My mother is regularly torn between being herself and being my mother. Her internal argument is sometimes visible from the outside, as if she had two heads sprouting from her one neck. The heads bicker like sisters. One says, “Be sensible for your daughter’s sake. Three meals a day. Brush teeth at night. Organize. Comet. Pledge. Joy.” While the other head says nothing. The other head is reading a book about whether life exists outside our solar system.
