Since she lives alone and no longer drives (thank you, Lord) I offered to go to the store for her today so she could have her usual 4th of July dinner fare: hot dogs. I got her Hebrew National All Beef Kosher hot dogs.
It’s funny, but in a relatively small Texas town with probably zero practicing Jews, just about all the Hebrew Nationals were sold out when I got there.
Go figure.
I guess either the word is out they taste the best or maybe that whole Rapture thing is going down soon and everyone wants to hedge their bets.
I also got the requisite hot dog buns, “lightly salted” Lay’s potato chips and some potato salad from the deli. At this point in my 90 year-old mother’s life, pretty much anything goes food-wise. If cholesterol, salt and nitrites haven’t gotten her thus far, have at it I say. For dessert I popped for a lemon meringue pie from the store’s bakery.
Let’s party like it’s 1935!
I brought the goodies home and she was thrilled with all of it. She made herself lunch right away and I had a piece of pie while she scarfed down her pre-4th vittles. A good time was had by all. She thanked me several times for getting her all the makings for what looks to be a hot dog marathon over the weekend.
After refilling her pill boxes and chastising her a bit for missing a day’s worth (“If you took Friday’s pills, how come the box is still full?”) I started to make my departure.
She followed me out to her front porch and we exchanged kisses.
Then, as I made my way down her walkway to my car, I heard the words that have been the bane of my existence since I was twelve:
"Stand up straight!"
You, Ima June, are a blogging genius!
ReplyDeleteHa! I hardly think so, Loulou. Just a little less "cluck-brained" than usual...
ReplyDelete"my mother still sees me as approximately twelve years old. "
ReplyDeleteMine died when I was 63, but she never saw me as more than 10. I have no trouble seeing my two as the 40 somethings they are but I think they'd like to remain 12 so I would keep sending them money.
Welcome, Capt Fogg! So nice to see you here!
ReplyDeleteAs a mom, I'm biting my tongue every time I'm with my adult kids, which is as often as they'll let me. My anecdotal evidence points to a direct correlation between frequency and PSI of tongue-biting to frequency of visits with adult children.
But, I think, when your adult kids reach their sixties, you can let up a little and they'll still love you.
At age 63, I shall not comment about parents trying to infantilize their adult offspring, but I will comment about my adult children who still think they pulled something over on me.
ReplyDeleteSo my father's day card reads:
"Dad, you may think I've caused you a little stress over the years, but actually I've helped you out a lot ... (opening the card) If you knew everything I did, you'd be in an institution right now"
But I knew, I knew everything, I knew all along ... and she still thinks she got away with stuff. The little ingrate!
"Why are you wearing a wrinkled t-shirt?" "Do you need a haircut?" "Oh, don't say THAT!" What in the world led me to believe that just because she's 87 and I'm 58 her need to help me become more perfect would disappear? Or, as my young-adult daughter would say "You are MOMMING me again."
ReplyDeleteLove this site....
a/b
I love this piece. My mother never let me get beyond age five!
ReplyDelete