It’s official. I’m turning into my mother.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my mom. She’s great. A little goofy, but great. But, does anyone ever really want to sound like their mother?

It has happened to me twice this week.

Earlier this week, while doing some grocery shopping, the boys were trying to persuade me to buy a sugary cereal with some cartoon guy huge on the box. After dismissing the idea of arguing against the evils of cavities and hyperactivity, I came out with this gem that my mom uttered about 16 years ago: “No. Every time I buy that, you just eat it!”

Yup. My mom wouldn’t buy certain foods because we just ate it. Priceless, huh? Now, even back then, at the tender age of 15, I knew she meant we ate that particular cereal too fast. But, that’s not what she said.

Fast forward to tonight. After dinner, the boys (in their state of cabin/spring fever) decided to plays swords with their whiffle ball bats. I did it again. “OK, but if you get hurt, don’t come crying to me.”

Next thing you know, I’ll be saying “Be good, be careful, behave and be home on time.” My mom recited that to me so often that, by the time I was entering college, she could just say, “Remember the four B’s.” No joke.

I could recite more of Nana’s wisdom, but I have to go. There are three little boys all coming down the stairs crying. Apparently someone got hurt by a “sword.” Ugh.