Mothers and daughters. . . .

May 10, 2011


Okay, Mother's Day.

Until my children move out, become self sufficient, have their own children, Mother's Day will be about me doing what I can for my mother.

Not to say that my children weren't wonderful this Mother's Day.

They were.

They always are.

But this Mother's Day, my primary focus was both Keith's birthday and my mother.

Keith's birthday.

Covered.

My mother.

How much time do you have?






When we were younger, Mother's Day was usually taken care of by my father.

In spite of his always saying, "She's not my mother!"

And if he was looking after the details, we usually ended up at The Diplomat for Chinese buffet.

Which was FAR more about my father than my mother.

So, this year, I asked what she wanted to do and she replied, "Go to the Diplomat."

I asked again, "What do YOU want to do?"

She looked at me, this time right in the eye and said, "Go to the Diplomat."

Okay.

Point taken.

But. . .

They were booked solid.

Unless we wanted to eat dinner at 10.30 in the morning.

Um. . .no.

Stephen suggested The Garrison. . .the restaurant where we dined before Stephen's surprise birthday party.

Okay.

Nice place, absolutely.

But a little dark.

Nonetheless, they had spaces available so that is where we were going.






But first, my mother wanted to go shopping.

Not wanting to fit everything into Sunday, I suggested that perhaps we could go shopping Saturday afternoon.

She was scandalized.

We were talking on the phone, but I could hear it in her tone.

"But I have BINGO! I can't miss BINGO!"

Sunday it was then.

At 2.30, after dropping the kids off at the theater so they could spend the lovely, sunny, warm afternoon in a dark theater, Stephen and I went to the nursing home to get Mum.

And thus began a fun-filled afternoon of pyjama and bra shopping.

Hoping for a pair of sandals on the side.

First stop, Pennington's.

Bras and jammies, please.

The pjs were no problem.

I selected three pairs, t-shirt tops and capri pants like pjs, and she selected the two she wanted.

No yellow.

Her only restriction.

She would have chosen the pink leopard print jammies over the yellow ones with the nice floral theme.

Luckily, she didn't need either the pink leopard or the yellow floral.

The bra. . .

There was the problem.

She refuses to accept that they do not carry her size.

At least not regularly.

On rare occasions, she has been able to get her size there, but that was usually only when a shipping mistake was made.

Of course, I told her all of this, several times, but she didn't believe me.

Instead, I had to get the store manager to tell her.

I'm still not convinced she believes anyone.

And that there is a conspiracy to prevent her from getting the bra in the size she wanted.






Not to be deterred, she asked to go to the mall.

No problem.

She wanted a new pair of sandals.

No problem.

She wanted to go to Naturalizer.

No problem.

She wanted to make sure that what she bought was on sale.

There's the problem.

When Naturalizer has a sale, they have a SALE!

The last pair of sandals Mum purchased were a size 9.5 wide.

Heel strap.

$100.00 on sale for $20.00.

Ergo, she was not settling for paying full price for anything.

Hence, no sandals.

Not that she didn't see anything she liked.

She saw several pairs she liked.

But she was not going to pay for them.

Part of the problem is her foot size.

A result of medications and a lack of mobility.

The 9.5 size is less of a problem than the fact that she needs a wide shoe.

We even tried Sears.

And were informed that they didn't carry wide shoes for women.

Thankfully, they did have bras.

Or there may not have been anything I could have done to prevent the flood of tears that would have ensued.

I reminder her that she was able to get two of the three things she set out for.

And I promised to take her this coming Saturday.

To make sure that she doesn't miss bingo, I am picking her up at 9.00 am, and I am taking her to Naturalizer and I am paying for the shoes she wanted.

Whether she likes it or not.






After the mall closed, the kids were met at the theaters, we packed into the car and headed downtown for dinner.

My brother was collecting Mer.

My father only had to be responsible for himself.

When we walked in, everything was fine.

We got the table we wanted . . . by the windows, not as dark.

Everyone found the place without any difficulty.

My father bought my mother a beautiful diamond bracelet.

That was too big.

She was upset by this. . .worried that if it wasn't repaired, she would lose it.

"You'll have to take it back and get it fixed."

She said to me.

Guess what I'm doing after work?

Everyone ordered their meals.

The waitress clearly asked each and every person who ordered fries if they wanted regular fries or sweet potato fries.

Remember this.

It's important for later.

EVERYONE.

My brother purchased a digital picture frame for Mum, with a memory card.

As far as I know, she is very happy with this, although I don't know if she understands what it is.

Or how it works.

Meaning I will have to try to figure it out for her.

Me.

Queen of Technology.

Um. . . . .

There was the requisite bathroom break.

Accusations that I flushed her kleenex down the toilet.

The waitress was kind enough to bring Mum her coffee while we were in the bathroom.

I doctored it for her, she took one sip, scrunched up her face and said, "It's cold."

Of course it's cold Mum, you had me add half a container of cream to it.

But I didn't say that.

I merely asked the waitress, most apologetically, if she could heat it up.

She brought Mum a fresh cup of coffee.

To which my mother replied, "Oh you didn't have to do that."

Yeah.

Right.






Dinner arrives.

Everyone get exactly what they ordered.

And when the waitress puts my mother's plate in front of her, she looks at me, accusingly, asking,

"Where are my sweet potato fries???????"

I think she was just one smitch away from whining.






Taking Mum anywhere is exhausting.

In and out of the car, wheelchair in and out of the trunk, always worried about whether or not she is comfortable, having a good time, needing to go to the bathroom. . . .

I was perhaps, at this point, not in my best form.

So, rather than go through the rigmarole of getting another plate with sweet potato fries, I traded plates with her.

We ordered the same thing, so it wasn't as if she was getting something she didn't like.

Was I as friendly and genial as I could have been?

Maybe not.

Perhaps more of a "Here. Take mine." kind of response.

Maybe not as gentle as I could have been.

All I knew was that more than anything, I just wanted to go home, go to bed, read and be left alone.

But instead, we had dinner, I took Mum back to the nursing home, got her ready for bed, and then went to a late movie with Mer and Em.

Thor.

Don't waste your money.

Wait for the dvd to come out.






I love my mother.

Don't get me wrong.

But loving someone doesn't mean that person is easy to be around.

Especially when you're both tired.






Today, I am hoping for calm classes, co-operative technology, no phone calls, no requests, no drama.

I can dream.




Title Lyric: Mothers and Daughters, Fathers and Sons by Neil Diamond