Motha, Motha

So, my precious mother is home from the nursing home. She was delightfully overwhelmed with gratitude for the first 24 hours or so. I was personally hoping she had experienced a life-altering attitude adjustment that would replace her chronic crankiness with serene acceptance of all things domestic. Alas, it was not to be.

Name-calling commenced early on the second day with "blowhot", "pollywallace" and "jerkjockey" landing on the Most Memorable list. She threatened to "bake my oven", "pepperspray my pockets" and "light a fire under my nose".

When I came out of my room this morning, my dad was standing in the livingroom wearing a back brace and she was hovering over him saying, "Hurry up, Fred. I don't have all day."

"What's going on here?" I wonder.

"Well," daddy begins.

"We are fixing the leg on the table."

I glance to the corner where a 50lb. antique table once stood. It isn't there.

"Don't tell me..."

"We had to get it out of there so we could fix it," mother offers.

"Where is it?"

"We took it into the dining room."

I round the corner and there, sitting upside-down on the dining table is this footless monstrosity. UPSIDE DOWN!

Now, dear reader, you must know that the "we" referred to by mother dearest is used in the loosest regard imaginable. "We" to mother means she told him and he did it.

"You must be joking," I say.

"I need to sit down," dad says.

"We've got work to do! There will plenty of time to sit when we're done here."

"Dorothy, my back is hurting."

"Oh, you'll say anything for a little attention."

She wobbles off muttering about not being able to find good help anymore and then yells from the other room for me to bring her the sweeper.

"Let me look at the table leg and then I will vacuum," I reply.

"I will do it! Just bring it to me!"

"Mom! I am not bringing you the sweeper. Just sit down and make a list of what you want done and I will do it!"

Her head rears back and she says, "Well, there is no need to raise your voice."

Good times.

As I write, she is happily reclined watching "All My Children" with the remote in one hand and a cookie in the other. I am about to walk by her and say, "You better not get any crumbs on my freshly swept carpet."

She will no doubt reply, "Don't be a jerkjockey. We'll just vacuum again tomorrow."