It's Official

I've turned into my mother.


It's 6:21 pm CST. Both of my kids are in bed.

Don't like the dinner I serve? Then drink your milk because that's all you're getting.

Hurry up! Get in the car!

Don't hit your brother. DON'T HIT YOUR BROTHER.

Do you know what? Santa just started watching. (To which Rachel loudly announced "Jake did it. He's my little brother. Jake.")

Jake - no-no.

Jake, no hitting. No throwing.

Don't pull out that laundry - I just folded it!

Pick up the Legos!

Don't lie in front of the vacuum. Don't tug on the cord, either. Don't wrap that cord around your neck!

{sigh}

I still have *one* holdout. I still refuse to wear sweatpants unless I'm going to work out. (No wonder you haven't seen me in sweatpants!)

And for the record: my mom was an impeccable dresser. She never once wore sweatpants. For that matter, she never wore jeans until I was in high school. She wore dress pants or skirts every day. And she cleaned the house in those clothes. She has a beautiful home and is an excellent baker. During my childhood the only time she didn't look lovely was when she was mowing the lawn. And that's because she's just gotten done running. She mowed the lawn immediately after her workout. I aspire to be such a woman.