NASCAR and Oatmeal

NASCAR and Oatmeal

The phone rings and as I look at the caller ID my somewhat bright day has gotten a bit sunshine diminished. It's my mother calling. I try to understand that she is soon to be eighty five. And I am not the only adult child who has ever had to deal with an eighty five year old parent who lives alone. But I can tell you right now, my mother has quirks that could make other eighty-five year old parents seem like saints.

First of all, she is now and has forever been a child in an adult body. She throws temper tantrums, threatens never to speak to me again, disowns me, and in a jealous nature tries to sabotage my relationships with others. I don't claim to be the only recipient of this behavior, my sisters and brothers have felt her childish wrath as well. I can only speak for myself, though, because my coping mechanisms are much different than that of my siblings.

I believe she has told each and every one of us we could never come home after we have left to pursue a relationship. Some of us were smart enough to take her seriously and escape to far away places where she can only torture them via phone calls and during short visits. I was not one of the smart ones.

My siblings either fell into relationships that worked and are still going strong, or when they failed have been smart enough to stay away. I, on the other hand, kept coming home or never moved far enough away. So my mother latched on to me for reliance and never let go. Perhaps that is why I have developed personality disorders such as OCD and clinical depression. Oh, and we cannot forget the nervous tics and eating disorder which led me to become a huge blimp with legs. For some reason after I talk to my mother I have the urge to eat sixteen pounds of pure chocolate or 24 gallons of ice cream.

For 12 years my mother lived in a mobile home on my property and thoroughly wreaked havoc on my life. I admit I have indentured myself to the torture of relating to two senior citizens in close proximity by marrying a man near my mother's age. To make matters worse, they are mortal enemies. You see, mom tried to sabotage that relationship 28 years ago and failed. She doesn't like to fail. And Bob doesn't like the fact she even tried and he doesn't like to forget.

When I would come home from work, my mother would pop her head out the back door and begin her greeting by saying (every day, mind you) "Do you know what Bob did today?" Then I would stand there with my bladder bulging, crossing my legs, hoping I would not pee my pants, and listen as she related all the negative things she could conjure up about my dear husband. "Yeah, I will talk to him about it." I'd say as I headed for my house. I will have just about reached the back door when it flies open to reveal Bob wearing a scowl and announcing "Do you know what you mother did today?"

We have since sold our property and mom has taken up residence next to my oldest sister, the nurse. Patty is not one to let mom walk on her. She escaped early and spent her life preparing for mom's old age by taking care of her difficult mother-in-law and being the head of a nursing home. I don't believe she is actually as prepared as she thought she would be. I now get the daily call "Do you know what Patty did today?"

As frustrating as my mother makes my life I am resigned to making or receiving a daily call and one visit per week to her apartment. The daily calls have become anywhere from two to ten calls per day.. The weekly visit remains one but since I do not drink or do drugs I prepare for my visit by blasting my radio at full volume for the 35 mile trip in hopes that I will be deaf when I get there. I stop by the local Taco Bell so I can bring her two burritos. One for now, the other for later. That insures that I will be on her good side for at least the first half hour. I quickly find myself sidling up to her bad side as I am not smart enough to agree with her on her favorite subjects of NASCAR (which I hate to talk about and find it hard to even listen) and how to make and eat instant oatmeal.

I have learned two things in my life about dealing with my mother. One: just listen and don't criticize that Jeff Gordon has not finished in the top ten that week. Let her rant and rave while I nod my head once in awhile. Number Two: Agree whole heartedly that instant oatmeal shall be made and eaten from a glass measuring cup. Do not argue the point. You don't actually have to do it, just agree that it should be done and you will definitely go out and buy a glass measuring cup for that purpose.