You've got the wrong number, ma'am

The other evening my mom was calling her sister in California. She barely waited long enough for the "hello" before launching into a diatribe of her life.

"I fell again today," she started. "Just one step, this time." And she went on to tell her story.

Finally, after a five-minute opening, she asked, "So how are you doing?"

"I think you've got the wrong number, ma'am," a strange voice responded.

"You mean I've been talking to a stranger all this time?" she asked.

"Yes you have, ma'am," the voice told her.

"I'm sorry! I thought you were my sister! Well, you sure are nice to keep listening to me!"

"Aw, that's alright, ma'am," he said. "Now you watch out for those steps."

"Oh, I will," she reassured him. "I don't want to fall again!"

"And I hope your son gets that job and your grandson's tonsils come out okay."

"Oh, me too," she replied. "All I can do is pray."

"Good-bye, now," he concluded and hung up.

"What a nice young man," Mom mumbled to herself as she hung up the phone.

She fell...again!

To put it frankly... my mom scared the shit outta me yesterday!

We were preparing to go to church. I was in the bathroom with the door open, putting some finishing touches on my make-up, when I heard my mom come out of her bedroom. Suddenly, I heard a crash! When I looked out into the hallway landing I saw Mom, disheveled and sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the wall. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, so sad and vulnerable. "I fell," she whimpered like a little girl.

I rushed over. "Are you okay? Mom! Are you okay?"

She had a pained look on her face. Greg ran up the stairs to see what had happened. "Is she okay? Did she break anything?" he asked.

She said her arm hurt, and her neck. I sat her up against the wall while I felt her arm. When I got near her elbow she winced and pulled it away. At least I knew she could move her arm and bend her elbow on her own. I'm lucky she didn't smack me!

"Guess we won't be going to church," I said.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "I think I'm okay. And I'm already dressed."

"Why don't you scoot over to the the edge of the steps and see how you feel first," Greg told her, as he helped her scoot along the carpet. He got her a drink of water while I helped her stand. While I finished getting ready, Greg helped her down the stairs and out to the car.

Before we left the driveway I asked her again, "Are you sure you want to go."

"Oh sure," she said. "I'm fine."

"I told Greg we'd call him after church and let him know if you still feel up to going to dinner," I told her. We usually go out to a local salad bar Saturday evenings after Mass.

"I'll be fine for dinner," she insisted. "We're already out."

I kept watching my mom during Mass. Sometimes, when I look at her, she seems so tiny and frail. So fragile that if you blew on her she'd fall into a million pieces.

It makes me sad. "Is this really my mother?" I wonder. "Could this really be the woman who raised me?"

It scares the hell out of me. "What if she'd really gotten hurt? What if she'd broken something...like her arm, or her hip, or her neck?" Horrible visions of paramedics and gurneys and ambulances flash through my mind.

It makes me realize how fortunate I am to have a helpful and supportive husband. I know it's hard for him sometimes, and it really disrupts our alone time. Although I know he gets frustrated, I've witnessed how tender and loving he can be to my mom.

It also makes me feel enormously grateful that I can be with her now as she passes through her final years. As much as she may hate it sometimes, Mom trusts Greg and me to take care of her and see after her welfare. That's a huge responsibility, a heavy burden to carry.

Lord, give me the strength and endurance!

We did go out for dinner after church. When we got home, I took a closer look at my mom's elbow and saw the blackest bruise I'd ever seen! No surprise, this morning it looked even worse! Her neck is stiff and she aches all over. Guess we'll be going to the doctor this week.

Never Underestimate an Old Gal

This 80-year-old really has the moves. Just goes to show that age is only a number. She blew me away!

Kayda loves Mogul

My son's dog Kayda is visiting for the weekend. She's a little Jack Russel Terrier we lovingly call "the little shit." Her favorite dog to pick on is Mogul, one of our Eskies. She loves to tug on the fur around he neck.

We were sitting in the family room after dinner when my mom asked me which dog Kayda liked to annoy. Right then, the two dogs came running through the family room and dove onto the couch. Kayda started climbing all over Mogul, humping him as best she could.

Mom looked over at them and exclaimed, "She must really like him! Look! She's hugging and kissing him!"

I burst out laughing. Greg tried not to laugh, but finally couldn't contain himself. We both ran downstairs as casually as we could.

When I finally got my giggles under control, I headed back upstairs with Mom. When she saw me, she said, "Kayda's no dummy. She knows who's the prettiest. She know which dog to go after."

Back downstairs I ran.

A Real Dinner

It was my turn to cook tonight, so I took a little extra time to fix a "real dinner": baked pork chops, quinoa and brown rice, a mix of veggies, rustic bread and cinnamon apple sauce. In celebration my mom decided to say grace, which is usually reserved for family get-togethers and Sundays.

"You want to say grace because I fixed a real dinner?" I asked her.

She nodded and started to pray, "Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts..."

I mumbled under my breath so that only my husband, who had remained silent, could hear, "Well that's an incentive to never cook a real dinner again."

Pandas

We were watching a news report on pandas when my mom piped up, "What are those?"

"Those are pandas, Mom," I replied.

"And what are pandas good for?" she asked.

We were dumbfounded.

"Gee, I'm not sure. What are pandas good for... Greg?" I asked my husband.

"Um...well...they're cute and nice to look at...they're endangered...so we have to like them," he stammered.

We haven't come up with a good answer yet.

Was anybody there?

I was resting with the dogs downstairs when my husband and a friend came home. Greg had taken Hari to see where he works. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help but hear the conversation going on upstairs.

Mom: How was the office?

Greg: Really quiet. Nobody there.

Mom: Was anybody there?

All I could do was laugh.