I was the daughter who always wanted to have Mom come live with her whenever Mom became too elderly to live alone. I am the daughter who takes care of Dad's financial and healthcare decisions, his guardian. There's usually one in every family. The one who takes care of everyone. Somehow, that responsibility fell to me. I always knew that I wanted to have my mother with me when she got older. Since I was a child, my idea of heaven was having a large mansion with my entire family living there together. Not close enough where we'd be sitting down to breakfast together every morning. Of course, everyone would have their own wing or suite. I always thought it would be a great way to have my family close, without having them too close. Well, about two years ago, my mother actually did move in with me and my family. Now, in order to appreciate the irony of this situation, you have to know my mother - and me. My mother is 65 years old. But remember, 65 is the new 55. So, Mom is not the typical white-haired, spectacle-wearing, cookie-baking grandmom that you would expect. No, my mom is a vibrant, very young-looking, active and well-preserved 65-year-old. She just retired a few months ago after working for almost 20 years as an Executive Assistant for a President and CEO of a social services agency. She has a very active social life, goes to church regularly where she sings on the choir. She basically has more energy than I've ever had in all my 41 years on this earth. She's upbeat, pleasant, energetic and just generally happy to be alive! She goes to bed at 7:30 pm and usually rises at 6:30 am. She has her coffee, reads the paper and relaxes a bit before taking my daughter to school. Mom has her way of doing things and as far as she's concerned, her way is usually the right way. I, however, stay up until about midnight every night, have done just about every job there is out there to do (except ditchdigger) and sleep as long as I possibly can before I have to get up and prepare for work and prod the kids into getting ready for school. I've been described as outspoken, witty, sarcastic, blunt, straightforward and softhearted among other things. Quiet as it's kept, I have a soft spot for vulnerable children, a by-product of a rocky childhood. My mom and I are probably as different as two females can be. So, of course when my husband and I considered having her come live with us, I was a little concerned. My mom and dad raised my sisters and brother and I to be very respectful, obedient children. My father ruled the house with an iron fist. We were always discouraged from making too much noise, not an easy feat for a house with 4 children. When Mom or Dad said for you to do something you just did it, no questions asked. I always remember wishing I could voice my opinion, but that was something that just was not done in our household. As a result, I have raised my children, Ronnie - 13 years old and Taylor - 9 years old, to be outspoken and I actually encourage them to voice their opinions, in a respectful manner of course. Obviously, this doesn't sit too well with Mom. When she first came to live with us, I'm sure the first thing she noticed was the noise level in the house. My daughter, Taylor, is probably the loudest child I've ever known and my son Ronnie often yells to make himself heard above the noise that is Taylor. The noise from the kids coupled with the noise of our beautiful Border Collie, Bootsie, makes for quite a cacophonous household. My husband has always had the uncanny ability to block out all the noise, as long as no one's standing in front of the television, of course. Why my mother chose to live with me and my family, I'll never know. In the beginning, she consistently tried to give me tips on parenting (do it her way because, of course, her way is always better). I remember the time Ronnie came from school and told us about a fight that he had gotten into with a neighborhood boy. Now, at the time this kid, Chris, had some behavior problems. But I knew his parents fairly well and was sure that he was just "going through something." The summer before, he had challenged about 15 of the neighborhood kids to a fight because of something trivial. The kids in our neighborhood almost never fight. When Ronnie came home telling us about a fight he had with Chris, my husband and I knew not to read very much into the situation. But my mother wanted to march down to the kid's house, knock on the door and confront his parents. She actually thought we were crazy for not contacting Chris' family about the fight. Turns out, the next day I got a telephone call from the principal. The boy had apologized to Ronnie and was given detention for starting a fight. I had suspected that the issue wasn't quite as serious as my mother had originally thought. I've seen situations that escalate once the parents get involved. I usually try to allow the kids to work things out themselves. And they usually do. If they don't, that's when my husband and I will intervene and try to resolve the situation. Now, it didn't surprise me that Mom's way of handling the situation was to confront the offender. As a child, although I didn't get into much trouble at all, anytime I had a problem (with another student or even a teacher), my mother was always there to back me up and fight for me and my brother and sisters. That's her way of handling things. Doesn't necessarily mean that it's right or wrong - just different. We're very different people, with obviously very different ways of approaching things. Yes, she's a permanent fixture in our family. And she has tons of little idiosyncracies that drive me craz. Like placing all the leftover food on the countertop at mealtimes. I guess this is her way of suggesting that we eat the leftovers before we prepare fresh meals. Drives me crazy to see a countertop cluttered with foil-wrapped containers. And Mom's short temper with the neighborhood kids often leaves a little to be desired. It's enough to drive me batty. But she's also thoughtful - I haven't bought a roll of toilet paper or paper towels since she moved in two years ago. She loves spending time with and money on the kids. These years that Taylor and Ronnie have been lucky enough to share with her are priceless. I love that my daughter is really getting to know my mother - and it's amazing to see how much alike they both are. Taylor's up at the crack of dawn and has tons of energy, just like Mom! So, yeah, eating her greasy food could give my husband clogged arteries. And needless to say, we're doing our best to teach Mom how to cook and eat healthier. And I do often get tired of returning leftovers to the refrigerator two or three times a day. In the beginning it was difficult having two strong-willed women in the same household. Especially since I was often the one who has to bite my tongue. But I probably wouldn't have it any other way.