July 31, 2011
The last day of July.
Wow!
The summer is moving so quickly.
Too quickly in some ways.
Not fast enough in others.
Either way, it's the end of July.
And in three weeks, I'll be at our little cottage by the sea basking in the sounds of crashing waves, inundated with the tang of salt air, feet still wet from our after supper wandering through the ocean.
LET THE VACATION COUNTDOWN BEGIN!!!!!
Pookie and I went to the movies yesterday.
He has made a life choice change that has caused some unexpected boredom, so I was willing to do whatever it took to assist in his uncomfortable transition period.
Even if meant seeing Horrible Bosses
For the third time.
Sitting in the cold theater, beside him, sipping my soda. . .diet of course, while Mer popped in periodically in her role of theater usher.
THAT is love for your children.
When you watch a movie you've already seen just so you can spend time with them.
Whether they want to spend time with you or not.
All three kidlets were working.
Em bouncing back and forth between concessions and New York Fries.
Mer running around in her capacity as usher.
She likes usher because it allows her to keep moving.
But you're never certain whether or not she's actually doing what she's supposed to be doing.
Pookie at New York Fries with Em.
Which thrilled him, I'm sure.
Mer asked if I had any spare change.
I didn't.
She got it all the last time she asked for spare change.
If a penny saw Mer walking down the street, it would run away in fear.
I swear.
And then all I wanted was a quiet couple of hours at home.
That was the plan for the kid-free-its-raining Saturday afternoon.
Well, as quiet as anything can be around here.
All I wanted was a simple meal and perhaps a 20 minute nap.
I was hungry, so I made myself something to eat from what we have because we've still got to get to the Superstore to collect some essentials.
Hummus, cottage cheese and two pieces of multi grain bread.
Yummy!
I love all three.
When Stephen saw what was decorating my luncheon plate, he replied, "Mush. You're eating mush."
At the time, I thought it was funny, so I put it on Facebook.
37 comments later, the conversation regarding my lunch of mush and birdseed with flour still rages on.
People.
Really.
Nothing better to do????
And then, of course, the nursing home for my Saturday night shenanigans with Mum.
The menu: baked beans and homemade brown bread.
Of course.
More mush.
Gas causing mush, but mush nonetheless.
Mum and I spent an hour outside, in the sunshine, talking, chatting, enjoying the silence.
You know you're comfortable with someone when you can spend time with someone, not say anything, and have that be okay.
After our outside time, we returned to her room, I helped her get ready for bed, a complex process that involves ensuring things get on and off without touching her hair.
She had it done on Friday, and if I so much as gently brush her lacquered locks, I'll have to explain to her how it happened and reassure her that she looks the same as she did before I accidentally touched her head in the process of taking off her shirt and putting on her pj top.
Support stockings removed, turned right side out, and laid on the bed for the nightly washing of the feet.
A nurse once commented that my mother's stockings smelled.
One, she never said it again.
Two, she probably never recovered from the tongue lashing she was privy to at the mouth of my mother.
Three, my mother or I wash the feet of her stocking nightly, hanging them on her dresser drawer handles to dry overnight.
Capris off.
Pj bottoms put on.
Nighttime shoes replacing her daytime sandals.
Sweater put back on.
Bedtime bustle completed, we decided to see what was on the telly.
I haven't watched television since the unplanned-and-unwanted-home-renovations-from-hell started.
Mostly because our television is encased in the television cabinet which is encased in cardboard to prevent mess while the contractors are doing whatever it is their doing in there.
And while I could watch television in Pookie's room, there is something about being in there when he's not home that I find uncomfortable.
Disquieting.
When he is home, I don't want to interrupt his solitude.
So rare lately as he's caught in the middle of a sisterly tug-of-war-for-Pookie's-time.
At the end of the day, or weeks in this case, it has meant no television for Dawne.
It isn't as if I spend hours in front of the television, couch potato-ing, small dribble of drool pooling on my shirt.
What I miss is the choice to watch television.
I am all about my choices.
And I don't like them taken away.
Even for a short period of time.
Scrolling through the channels, looking at what was available for our post outside perusal, I came across Hoarders.
My mother, as far as I know, has never watched an episode of Hoarders.
But she did last night.
With rapt attention.
And the obsession of someone who fascination crosses well over the boarder of morbid.
She kept shaking her head, and muttering, "How CAN people live like that???"
She then commented that she never has to worry about my father engaging in hoarding activities.
Apparently, she was surprised that there was as much furniture in the house as there was when she visited a couple of weeks ago.
My father, much like my husband, is loath to keep anything defined as immediately lacking purpose.
Whether or not it could have a purpose later on is irrelevant.
At that immediate moment of decision making, if it is deemed as unnecessary, off it goes.
So my father becoming a hoarder in his hermitage is as close to unlikely as you can get.
My husband?
Like I say, I await the morning I wake up in the recycling bin.
I'll make sure Stephen takes a picture.
Title Lyric: Heinz Baked Bean by Who
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