A Genetic Predispostion for Worrying?

It was not so long ago that I was traveling through Europe with my mom, reporting our (mis)adventures in this blog, and inadvertently making my mom’s antics the comic relief to an otherwise more serious blog. Alas, living far from my family has spared them these past few months, that is, until now.

Last month I hosted a Chrismukkah party with Nicki at the home in the Berkeley hills where I live as a high-end squatter. I successfully made bullar (rolls) from Mormor’s recipe, but Nicki made everything else, including the largest vat of chili I have ever seen. For those of you who have the privilege of knowing both my mom and my mormor, you also know that the prospects for me not becoming an anxious worry-wart later in life are not looking so good. I got not one or two, but rather three not so subtle warnings from Mormor regarding the potent nature of Swedish “glogg,” (mulled wine plus vodka) and the importance of limiting one’s guests to one cup. My mom called to ask how party planning was going and to tell me how she has been having to remind Mormor that I am 25 and that most of my guests are older, some even married. However, when I joined my mom in lightly making fun of Mormor’s intense worries (sharing with her, Mormor’s strict one-cup rule), Mom immediately transformed from cool older friend to intense “future Mormor!! How this moment took me back to my trip to Europe. From trying to get me to have a drink with her in Swedish bars to freaking out that my purse was not as secure as her wear-on-her-body money pouch. In this moment I see both the fluctuating relationships between mothers and daughters as well as my own future. I think my New Year’s resolution will be to start yoga again, because as most of my friends will tell you, I am a worry-wart in the making, and my genetic predisposition isn’t helping anything.