The Blog of mamapolo

My most excellent and beloved daughter Abby came from Virginia on the day before Thanksgiving, and not a moment too soon, may I add.

She came into the house and gave a subtle but audible squeak of dismay. One of the many problems with a task that requires you to be out of the house many hours a day is that the dogs keep on shedding, and because they have a doggie door, they keep on tracking stuff in, and so it goes. In essence, the life of the house (its only purpose being to create work!) continues in your absence. It can (and in my case did) get ugly.

She spent the first night helping me get our Thanksgiving Day celebration with Tim organized - someday I may tell you about the obstacles THAT presented - but the bottom line is, we (mostly Abby) got 'er done.

I went in to sit with Tim early, then Abby took over while I packed up the vittles and went to pick up Tim's elderly music teacher who joined us for our feast in a private dining room at the rehab - complete with tablecloth, flowers and music.

It was truly a joyful time, and Tim ate like the proverbial lumberjack. We chatted and ate and then Tim & his teacher visited in his room while Abby and I cleaned up and packed things away. I took the leftovers to the staff kitchenette and put the word out that there was food for the taking.

We shared sitting responsibilities in the days that ensued. Today, Abby was with Tim when he made her call me (in one of his foggy periods) and began the conversation with "Your daughter is gutless."

"What?"

"I asked her to take me to the music store because I want to get some Irish music, and she won't take me."

"That's because she's not supposed to," I told him. "And you know it as well as she does." I went on to tell him he owed her an apology, which he offered freely. It was clear he lay there in his bed plotting an escape and figured, 'Abby's young and fearless - SHE'LL spring me!"

Abby told me later that in the conversation prior to the phone call, when he proposed the illicit trip to the music store, she did as I had instructed and began the "grounding" litany - what kind of bed is this? (answer: a hospital bed) - so where are you? (logical progression: a hospital)

She said those words were barely out of her mouth when he looked at her with disgust and said, "Oh, please, don't start THAT **** with me!"

I'm sure he wearies of it. So do I. But like so many wearisome things, it needs doing.

Abby will return to her home tomorrow - having gifted me with days she can ill afford, since she is planning a wedding for the Christmas holidays - a subdued and small wedding, to be sure, but still HER wedding.

I am a lucky mother. I am thankful for that and my husband's improving health. I could hope for a bit less crankiness on his part, but if the truth were told, I am growing cranky myself. That's not accurate - I have BECOME cranky myself.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.