If there are readers who are faint of heart, move along. This could be difficult for you…
I love my mom. She’s a wonder. She married my dad when I was 5 and had to step into a marriage with an obnoxious man and an even worse 5-year-old. She adopted me, but I would go around and refer to her as my “evil stepmother”. Nobody said I was a lovable child.
My mom was a career woman back before it was fashionable to be one. She married an old fashioned man who believed a child should have the mom home. All the time. This worked out fine until the child became a psychotic teenager. Then mom was introduced to valium. That was back before they knew valium was so addictive and there were bigger problems than psychotic teens.
Nonetheless, she hung in there. Finally, when I was a senior in high school, my dad decided mom could go back to work. I think that was the happiest time of her life – until they started hiring younger men right out of college that didn’t know jack-shit, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.
I love my mom. Mainly because she’s been able to put up with my dad all these years. I used to be pretty pissed at her, but those issues got resolved a long time ago with a trip through the nervous breakdown forest… with Hubby’s help, I got through that in one piece.
Now we come to the present. We’re getting to that point in our lives. You know, that point. Don’t look at me like you have no clue what I’m talking about! THAT point… the one where the kid becomes the parent and the parent becomes the kid. (YES…the lightbulb comes on brightly over your head…THAT point!)
We’re going shopping for something to hang on the walls of my parents’ new house. As I mentioned earlier, I have rather eclectic taste. Pretty much anything goes. I try to make my parents discuss this before we go… What would they like? Modern? Landscapes? The Masters? (No, neither Elvis on velvet or dogs playing poker were offered as suggestions.) All I could get from them was, “We want some color” and “We don’t care” and “Whatever you think”. This falls into that grey area that Hubby calls ” the landmine, step here“. He claims things like a woman asking “Does this make me look fat?” and “How do you like my new hairdo?” qualify for landmine status. Well, I’ve extended that to your parents turning you loose with instructions to find them things to put on their walls that they will look at for, oh, probably the REST OF THEIR LIVES and then saying, “Whatever you think”.
You wonder why I came home tense?
We went to Bed, Bath and Beyond. We went to JC Penney’s Home Store, Kohls, Target, Pier 1, and back to BBB. Yes, we found pictures. Yes, I liked them all. Yes, they were all a bit different. Yes, they had color. My mother agreed she liked one of them. A lot. I rejoiced! I think she was tolerating the others just because I said so. I still like them. Guess that’s all that counts. At least that’s what they said…
I’m waiting for the call where my parents beg me to come help hang them. I’m not sure my mother remembers where we decided to put them all, but it was 10 o’clock before I got home, so there wasn’t any way I was going to stay last night long enough to also hang them.
On a completely unrelated note: my mother showed me her new drivers’ license picture. I hate to say it, but it looked just like the “Scream” mask. Very creepy…