Grace can you . . .

My friend Carol and I were commiserating.

Carol: It was my turn to spend the day with Mom.
Grace: So how’d that go for you?
Carol: Sigh, my neck aches and I’m tired. I had to take her everywhere.
Grace: Dry cleaners? Apothecary? The milliner? The dressmaker?
Carol: And the dollar store. Who knew anyone could spend that much time at the dollar store. And you know I can’t rush her. She bought me lunch and gave me gas money.
Grace: So who has her tomorrow?
Carol: It’s Darryl’s turn.
Grace: Good thing there are six of you to divvy up driving her.
Carol: I’m glad to do it, really I am. But I could not do this everyday.

So this is how my week went.

Mom call: Gracie, my cell phone won’t charge it’s dead. Can you go with me to Verizon to take care of this?
Me: Sure Mom when did you want to go?
Mom Call: Now, my phone is my security blanket. I don’t like driving to work without it.
Me: Sure, I’ll get dressed they open at 10 a.m.

Mom call: Grace your father is not home yet and Donald needs a ride home from work. Can you get him?
Me: Sure, what time does he get off?
Mom call: In 10 minutes.
Me: OK, I’ll leave in a second.

Mom: Do you want to go with us? Your Dad and I are going to your Tita Vilut’s for lunch on Monday.
Me: To Buffalo Grove? Do you need me to drive you?
Mom: Well, Lani is going to meet us there, she’s bringing lunch. Oh and your Tita is giving us two queen beds, so we can bring those back with us.
Me: Um. . . um. . . the three of us are going to load and move two queen beds?
Mom: Yes.
Me: OK, um . . . um. . . So headboards and footboards, too huh? She nods. Well  . . . um. . .  we’ll need to bring your Explorer and my minivan. Ummm . . . I’ll ask Rodger to help us.
Mom. Great. I’ll call your Tita to let her know we’re coming over.

That’s right husband for better or for worse but my mom sent over a little something for you.

Never too old to get yelled at

I had to tell my dad about some paperwork he requested. It turned out pretty much as I expected.

Me: Dad I found the title to Austen's Honda (It's dead in his driveway); I’ll get that signed over to you so you can do whatever you like with it. But I spoke to Joshua he does not have the title to the Acura (Which is dead in his garage).

Dad: I put that car in his name; I was with him when we did it.

Me: I know, I’m just delivering the message.

Dad: You know your son is irresponsible, I can’t believe he lost the title . . . he probably lost the title to the other car.

Me: What other car; I can’t remember, you’ve bought him so many.

Dad: The blue one, he gave it to his girlfriend to drive around. . . .

At this point Mom calls me over but he was still grumbling.

Me: Ok, I have to go, but Dad this is between you and Josh.

Mom starts walking me to the door.
 
Dad: I know, but he’s undisciplined  . . . and I hold you accountable, he’s not my son . . .  and tell Austen to clean out his car . . .  I told him three times already . . .  I gave him that car  . . .  those boys . . .

My mom is laughing and kisses me good bye.

No bag of stuff this time

Everyone who knows my mom knows her generosity. Whenever I pop in to see my parents I usually leave with a little “something.” During recent visits my hauls included six lemons, a tub of pitted dates, a jar of pimentos and a jar of calamansi jelly. In the past I have departed with meat, jewelry and plants

That’s why I started this blog, I wanted to document these hauls. However on my last visit I left with instructions.

Mom and I were chatting at the kitchen table. I had just made smoothies for her, my daughter and myself.

Mom: You know your father wants to be buried. I want to be cremated.

Me: Well just make sure you outlive him then you can handle his burial any way you want. He’s made no funeral arrangements. If you outlive him, you’ll be in charge.

Mom: Good, that sounds like a plan. Are you still planning on putting my ashes in an urn on the fireplace mantle.

Me: Yup unless you make different arrangements. I promise, I’ll dress you on special occasions, just like Ninang Rose dressed that concrete goose of hers. On your birthday I’ll drape your favorite jewelry all over the urn.

Mom: OK. When I’m gone I want you to turn me into a diamond.

Me: Sure. Am I making you into diamonds for everyone? Your sons, the grandchildren?

Mom: No just you, make it a big diamond, at least a carat.

Me. What about Christine? She’s your only granddaughter, she doesn’t get a diamond?

Mom: She’ll get yours when you’re gone.

Me: Good, that sounds like a plan.

She's serious about the diamond. I'm serious about dressing her urn.

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