My hubby fixed his much anticipated morning coffee—”On that new FODMAP diet, can I drink creamer in my coffee? I like my coffee robust, but it’s gotta have creamer.”
Me—”Check the yes list.” I sipped my coffee with stevia and no flavored creamer. “Oh, and read the creamer label.”
My hubby pulled out his phone to check the FODMAP lists.
Me—I miss my Chocolate Carmel. “You know, I think I like the aroma of coffee better than the taste of coffee.”
Mom—Who drinks four cups of coffee a day, and weighs 92 pounds fully clothed, “I like my coffee black. I like the smell. I like how it warms me up. In fact, there’s nothing about coffee that I don’t like.”
Me—”Isn’t that funny how we all drink coffee fixed completely different?”
Mom—”That would be boring if everyone always liked the same things. Or what about when it would go on sale and everyone wants that one? The crowds would be terrible!”
Hubby—”Well, I don’t know. We all like Erin, (me). What would happen to her?”
We all hushed.
I sat lost in actual memories of me in the center of a rioting mob. Shudder.
Me—”I’d never go on sale.”
Three days ago, Mom started using the walker in the house, because her back pain and sciatica reminds her. She has been confined more to her bed, too. We added an ice pack every two hours and a Motrin a few times a day.
This morning, I checked to see if she was awake—”Stay in bed and I’ll get you the ice pack.”
Mom—”Brrr. It’s frosty outside. I’m tired of laying down. I was hoping I could get up more often today.”
Me—”Your back will tell you your limits by how much pain it gives you.”
Mom—Pouted and frowned, “Grrr…Okay.”
Me—”Will coffee cheer you up?”
Mom—A huge grin. “And my breads.”
After serving her coffee and cooking our veggie omelette, I slathered her dark rye with orange marmalade and found her blueberry streusel. I presented the tray to Mom.
Mom—”Oh, yummy! You remembered the peach jam.”
Mom—”That’s what I meant…Thanks, Peaches…Hey, aren’t you glad I didn’t name you Peaches?”
Me—Visions of my life, as Peaches, splashed across my mind. “That’s for sure…thanks, Mom.” And thank God!
(No offense intended to anyone named Peaches).
#caregiver #Bread #marmalade
Poor Mom. Her back is giving her “fits.” She’s been resting in bed this past week. We’ve been doing everything we can think of to help her manage the pain.
I entered her room with supplies, “Time to freeze yourself.”
Mom lay against her pillows in her queen size bed. “It’s that time again?” It’s been 28-32 degrees in the mornings. “Hey, the sun’s coming through my blinds. How about opening them so my room warms up?” Mom wears sunglasses 24/7 due to “light-sensitive eyes.”
“Sure. And you can warm up with your coffee, too.”
Mom leaned forward to undo her robe’s belt. Mom’s always a little bit cold. She also had a velcro back support on. Mom tugged on her velcro, and struggled to pull her arms out of her robe.
I set down the ice pack, the tray table with her coffee, and placed it on her bed. I leaned over her and grabbed a third pillow. My arm bumped her head when I straightened with the pillow. “Sorry, Mom!”
“I collided with your arm.”
I looked down…Mom’s face was…under the ski cap she wears. A definite nose bump poked out underneath the knitted fabric. “Forget your sunglasses. Just wear the cap over your face.”
Mom giggled. “That’s another option.” #knit #Sunglasses