Weekly Visit Report

I've been a bad, bad girl...didn't go see Mom on Friday. Or Saturday. And was contemplating not going Sunday. But guilt won and I went.
She comes to the door wearing her sunglasses; light was on in her room, blinds closed. Whatever...
I told her there was a pug (we used to have one) in the lobby for the weekly pet visit, so she tottered on down to check it out while I restock her mini frig with Diet Cherry Coke.

She doesn't throw away the cans anymore, stacks them around the room instead, so I gather those up as I find them. It's chaotic inside the frig; perhaps she tried to clean it and forgot where or how everything went back. There's also a pair of dirty underwear inside.
Glass candle holder is in the shower with a Christmas ornament tucked in it; shampoo is on the table, towels folded in piles on the floor. SNAFU.

She wants to go to my house and see the cats. Okay.
Last time she was at my house she didn't want to come in because "bad things happened." Guess having a stroke at my house could be construed as bad. She doesn't remember saying that or even being in the house. She thinks it's a new house. Doesn't remember the cat's names. When we get back in the car she wants to know if she can live there. Ah, no.

I'm still full from my post three mile walk Foster's Market breakfast burrito, she wants to go to the cafeteria though. It's very crowded with the after church throng.
She gets beef liver [insert gagging here], potato salad, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, buttered coconut pie (coconut custard) and sweet tea (hello carbohydrates!). Sweet potato pie and unsweetened tea for me (guess I wasn't that full!). It was an excellent people watching day with all the church outfits, hats, and shoes.

On the way home as we drove past Dillard's, Mom observed we had been in there once. Just a few weeks ago as a matter of fact.
(Good Lord, that was exhausting. Like herding ten ADD cats.)

Me: Yes, you bought the shirt you're wearing and another one with a heart on it.

Mom: Cow heart?

Me: No, a red shirt with a heart on it.

Okay people, cow heart is funny. I can't stop laughing.

Mom: I'm going to give you something for your mouth!

I think she means she's going to smack me (jokingly), and that's funny as hell too.

Mom: Oh, I'm going to come out!

No - no coming out in the car, I will have to charge a clean up fee for that. She is having a full on spell* now. Then, there was an odd noise, not sure if it was bodily or car.

Mom: Did you do that or did I?

Me: I didn't, did you?

She doesn't think so, but it starts her off on another laughing jag.

It is the best medicine.


*In Southern vernacular a spell can mean a laughing fit such as my mother was having; illness/drinking,"Uncle Bert had one of his spells last night."; or a length of time, "Sit a spell."
(In our house "having a spell", also meant my father wasn't talking to anyone for about two weeks. These spells usually coincided with a holiday or anniversary. Yep, that was fun.)