoming more and more like my dad.  And if you’ve one of my longtime readers, you know that I’m very OK with that.