The loss of my mother has been heavy on my mind as of late. It’s been a little over three months since she passed, and I still find myself going to pick up the phone to share the highs and lows of my life with her. It’s that surreal for me that she’s gone. This last Saturday, my kids made me realize she’s not so far gone after all.

I awoke them early, handing out a verbal list of chores that needed to be done.

“But it’s Saturday,” they wined. “Why can’t we sleep in?”

The ‘why’ brought a smile to my face. “Because my mother never let me.”

Growing up, Saturdays were a day filled with work. There was always something to do, pull weeds, mow grass, scrub, paint, or sweep. But we didn’t do these jobs alone. My mom was the hardest working woman I knew. Unfortunately for my children, though I’ll always be grateful, a little of that fanaticism for clean rubbed off on me. I’m not sure I’ll ever completely measure up to the wonderful woman she was, but I no longer think turning into my mother would be such a bad thing.