So I've wanted to blog a lot in the past few weeks. There have been many "blog worthy" things to write about, but most of them were pretty emotion-heavy and I wasn't sure I wanted to open myself to the possible criticism that would have no doubt followed. Then last week I did spend over an hour writing a post, one of those random, stream of consciousness type posts that I needed to write to get it out of my head. All the while I was doubting whether or not I should publish it, again not sure I wanted to "go there". Just as I finished I somehow hit a button that erased the entire thing. While initially I was quite pissed off about this, I took it as sign that I was only supposed to write it to get it off my chest, not publish it for the world to see, and have moved on from that.
It's a busy time of year. This past weekend, among many other things, we moved my mom.
Isn't moving awesome?
No. No it is not.
Here's a brief synopsis of my mom's moving history: She grew up in her parents' home in Gorrie. Then when she had me she lived in a few other homes in Gorrie. Then we briefly lived in a house in Fordwich (which is still my favourite of all the homes we lived in). After that we lived in 2 apartment buildings, back in Gorrie, followed by a house, also in Gorrie. Mom stayed there for...a lot of years. I'm sure she will comment on this post with the exact number of years. From there she lived in Listowel for a couple years, before moving back to Fordwich roughly 4 years ago and now we just moved her to Wroxeter.
Anyone who knows us well and lives in or is from Howick township just gasped.
I know. Wroxeter. She has now lived in all 3 tri cities. But no worries, I will always be a Gorrie Girl.
So, like I said, moving is not awesome. But is something that my mom does. She says this is the last move ever.
So, in honor of her moving for the last time ever, here are 5 things that remind me of my mom.
1. Banana muffins. I have blogged about that before. I wish I had some right now.
2. Meatloaf. My mom used to make meatloaf all of the time. with a ketchup topping. She even submitted her recipe for it to our elementary school cookbook when we were young and called it "Melissa's Meatloaf". You know what? I hate meatloaf. Haaaaaaaaaate it. I see recipes for it now and am almost tempted, but can't do it. I can say with certainty that in the 14 years I have lived outside my mother's home I have made her meatloaf recipe 0 times. I did make meatloaf minis once, cause they are kid friendly and I like to try new things. But as for traditional meatloaf, I don't even know if Jeff likes it because it doesn't matter. I see it on restaurant menus and once I finish laughing at the thought of anyone actually ordering it, the memory of it from when I was growing up takes over. I don't think I have ever even had it at my mother in law's house, and that says something because she cooks everything. Yes, meatloaf definitely reminds me of growing up at home with my mom.
3. The town of Listowel. When we were growing up this is where my mom did her grocery shopping. She didn't say we were going to Listowel. She said we were going to "town".
"where are you going?"
"can i come?"
Every friday night for years. If we were good we got a chocolate bar in the check out line. I always chose Jersey Milk. But usually only one of us went with her to "town", not both of us. Even now, Mike and I when speaking to eachother refer to it as "town".
"Mom's not home, where is she?"
"it's Friday night, she'll be in town"
"Where'd mom go?"
And of course my grandma says it too: "When I was in town with your mom tonight I got your kids this and this and this and this and this and this......."
"Is your mom home from town yet?"
Now, I say that to Jeff too. "Mom will be in town, I'll call her cell and ask".
When Jeff and I first got together he didn't get it at all. It took him awhile.
You know if you write/say the word "town" this much it doesn't even seem like a real word anymore?
My mom can knit. She doesn't seem old enough to knit, I always think. But my grandma can't knit to save her life, so I guess age doesn't matter. My mom can knit. Baby afghans from my mom are a tradition and she has tried her hand at other items over the years. I can't knit. I tried for awhile but gave up. It didn't hold my interest I guess, but at any given time in my mom's living room you can find a big basket of yarn and a knitting project on the go, along with scrap papers full of stitch counts all over the place.
5. And I have to say it.
The word, people, is PALMerston.
I don't know, apparently that generation from Howick township calls in PAMerston. It drives me bonkers. Every time someone refers to the town of Palmerston as Pamerston, I think of my mother. And every single time she says it I correct her. Every Single Time.
Lets just hope she doesn't move there someday. I don't think I could take it.
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