Right now, I can't even find Mimi's Kitchen. It's packed in some random box, shoved into a corner of the living room and gathering all sorts of sawdust as we renovate our kitchen. Oddly enough, there's a sort of weird symbolism in this. Mom and I did not agree all that much and I know she would have numerous opinions about my choices for counter tops, paint colors, light fixtures, etc. Instead of arguing with her, I packed her away in a box (sort of).
When I was a kid, I'd ask Mom's advice about everything, then promptly dismiss her opinion and do the complete opposite. Clothing choices, hair styles, details of our wedding - I always asked, then promptly dismissed. As I was taking a run the other day and chatting with Mom, I realized that most of my dismissive approaches to her sage wisdom were done purely out of control. I wanted to have the last word, even if I secretly thought her way was the right way. It made me feel better to have the last word, as if I had control. There were many times, looking back, that I went against Mom's advice purely to argue with her and take a stand. How silly is that? Why couldn't I just accept my mother's advice and let her feel good about the fact that her opinions were valued? Kind of bums me out now.
As I struggle with some of the mundane decisions that come with renovating a kitchen, I realize that the choices I am making are exactly what Mom would have advised. How different would my kitchen look if she were still here? Would I do exactly the opposite just to make a stand, pick a different color just because she liked something else (most likely not, since Pete has a big role in all of this and he's usually right!) So, basically, all these years, Mom was right. I was wrong. I was stubborn. But, I always got the last word. Would love to give that back right now.
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