As our family grew, so did the Everest of gifts Mom bought. The house could handle the increasing numbers, but the fireplace could not. Stockings spanned the entire face and spilled onto both sides, two or more to a hook, prompting visitors to say, “You’re gonna need a bigger fireplace.”
Tag Archives: parent/child role reversal
The Story Behind the Cover
When I first embarked on this journey, my mother had many visions. Most were light, some dark, and others damn entertaining. But the one she saw most often and described in such detail was of a parade of well-dressed children who marched down Emmett Place and passed by her bedroom window. The girls held flowers, a single stem, or a bouquet, including her favorite, daisies. The boys held colorful balloons that bobbed in the wind. This parade also plays an integral role throughout A Cup of Tea on the Commode.
While editing the manuscript, my sister Caryl, out of the blue, sent me a batch of old black and white photos. One caught my attention. It captured Mom, eight years old, dressed in a frilly white dress, wearing patent leather shoes, sitting on a bench, with a flower in her hand. I don’t recall ever seeing that photo before, but I couldn’t help thinking that serendipity played a role in its timely arrival. This young Genevieve fit in perfectly with Mom’s parade, which left me no choice but to feature it on the cover.
The handwritten title adds a soft touch and hints at the intimacy of the stories within. A pattern of daisies, her favorite flower, fills the background and reinforces the warm invitation to join me on my multitasking adventures of caring for Mom.
It’s an Honor
After a particularly stressful day for the both of us, Mom shot me a curious look asked, “Why are you doing this?” I took a deep breath. “Because it’s an honor for a son to take care of his mother,” I answered in all sincerity. Taken aback, she replied, “It is?”
Happy Thanksgiving
On this day, not only were we “Thankfull” for all the goodies Mom prepared for us, but she also removed all the plastic seat covers on the living room furniture, which gave us another reason to love Thanksgiving.
Just Checking
Early one morning, Mom calls out my name. I fly out of bed, down the freshly varnished steps, and by some small miracle remain on my feet. I staggered into her room, my heart racing. Mom: Oh, you are here. Mark: Of course I’m here. Where else am I going to be? Mom: Just anted to make sure. Mark: That’s it?
Kleenex Tissues, Momma’s New Best Friend
It seems that many, if not all, seniors are obsessed with Kleenex tissues. A Kleenex to stifle a runny nose, to catch a trickle of drool, or to erase, with a little spit, that smudge on a grandchild’s face. Neatly folded or hastily balled, crammed up a sleeve or stashed in a pocket, cherished in any condition, and always at the ready, Kleenex tissues are a senior’s best friend.
Mom also loved her Kleenex, perhaps more than most. She used one tissue over and over until rendering it utterly useless. After each assault, she stuffed those soggy shreds up her sleeve for safe keeping…
Our Cover
When I first embarked on this journey, my mother had many visions. Most were light, some dark, and others damn entertaining. But the one she saw most often and described in such detail was of a parade of well-dressed children who marched down Emmett Place and passed by her bedroom window. The girls held flowers, a single stem, or a bouquet, including her favorite, daisies. The boys held colorful balloons that bobbed in the wind. This parade also plays an integral role throughout “A Cup of Tea on the Commode.”
While editing the manuscript, my sister Caryl, out of the blue, sent me a batch of old black and white photos. One caught my attention. It captured Mom, eight years old, dressed in a frilly white dress, wearing patent leather shoes, sitting on a bench, with a flower in her hand. I don’t recall ever seeing that photo before, but I couldn’t help thinking that serendipity played a role in its timely arrival. This young girl fit in perfectly with Mom’s parade, which left me no choice but to feature it on the cover.
The handwritten title adds a soft touch and hints at the intimacy of the stories within. A pattern of daisies, her favorite flower, fills the background and reinforces the warm invitation to join me on my multi-tasking adventures of caring for Mom. And how I survived to tell the tale.
The Bell
Early one morning a strange sound woke me up. I followed it down to Mom’s room. I found her sitting up in bed, holding a tiny bell. Mark: Please tell me you didn’t ring that to summon me. Mom: I most certainly did. Mark: And now I will take it from you so you never do that again. Mom: For Heaven’s sakes why? Mark: Because I am not your servant. I am here out of love not duty.
“I Come Running”
While sipping her early morning juice Mom turns to me with furrowed brow. Gen: I call you all the time. Why don’t you ever call me? Mark: You call me. I come running. I call you. What are you doing to do? Gen: (Shrugging) I don’t know.
Mini-Excerpt
I hug Mom. She wants no part of it. Genevieve: My teeth. Mark: I was trying to have a moment. Genevieve: (She points to the tray) My teeth.