< by Jill >

I’m turning into my mother and I’m completely cool with it.

I first realized this in the fall of 2008. I was living alone on the South Side of Chicago, miles away from friends and family, and yet I could not leave my home unless the kitchen countertops were clean. It’s a quirk I inherited from my mother.

Growing up, it didn’t matter if our house was a total mess — we NEVER left the house if the countertops were dirty. Never mind the piles of laundry, litters of dust bunnies, tufts of dog fur; these little pests eluded my mother’s scrutiny. But not the countertops. The countertops (specifically the central island) had to be cleared, wiped clean, and decorated with a bouquet of flowers.

Don’t get me wrong — my mom is a wonderful housekeeper, she just picks her battles.

And when it comes to tidying up, I tend to see things her way: the kitchen counters decide if the house feels messy or clean.

In anticipation of Mother’s Day, this week will cater to the women who reared us, taught us right from wrong, and informed our housekeeping philosophies.

If the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam. —Henry Bickerstheth