Wednesday, November 2, 2016

IWSG: The Many Faces of Mom

Welcome to the November edition of  The Insecure Writer's Support Group. Be sure to visit Alex J. Cavanaugh and the other talented writers.

Who is this woman?
The other day my husband came home from meeting a state representative who is running for re-election. My husband said he immediately liked him for his views, but was taken aback when he asked, "What keeps you up at night?"

I started laughing hysterically, because absolutely nothing keeps my husband up at night. He sleeps like a baby, while I toss and turn over the most ridiculous things. For example, the other night I kept thinking what if I die in my sleep and whoever finds me notices that I haven't shaved my legs since last Tuesday?

I also worry about my mom whose Parkinson's disease has been flaring up lately causing her to occasionally see imaginary friends in her room, and has grown considerably weaker. I went to visit her yesterday fearing what I might find.

Surprisingly, I found her laughing it up with the social worker. I almost joined in on the fun until I realized the jokes were at my expense. The social worker had laryngitis, so she was writing the questions on small boards and asked my mom to point to the corresponding multiple choice answers of a) never, b) sometimes, c) half of the time or d) all of the time. After my mom the comedienne answered c) half of the time to one of the questions they both broke into laughter, so I leaned in to hear my mom ask and answer her own question: "How often do you find your daughter annoying?"

She continued to provide zingers throughout the day, and at one point turned the conversation ominous when I dared to say no to one of her demands. "Haven't you figured out by now that once I decide I want something - I always find a way get it?"

Who was this mysterious woman? Then I found a loose earring in her drawer, and decided to put it in one of the compartments of her jewelry organizer. I was aghast at what I'd found - a brand spanking new large pair of sharp scissors. The last time she told me not to visit her unless I brought her scissors, so I showed up with an old pair of safety scissors and she still hasn't forgiven me.

Afterward, I told my brother about the contraband scissors. He said that was nothing compared to what he found in her sleeve the other day when he was searching the closet for her phone. Before I could muster the courage to ask, he told me that it was a kitchen knife. The woman could barely move, yet somehow she either works for the CIA or is a gangbanger.

Good thing the state rep. didn't ask me "What keeps you up at night?"