Mom’s Coffee


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.”

#caregiver #coffeelovers


Mom’s Bread and Marmalade


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.”

Me—”Orange marmalade.”

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




Mom Giggled


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








Mom’s Nose


After locking my apartment door, I fish in my pantry for something to make my bitter nightly medicines go down easier.

My Hubby—”How did critique group go?”

Me—”Fine.” I’m focused on the snack search. I just ate a full dinner, but it’s Friday night.


I scoop up a spoonful of peanut butter and stick a bunch of chocolate chips to it. I get it just right, insert it into my mouth—

Mom pops out of her room, “Welcome home.”

Me—”Hmfph.” I’m busted, but turn to give her a smile.

Mom—”Like my chin whiskers?” She has a bright white mask plastered to it. It contrasts with her black ski cap that she wears to keep warm.

Me—”Ack, oh, hm.” Mom’s nose matches her chin.

Mom—”And this is what happens when you stick your nose in someone else’s business.”

Outstanding visual, thanks Mom.

#Nose #caregiver #chocolate #peanutbutter

Mom Finds Doggie-Walk Bags


Our apartment complex provides bright green doggie doo clean-up bags for the owner’s convenience, and for the neighbors’ delight. Not always used by said owners, gag, but more often than not.


The other day, Mom returned from her afternoon walk with a confession ready.

Mom poured a cup of coffee, “I went into the office today.”

I sat at my laptop in the dining room, “Oh?”

Mom—”I talked to a young lady who looked like she’s still in school. But she probably isn’t.”

I continued my search for tax documents, “Why did you need to talk to her?”

Mom—”Well, I didn’t want her to think that I was doing something that I shouldn’t.”

I looked up from my key board, “Really? What were you doing?”

Mom—”I used doggie bags for the cigarettes butts.”

Ewww. “Mom, where they full bags?” I glanced at my hubby. His eyes were huge.

Mom—”Of course not! They were blowing around in the parking lot, on the street, and by the sidewalk. I didn’t want them to be wasted.”

Me—”Of course not.” Mom is an original EPA volunteer from the 1960’s. (Story to follow).

Mom—”I filled the bags up with my Reacher. Anyway, the girl was just pleased that I like to pick up the trash.”

There you go. Please repurpose any clean, green doggie bags that you see blowing around with the wind.

#doggies #trash








Mom Sees Jewels


Mom—”When you get the chance, come and see something. I just found a jewel. I’ve never seen it before. It’s really pretty, it looks like a diamond.”

Me—”A diamond?” Did I lose a diamond?

In our apartment’s kitchen, Mom stood in front of the granite counter, near the sink. She poured her morning coffee.

At my computer I struggled with balancing my checkbook. With my limited math skills.

Me—”Okay…just a minute.”

Mom patiently waits.

I lay down my check register, left my desk, and entered the kitchen.

Me—”Where is it?”

Mom—”It’s in the darnedest place.” She pointed with her long, unpainted, pointer-finger nail. “Right there.”

Me—”Um, I don’t see anything…” I moved closer and squinted.

Mom—”You have to get the right kind of light. See it now?”

fullsizeoutput_36adMe—”Oh, yea. It’s part of the granite counter-top.”

Mom—”Why would granite have jewels in it?”

Blank. I don’t have enough time for this conversation. I’m due at an appointment.

Me—”Granite glitters when it’s cut.”


Mom—”Oh. And here’s another one.” Her unpainted nail poked it.

I knew to get real close right away, in the right kind of light.


Me—”That’s a piece of plastic.”

Mom—”Isn’t that just plain weird? Diamonds and plastic look the same. I never thought about that before.”

There you have it.

Why buy an expensive diamond when you can use cheap plastic wrap?

#jewels #diamonds

Mom’s Eyebrow


Mom had an effective form of correction in our family—Her Eyebrow. When we detected the Eyebrow…we knew what came next. Punishment or discipline (whatever word you choose to use), loss of privileges, no dessert, etc.


My sister and I still discuss The Eyebrow, and we are both Over The Hill.

Mom—”When you were two years-old you used to try and charm me by asking, ‘Mommy, why are your eyebrows mad?’ You’d touch my face. I’d tell you that they weren’t mad, I was upset with you.”

Sis—”The Eyebrow! Remember the Eyebrow? I stopped my sass when I saw it. We all stopped whatever we were doing for the Eyebrow!”

Me—”Oh yea, and you guys would even warn me. (I’m proudly the Baby). “The Eyebrow!” you’d say, or one of our brothers, “Ooo, The Eyebrow, you’d better watch out!”

Mom’s Eyebrow had impact.

I tried it with my kids—epic fail. They still reminisce about MY Eyebrow attempts.

My son—”Mom, what are you doing? Why are you making that weird face?”

My daughter—”Wow. You can raise one eyebrow at a time? Show me how.” (She has Mom’s Eyebrow).

Me—”I am angry! I am making this face to warn you to STOP.”

My kids—”Hahahahaha! You don’t look angry! You just look funny! Hahahahaha!”

I did not inherit Mom’s Eyebrow.


Mom Finds Change


Mom returned from her afternoon walk in the complex and trash collecting with her reacher.

Mom— “Look what I found. They were just laying around next to the sidewalk—.59 cents.”

My hubby’s eyes widened, he tucked in his lips and his shoulders shook.

Me— “Well, how nice.”

Mom— “I’d like to donate these coins to a children’s charity. Do you know of any?”


Me— “You want to donate the coins?”

Mom nods— “I have lots of other pennies to add them to.” She left and brought me her old pill containers. (I really have no idea what all is stashed in her room. I’d better check).

My hubby— “Consider those coins as your tips.”

Mom— “Okay. There wasn’t much trash today.”

My hubby— “From Trash to Cash.”

Mom— “Yea, that’s how much my job is worth.”

There you have it. A volunteer trash-collector’s salary.




Mom Sees Clouds


Mom and I have a comfort-custom of purchasing a milkshake and breakfast sandwich post doctor or dentist appointments. Did I mention yet that she treats me for transportation costs?



This particular visit came in the midst of a 50% possibility of rain showers. Mom loves it when our reservoirs are filled for the summer.

Mom—”Look at those precious clouds. I’ve never seen them grouped like that.”

Me— “Do you mean spread around?”

Mom— “Floating so low.”

Me— “Oh, that’s due to being rain clouds.”

Mom— “I guess so, but I like it that they have their own personalities. Some lead, some follow. Some are big, some are small. But they all just float around together.”

There you have it. A mother’s commentary on the personalities of clouds.

Mom Reads Signs


fullsizeoutput_361cMom, a non-driver for her entire life, reads signs out loud to us—one of her favorite pastimes while riding in our car’s backseat next to her walker. (My sweet mom’s hearing is a little decreased, too). #caregiver

Here’s a portion of our conversation on the way home from the restaurant tonight—

Mom: “Pick and Pull? What’s a pick and pull. What do they pull?”

Me: “Car parts, people pull car parts off of a damaged car and put it on another one.”

Mom: “Oh. People do that? Hmm, ‘Cook’s Collusion’ is that a restaurant?”

I twist in my seatbelt and just catch a view of the sign. “No…that’s a car repair shop.”

Mom: “What did you say?

Me: “I said—”

Mom: “Why would cooks collude?”

My husband clamps a hand over his mouth. (Laughing at your mother-in-law is risky behavior).

Me: “It’s called ‘Cook’s COLLISION for car accidents.”

Mom: “Oh, collision, not collusion. And Cook must be someone’s name? That makes more sense.”

There you have it, a wrap of our evening adventure.