I must confess that some of you may be right.
All my life I’ve been termed “Little Donna”. As a little girl and teenager, I would tell myself that no, I am Kendra…Donna is my mom. I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but somewhere over the last couple years I have decided that maybe I’d better change my tune.
Too many times I have said something and almost turned around to see if my Mom was standing behind me. There is an eerie sense of deja vu when you wake up one morning and realize your mom has come to live with you.
I love my mom and am so thankful for her love and influence in my life and I would also like to go on record as saying that I’m thankful for the genes she passed down to me. Genes that let me laugh like her, sneeze like her, talk like her, screech like her, and even belch like her. (Yes, Mom, now the whole world knows we belch!)
Her hairstyle is mine, her gestures are mine, and her favorite colors are mine. I walk like she does and probably even sleep like she does. She loves chocolate, and so do I.
If you’re still not convinced, just ask our husbands. They will second this conclusion I have come to. Especially since my mom and I both married men of the same personality and are still both trying to train them to no avail.
Yet in all these conclusions I will point out one small minor difference, besides the fact that Mom and I are twenty-eight years apart in age. She KILLS snakes. I run.
The pictures below will prove once and for all that …. yes, I am my Mom.
I love you, Mom! And maybe someday I’ll wake up to find that you passed down some wisdom and maturity, too.
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