My mother lost her pants.
Or rather, the nursing home misplaced her favourite navy blue, lightweight pants, the ones she wore to my wedding, and they even had her name on a label affixed to the inside, like kids have when they go to summer camp.
She was pissed.
Royally.
Apparently, the nursing home staff looked here, there and everywhere for my mother's pants.
Scouring through people's closets, women and men.
A call was made to the hospital to see if her pants had mistakenly become part of the wardrobe of a resident who had been taken in for tests.
Her pants just got up and walked away.
At some point, an elderly male resident is going to get dressed one morning and wonder whether his pants shrunk, or he grew over night.
I know they'll show up.
My mother is less convinced.
Because my mother has lots and lots and lots and lots of time to mull things over, think them through, work herself up into a lather, she was well and truly fit to be tied when she realized her pants were MIA.
Last weekend her digital picture frame remote had somehow come to find its way in between two pieces of paper and she was in a state until I found it.
So I can't imagine. . .or actually I can. . .how she reacted to her disappearing drawers.
I am SO happy I wasn't there.
Really.
I know, I know.
I am a horrible daughter.
But I have witnessed these events before, had to calm her when she is distraught, and to be able to avoid an incident is something I am not upset about.
Missing the actual meltdown, however, does not mean that I won't have to deal with the repercussions.
Shopping with Mum.
And because I was taking Mum out, it was just taken for granted that it would be raining.
I called her before leaving to make sure she still wanted to go.
Is it raining? she asks.
Yes, but just a little bit, I reply.
Okay, she says, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice, the uncertainty.
I said to Em, who was coming along with us, she's going to change her mind when we get there.
She did.
Sort of.
Again, she questioned whether or not we should be going.
We were going.
Believe me.
I asked her if she was worried about something, not feeling well, trying to assess where the reluctance was coming from.
And then she said she'd go, but she had to use the bathroom first.
I can't keep up, follow her.
I should just stop trying.
Off to Pennington's first.
She had a gift card, and I knew finding her something she liked would be much easier than it would be anywhere else.
Remember, I am still scarred from the underwear ruckus.
And the nice thing about having Em with us, apart from her wonderful company and how absolutely thrilled my mother is to have Em around, was that after I got Mum out of the car and into her wheelchair, while parked directly in front of the store entrance, Em could then park the car and the retrieve it when we were ready to leave.
THAT was nice.
Because I hate leaving my mother sitting alone while I get the car.
Em read her latest book The Help while Mum and perused the racks looking for new pants.
And they HAD to be navy blue.
Not grey, beige, black. . .
Navy blue.
Of course, there was one pair of navy blue pants, in petite length on the rack.
Size was dubious.
She was going to have to try them on.
And she resisted this, heartily.
I simply told her we weren't going anywhere until she tried them on, because after the underwear fiasco, I wasn't taking any chances.
She tried them on or we left them on the rack.
I adore my mother.
There isn't anything I won't do for her.
But having travelled the shopping road with her before and living with the repercussions of not trying things on, or returning things without her present and picking piss poor replacements, I was not budging.
Try them on or leave them.
My mother is incredibly intelligent.
She knew I wasn't going to retreat from my position.
Reluctantly, she agreed to try them on.
She was convinced they would fit.
I wasn't sure and I wasn't taking any chances.
On our way to the changing room, she also picked out two tops, once a blue v-neck tee and the other was a darker purple scoop neck with a lacy design across the neck.
Stunned, I was with her second choice.
Now to see if she'll wear it.
In the changing room, she is griping about how much she hates trying on clothes.
But I was kept moving forward, removing her shoes and slacks to try on the new ones.
And they fit.
Good.
A few minutes in the changing room, listening to her complain about how miserable she is trying things on is still better than making four trips back and forth to Pennington's because something didn't fit.
I didn't push my luck with the tops.
Instead, I just looked at the tag of the shirt she was wearing, noted it was the same size, told her and she said,
GOOD. Because I'm not trying those on!
What happens when two immovable forces are confronted with one another?
One force decided whether or not this is a battle that should be fought.
This battle I was willing to let go.
The shirts and pants were purchased, Em collected the car, and we were off for the next stop in our madcap Saturday shopping with Mum adventure.
The mall.
By this time it was 11.30 am.
Em had to work at noon.
So Mum and I were left to our own devices.
Because it was a rainy Saturday afternoon the mall was very busy.
My mother was getting hungry.
So off to the food court, where between her eating restrictions and my lifestyle change, the pickings were slim.
Although if there had of been a McDonald's, she may have indulged.
We settled on Subway.
Six inch lean turkey breast on whole wheat bread with a little cheese, a lot of veggies and just the smallest hint of mayo.
Coffee, of course for Mum.
But just a half a cup.
I don't even think the girl at the counter charged me.
Diet Coke for me.
We had a lovely lunch together.
She seemed to enjoy the change from the normal lunch time fare of the nursing home, which is always good, but I don't think they provide subs and Mum does love a good sub.
And then, of course, because she had three sips of coffee to wash down her Tylenol and her sub, she had to go to the bathroom.
The only part of going out with my mother that I find challenging is the bathroom.
Wheelchair bathrooms are designed with the assumption that the only person who needs to be in the bathroom stall is the person in the wheelchair.
Not even close.
Further, most wheelchair bathroom stalls double as changing stations for mothers with diaper wearing children.
Because my mother's bladder was begging to be emptied, there was a line up at the wheelchair stall.
Of course there was.
Already occupied with a mother changing her child, another lined up at the door waiting to gain entrance to re-diaper her child, and me and Mum.
Who didn't need diapering, but did need relief.
My mother was not impressed.
Keep in mind that she has all day access to her bathroom, in her room, at the nursing home.
Waiting to use the facilities is simply not in her repertoire.
She even ventured to see if she could manage one of the other stalls.
No such luck.
So we waited.
Or rather, I waited behind her while she stewed in her chair.
I don't think she is intentionally this impatient.
At least I hope not.
I think it just comes from not having to wait at all for much of anything anymore so when she's in a situation where waiting is necessary, she becomes annoyed.
That's my story.
Eventually we got in there, she did what she had to do and we finished.
All that was left was the washing of the hands.
Sensored soap dispensers and faucets are wonderful ideas.
If you know how to use them.
She ended up with so much soap she could have given herself a bath.
And the faucet didn't run long enough for her to get a hand rinsed, let alone both of them.
The automated hand dryer was so powerful it almost blew her right out of the bathroom.
Once we returned to the mall, she said,
Whatthehell happened to bars of soap, turning on the faucet with you damn hand and paper towel!
Progress, Mum, progress.
In her stash of gift cards was one from Sears.
A result of the unfortunate underwear incident.
So off to Sears we went.
I asked her if she was interested in getting another pair of pants, or new capris, shorts even, although I haven't seen my mother in shorts for decades but one can hope. . .
No.
She knew exactly what she wanted.
Oscar de la Renta.
Perfume.
At the cosmetics counter she says she wants to know the cost of their smallest bottle.
60 mls.
$72.00
No, she said. I can't spend that much on a bottle of perfume.
I knew she wanted it, and that she'd never spend the money so I made a bargain with her.
Mum, use your gift card and I'll pay the balance.
She accepted my deal and was quite happy with her purchase.
Then the cosmetic saleslady asked her if she'd like a squirt from the tester before she left.
Free Oscar??!!
You know it.
My mother put that tester bottle so close to her neck I thought it was going to leave an imprint on her skin.
And then she squirted Oscar ALL over her neck.
Making sure she got as much as she could.
The saleslady asked me if I wanted some.
No thanks, I replied, I think Mum has enough on for both of us. I'll just rub her if I change my mind.
And off we went into the men's section to look at the shorts on sale for Stephen and Keith, trailing a cloud of Oscar de la Renta behind us.
I was afraid to look behind us for fear of seeing a line of allergy afflicted people keeled over in our wake.
Our second to last stop was for batteries.
I selected The Source because it was right beside Sears.
Still covered with her cloud of Oscar, Mum and I wandered into The Source.
What's in here? she demanded.
Batteries, I replied.
Her wall clock had stopped at 11.21 Friday morning.
And not knowing the time agitates my mother.
As there are plenty of other things that can also agitate her, I thought it best to buy more batteries for her clock.
I just need one, she said.
Mum, I don't think they sell batteries in packages of one.
Well, what'll I do with the other ones? They'll go dead before I can use them.
I didn't answer.
I was going to let the sales person tackle that question.
And they had packages of 8 super max Energizer batteries on sale, buy one get one free.
I didn't care.
I just wanted batteries.
We can ALWAYS use batteries here so I grabbed two packages and off we went to the counter.
Mum is sitting in her chair watching the sales guy like a hawk, probably thinking he isn't old enough to feed himself let alone deal with cash.
And as he was ringing in our battery purchase, I asked him about when the batteries expired.
2017 he said.
I bent down to Mum and said, Your batteries won't expire until 2017. They'll be fine.
Oh, I'll be dead by then, she responded.
Without batting an eye, I replied, Oh no you won't! You'll outlast all of us!
And then I picked up the counter guy's jaw so he could finish ringing everything in.
Before we left the mall, Mum wanted to say goodbye to Em and hello to Keith.
Both were working, so off we went to the theater.
People coughing in our wake.
The rain ensured the theaters were very busy.
And of course, my mother ran into some people she knew.
The chaplain from the nursing home.
So they chatted for a while, we did our quick visits with the kids and she announced she was ready to go back to the Grove.
Wanting to make sure she had purchased everything she needed or wanted, I did stop in the middle of the mall to inquire.
No, she said, I'm ready to go.
And off we went back to the Grove.
I put one of her not-expiring-until-2017 batteries in her clock.
Put her purchases away.
And made sure she was back in plenty of time before bingo started at 2.30.
I parked the car in my driveway at 2.00, feeling as if I'd just run a marathon.
Mum and the wheelchair in and out of the car eight times in no small feat.
Making sure she was comfortable, got to the bathroom, was fed, entertained, is exhausting.
I napped.
Stephen and I were supposed to go into work.
Apparently he asked me if I was still going, but I don't remember.
He went in.
Wrote for a while.
Came home with Keith.
And we spent a very quiet evening.
Stephen working.
Me recovering.
And today's agenda?
Grocery shopping.
Oh.
Yeah.
No Stephen this trip.
He's going into work.
Proposal progress will continue.
Em will accompany me.
For the opportunity to drive and to ensure I return home with things she enjoys.
But no $400.00+ trip this time.
I will put my foot down.
Or Em can get her own groceries.
Title Lyric: Fashionista by Jimmy James
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