At Mom and Dad's

My work schedule and my mom's work schedule magically coincided last week and we ended up having all the same days off, so I took a bus home and got to spend a rare four February days with her and Dad.  While my motion sickness wore off last Monday night, I sat in the window booth Dad built a few years ago and unpacked a bag of Honeycrisp apples for him and a foil pan of gluten-free cinnamon rolls for Mom. 

Usually my visits home are much shorter, so Mom and I find ourselves staying up much later than we usually would in order to have more time together.  This visit, that wasn't the case, so we were in bed by ten every night, better for me since I've been making quite an effort to take better care of myself lately, and better for her Mom since her Lyme disease tremors were troubling her the entire time I was home and they ease up a bit when she's resting.  Likewise, a visit the next night with my younger brother and his wife and baby was a bit short since the baby was suffering from her first cold, and what was to have been a Wednesday dinner with my older brother and his family was cancelled when he called to say he and his wife were sick.  It was an even more leisurely four days at home for me, Mom, and Dad, then, which meant more rest for everyone, all-around. 

Mom's been redoing the kitchen, which has alternated between blue gingham and red gingham my entire life.  This winter, it is red gingham with creamy butter-yellow walls.  The booth above is the one Dad made for her and is one of my bird-watching spots when I'm home.  I haven't yet learned to use the zoom feature on my new camera, but even without it, I could sit at this window and get good shots of Chickadees, my favorite birds, in the Rhododendron bush, and I spent a good bit of time doing just that last week from the warmth of this gingham-windowed booth.

My parents moved into this house in the summer of 2003, so it's not the home where I grew up.  I gave up my apartment in 2003 and moved in with them here, though, while I finished graduate school and worked and re-built my savings after a few rough starts in my early twenties, so being in this little blue and red house always reminds me of that time in my life.  That's sometimes nice and sometimes not.  I was twenty-six when I had to move back in with them in 2003 and thirty when I moved out in 2007. . .a frustrating four years of having my own furniture and most of my own things stored in their basement and garage, of coming to understand that my ex was my ex and not yet knowing that my just-a-friend Mr. Mike would hold such a place in my future, and of struggling with school and depression while working toward getting back out on my own.  For a long time in those years, I thought that my parents' perennial gray-blue and red gingham would forever remind me of those sad times, but I wasn't gone long at all before I wished I could see Mom and Dad and their cute little house more frequently again, of course.  Such is life. 

I have told Mom many times that I can't look at her kitchen now without marveling at the fact that she and Aunt Laurie transformed it into such an airy pastel pink and green wonderland for Mike's and my anniversary party a few years ago.  She laughs every time I bring it up and just says it was fun for them.  It's been a joke between us since I was a kid that someday she would want to "be like me" and have pink everywhere--Picture me coming home from elementary school to find her wallpapering the kitchen in yet another Colonial blue print and yelling at her, "Aw, come on, Mom! Give up the blue and red, and try PINK!  Just think:  Pink roses and pink gingham and bright WHITE everywhere!  And we could work in some GREEN!  You should at least tryyyyyyyyyyyyy it!  You don't know--You might really LIKE it!"--so walking into our surprise anniversary party a few years ago and seeing Mom's kitchen and dining room finally in pink, white, and green was such a treat.  We laugh together every time the subject comes up.  ♥  

So many of these items in her collections were in the kitchens of my childhood too--The hen-on-nest-beside-red-milk-jug-against-fence wall hanging that's behind the hen shakers above was a piece we found together at a Ben Franklin store in the mid-1980s--but she is always finding and painting something new for her home too.  The nut didn't fall far from the tree, etcetera.   When Mom's in "Blue Mode," she repaints the milk jug in blue and brings out her blue Spatterware and copper mold collection.  When she's in "Red Mode," it is gingham and hens.  The adjoining dining room is almost always blue and filled with her Americana and tavern signs, though.  Every now and then, she'll move the pewter and Colonial things into the living room, but they always seem to find their way back out here.  

Dad built the corner cupboard below for her to store her cherished old Pfaltzgraff Yorktowne dishes in, and the collection is yet another thing that automatically, and forever and always, equals "Mom" to me. 

The red gingham wing chair in the photo at the top of this post was one I saw on eBay years ago.  Mom had been wanting one just like it for decades--she has magazine clippings from decorating magazines from the 1970s that show similar chairs--so even though the eBay seller mentioned in her listing that the chair was "local (Texas) pick-up only," I emailed her to beg her to be willing to ship the chair.  She kindly agreed--and that still delights me ♥--and I won the auction (as if I wouldn't, in this case, right!), my brothers and I divided the cost, my older brother drove to the local bus station to pick up the chair in his truck, and we somehow managed to surprise Mom with it on her birthday in 2006.  :)  

Giving Mom with this chair for her birthday that night is one of my favorite memories of all our times in this house and certainly of my four years living in it.  She moved it into this spot right away and sat down with my nephew, and these are the first two pictures I took that night.  ♥  And Mom and I both mailed thank you notes to the eBay seller for her kindness. 

Sweet, happy memories--and now this chubby little toddler is almost ten years old.  ♥  And the chair now has a skirt.  "Never too much gingham" is one decorating creed on which Mom and I agree.  :)

When I'm home next, for my birthday in May, the views from Mom and Dad's windows will be green, and the Cardinals, Woodpeckers, and Chickadees will be more than outnumbered by the buds on the Rhododendrons. 

 The snow on the hill outside their house will have melted to reveal the spring's first wildflowers.

And since Aunt Laurie and her family will also be in town next visit, coffee cake and homemade bread will likely be on the counter beside the cinnamon rolls covered in gingham dish cloths, Mom and Dad's TV will seem permanently set to a baseball game, and their blue and red house will smell of brewing coffee in between everyone's walks and fishing trips and flea market jaunts. 

In the meantime, February has turned to March, and we had our rare four winter days together.  And that, as Mom is known for saying about something she loves, is "not!  too!  shabby!"  ♥  

I Wish Her the Shire

Mom's birthday was yesterday, and our phone call left me wishing I could send her some carefree days with her beloved hobbits: Frequent tea and snack breaks, warm sunshine and flower gardens, long visits with good friends. . . .Mom has been battling Lyme Disease since last summer, and although she and Dad went out for supper and a movie last night, her tremors were quite severe throughout, making it a little less enjoyable. "I was glad I was in a dark theater!" she reported today. Another doctor appointment this morning and yet another in three weeks. It could be worse, and we all know that, but I'd take away the past six months of stress and illness for her if I could, no matter what it may be teaching all of us. I'm only human, and she's my mama: I just wish her happy days.

In the package I mailed her Tuesday, I included along with the cuddly floor-length blue gingham robe, gluten-free and dairy-free chocolate chip cookies, and other goodies, my latest salt dough ornament, a birthday gnome. :) I added a Daisy, Mom's favorite flower, to his hat, and made him a card to hold, and she oohed and ahhed over it when we talked. It was the smallest thing in her package but also what she got the biggest kick out of, as I'd expected. And that made me quite happy. 

Maybe by next January, Mom's illness will all be but a memory, and maybe it will go on for years. No one knows, of course. In the meantime, I send her hopes and prayers, cookies and tea bags, blue checkered bath robes and well-wishing gnomes. I send her love. 

Laughing with Mom and Dad

I returned yesterday from a weekend at my parents' house. Mom's health is a continuing concern, but she told me Friday night that she knew when her health troubles began that she could either freak out and fall apart or just hang in there and try to find the humor in it wherever she could. She chose the latter, and this visit, like most of ours, was again one of (much-needed) laughing and teasing between us all.

Mom told me that as the medical staff prepared her for her first MRI, they reminded her to "stop moving," as she would have to stay still during the exam, and my poor mom, suffering from severe tremors and muscle spasms, dryly noted, "If I could do that, I wouldn't be here." The MRI technician then asked her what kind of music she'd like to hear during the exam, and Mom said, "Oh, just anything relaxing." Moments later "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" began to blare all around her at full volume. We laughed so hard together over that Friday night, we were almost crying. We would start to settle down again, and then one of us would start singing the "Uh-weem-oh-weh! Uh-weem-oh-weh!" part and we'd break up again.

Making it even better, Mom said the next song on the MRI playlist was "Eye of the Tiger." What on earth were the MRI staff thinking?! Ohhh, we laughed so hard. I told her she should be grateful they didn't continue with the theme and blast "Welcome to the Jungle."

She said that while she has been stressed over the major medical bills that have been coming in, Dad has been pretty cool about it, just looking at it like, "We'll pay what we can every month, but these won't be paid off in our lifetime, so what can we do about it? Just focus on getting better," but that even his cool broke a couple weeks ago, when he opened yet another "THIS IS NOT A BILL!" notice. Exasperated, he told my mom he wanted to make a copy of one of his blank checks and mail it back to them with "THIS IS NOT A CHECK!" printed across it. :)

While assembling an apple crumb pie for Sunday's dinner, Mom and I reminisced about some of our kitchen mishaps over the years. She brought up the Easter visit that was Mike's first to her and Dad's house and how I'd made a big production out of making a big Edible Arrangements-style fruit bouquet for dessert but hadn't made it right, so the entire morning's work fell off the counter onto the floor. Mike and Mom had just watched in silence and continued to stare at the mess and then at me, waiting for my reaction (and momentarily too stunned to laugh) until Mike commented, "Your cooking show was just cancelled." :) This weekend when she brought it up while rolling out pie crust with trembling hands, I told her that her cooking show was called "Shake and Bake," and Dad groaned from the living room while she and I snickered.

Mom said her beloved aunt Ann had always loved the anecdote of Mom's horrific experience when my two brothers and I were all sick with pneumonia at the same time as kids. I was almost hospitalized over it, never having had that strong of an immune system, and my brothers were seriously sick with it, as well. One morning while she ran from room to room checking on each of us, frazzled and near tears, there was a knock at the door. Mom opened it to find a Jehovah's Witness smiling at her. "Have you ever heard of Armageddon?" he asked her. "Heard of it?" my poor mom cried out. "I have three kids here with pneumonia. I'm LIVING it!" I had never heard that story before and howled. 

Saturday night, Dad was working on a crossword puzzle in the living room and came into his and Mom's room where Mom and I were watching TV to ask for the four-letter name of the band that sang "Mr. Roboto." "You remember that one?" he asked and then quite unexpectedly started singing the Japanese part of the lyrics and doing the Robot. Dad! Dad can do the Robot?! Mom and I were (already giddy and) so distracted by his impromptu song and dance that we never answered his question, and it wasn't until I called home after getting back to the apartment yesterday that I remembered to say, "...Styx, Dad. With a 'y.'" :)

And I found Sunday's "For Better or Worse" comic in the paper especially funny and took it out to Mom and Dad on the deck after reading it. Even when Mom and I said goodbye to each other yesterday morning, we pulled apart with a cheerful "Dite, dite, Hodey!" that made us all start giggling again.   I doubt I'll be lucky enough to have both Thanksgiving and Christmas off from work again this year, but I'll get home at some point both next month and in December. In the meantime, we have memories of a happy weekend--and of course, a letter ready to go out in tomorrow's mail. "Dite, dite...." :)

Summer 2011

After watching her health seriously deteriorate in two months' time, my mom was diagnosed yesterday with Lyme Disease. I was shocked when I saw how thin and frail she looked when I traveled home for a family wedding last month.  "Your mom weighed 100 pounds last week," my dad had warned me upon my arrival at the bus station, but when I saw Mom back at home, I knew she now weighed even less than that.  And it has been stressful for us all to wonder what was going on with her. 

After a winter and spring of other stressors, this summer has been one of stories of her ER visits and dizzy spells and reports on blood work and mentions of hands-going-numb-while-driving and of weakness-too-great-to-be-able-to-get-out-of-the-car. While the stress and other health concerns continue, at least now we know that Lyme Disease is a big part of what's happening.

This year, while not as laughter-filled as others, has been one of extra care packages, phone calls, and cards for my mom, and I am grateful for all the love and prayers sent her way. Mom is now on meds to help battle the Lyme, she is at the hospital again today for more tests, and my dad and brothers and their families are right there to help out. I can make another visit home to Mom soon, bring her Daisies wrapped in gingham tissue paper, bake her some chocolate chip cookies, and settle her into a nest of blankets on the couch for a movie marathon. Hopefully, too, we can share another good long laugh. It's been too long.

♥