For the past four months I have been doing my best to keep my 79-year-old mother in her house. She had more luck keeping me in her house when I was a teenager, but nevertheless I try. One of my mandates is that she is not allowed to go to the grocery store. This is twofold. One, because there are just too many people and I don’t want to worry about where they and their droplets have been, and two, it is my radical attempt to get her on some sort of dietary regimen that doesn’t resemble that of an 8-year-old with a credit card.
My friends insist that I am crazy for driving to her house weekly (40 minutes each way), spending hours with her, then doing all her shopping and dropping it off while keeping as much distance as she will allow me. They remind me that she is almost 80 and in better health than any of their (younger) parents, so clearly she was doing it just fine on her own.
All of this is true. Though she ate like a diabetic with a death wish, she somehow has NO (knock on wood) pre-existing conditions that we know of. (Other than mild insanity, the brand of which plagues us all in different ways.)
And, yes, it is both a substantial number of hours, at a time when I just launched my own company, and a financial commitment. (I will easily pay hundreds of dollars on organic groceries, and she will hand me like 35 bucks. It’s like the exchange rate of a kid’s birthday to a grandparent: “Happy Birthday, here is $5.”) Still, there is something wonderful that I get from each of these ridiculous encounters.
- I get to see my mother face to face (a woman who, prior to Covid-19, was always too busy running like 700 clubs and 8 companies’ finances, or producing plays and performing in choirs).
- I get a change of pace from my life in crazy start-up land, to instead hear all the gossip about which orchid of hers is growing the fastest, and what bird put which nest where.
- I get to simultaneously do my own grocery shopping at a fancy Ralphs (these exist) that has no line and has everything in stock, except toilet paper, because…toilet paper.
But most importantly, I get to do what I call “Giving Christmas.” Every week I show up with not only a healthy version of her shopping list, but also a little something fun. She never knows exactly what she is going to get, so instead of just unloading groceries, it is like she is unwrapping presents. (Which basically it is, given the exchange rate.)
I just stand my 6 feet away, smiling into my mask, watching her absorbed in these simple luxuries wrapped in paper bags. “Oh wine!” “Oh yes, yes, yes!” You’ve never seen someone so excited over English muffins in your life. And it goes on and on. Bananas are a huge hit. Even broccoli is a positive, though, it is never on her list of requests. And of course, I always sneak in a puzzle, or a puzzle book, in an effort to keep her busy at home.
She still voices concern that something she refers to as “breakfast croissants” never seem to make it into my cart, but the spinach artichoke dip from Trader Joes at least made up for it in the short term.
With my needing to put as much time as possible into my company, mixed with her ability to down a gallon of milk in less than a week, and the enduring pandemic with no end in sight, I know at some point I will have to teach her how to order Ralphs delivery online. (Check previous post on “Mom Explains the Internet” for why I will need to be present to run an in-person tutorial.) In the meantime, I try to savor all the positive moments I can.
I don’t know how this plays out, or when it all ends, but I do know that how ever it ends, someday, I will miss this time with my mom. Someday I will miss Giving Christmas.
SARCASM WILL SAVE YOU 