As I got into bed tonight, I realized that I am continuing to become more and more like my mother, without even trying. And it effing rocks.

Here I am. In bed. Glasses on. PJs are a t-shirt and undies. Getting ready to write. Scotch on the bedside table. Now, the only difference compared to my mom, is she would have had rye whiskey in her tumbler. But she was known to enjoy a good scotch too.

Night after night, I would come home to this scene. Dad would either still be watching his sports or in bed beside her reading. And I would sit next to her on the bed and we would have a chat about our day. And now as I write this, I can imagine that before I know it, I will still be in this position – in bed, glasses on, writing or reading, scotch on the nightstand, and Arrine will come home and sit next to me. And probably tease me about drinking straight alcohol or my ratty t-shirt pi’s. And I will cherish each teasing moment we share, me in bed and her beside me, because I know how much I long for those moments again with my mom.

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