Haiku about a Tortilla Chip

 A while back, we were shaking our heads at something our mother did. She had a sore throat. And after questioning and the doctor looking down her throat, we found out that Mom was eating Doritos and a piece scratched her throat. When I heard this I thought, "Only Mom." It gave us a chuckle. Well, today, I took Mom to lunch and we had tortilla chips with our meal. Guess what? we were enjoying our food when all of a sudden there was a sharp pain in my throat. Yes! A sharp piece of tortilla chip was trying to puncture my esophagus! Wow, did it hurt! Every time I tried to swallow, it jabbed me. I drank some lemonade and it finally gave up the fight. Now, I have a sore throat. Every time I swallow it hurts. And I am reminded that half of my blood is my mother's. 

I was on an errand, wincing from my sore throat,  I got thinking. There has been many, many times when I wondered how on earth am I her daughter? We are so different. We don't even look alike. At least I don't see any similarities--not like I see in my sisters. She has an extremely green thumb; Me? No, but I wish. She loves being out in the hot weather; I'm uncomfortable when it's above 85 degrees.  She can be very outgoing; I tend to be on the quiet side. She's tidy; I lean toward the unorganized. Mom loves to dress up and wear makeup; give me my jammies and slippers any time. The list goes on and on. In the car, I asked myself, well how are we similar? What did I get from my mom? I composed a list in my head. She gave me the joy of crocheting. She gave me some of my depression and anxiety. She gave me the gift of being able to make a good pot of rice. She gave me my strong teeth.  She gave me the ability to laugh at myself. She gave me the desire for a great deal. She gave me strength to endure under much stress. Oh, I love my mom so much! I love the things I received from her. 

Tonight I write my haiku, about that dang piece of tortilla chip that reminds me that I am from my mother, and as hard as it is to admit: For good or bad, sometimes I say, "My mother, myself."

 Each swallow tells me

"You are your mother's daughter."

And I answer. "Ouch."