Movie Day

We are going to the movies this morning with my aunt, my mom's twin sister. My aunt just lost her middle child and she is sad. So, for a week, we have been talking about going to the movies and out for a sandwich afterward. Having a summer break at this point in the lives of my elderly parents and my aunt is a blessing. It's part of the reason I decided to become a teacher. But getting my mom up and out of the house before 10 AM is like herding cats. I imagine it is the equivalent of having about three small children or one giant, angry teenager.

She fusses at first. Then she yells at me.

"I don't want to go to the show!" she grumbles loudly from under the covers.

"You are going to the movies, mother. We have been discussing this for a week. We are not cancelling on your sister," I demand. "I am getting in the shower and by the time I get out, you better be out of this bed."

I shower. I hear my dad rolling (with the help of his walker) into the front of the house. He slams the door behind him so the dog can't follow him and probably so he doesn't have to participate in getting mom ready to leave. Mom, who can barely stand, is sitting half naked on the edge of the bed, bent over, tossing clean and folded clothes out of a laundry basket nearby.

"What's the problem?" I ask as I towel dry my graying hair.

"I can't find a bra," she pouts.

I find one and hand it to her. In the time it takes me to get dressed, dry my hair, and apply my makeup, she accomplishes getting her bra on but nothing else.

"What's the problem?" I ask again.

"I can't find socks," she says, less angrily this time.

I find socks and hand them to her.

I let the dog out, prepare her breakfast and return to the bedroom where my mom is still not dressed. And hour and fifteen minutes has passed. Her frustration level is soaring as is mine when I march into the living room and remind my father that she is also HIS responsibility.

"You cannot disappear into the living room and remove yourself from the task at hand. She is still not dressed!" I yell at him as if she can't hear me in the other room.

He returns to the bedroom and helps her get dressed. She cries. I retreat to my computer to write. Now, we will all put on happy faces and start the process of getting out to the car. We won't argue. Or yell. We will smile. After all, the neighbors might see us.