It was not funny.
He thought it was funny, she thought it was funny, and someday, perhaps, I will think it was funny.
As of right now..it is not funny.
“Why do I have to live in a nursing home?” “ Mom, I told you, it’s not a nursing home, its assisted living, your own apartment. I would think that you would rather live on your own instead of with a couple of hormonal pre-teens!” “Well, I will try it, but if I don’t like it, I will be back. This is still my house young lady!” “Mom, please quit calling me ‘young lady’, and Steve and I bought the house when Dad died so technically...” Mom looked like she was going to have ‘a moment’, So I put my arm around her shoulder and said; “Mom, you have always been the heart and soul of this house, and you always will be. This is your home, and you can come visit any time you want.” “Humph, ‘visit’, we’ll see about this!”
The Arbors was only ten minutes away from the house. Still in the country, but close enough to downtown to hop a bus and go shopping or to a show. A doorman welcomed us at the door. “See mom. This is a classy place!”. “It smells like stale peanut butter and cheap dryer sheets.” “Please Mom, give it a chance.” I turned to the afore mentioned hormonal pre-teens and said, “Jerome, you can help me unload the car. Sarah, please help grandma unpack as we bring her things in.”
“You kids are going to just be running-a-muck without me there to keep an eye in you!”! “We’ll be okay-grandma, and we will ride our bikes over all the...” “See, my bed is not even cold and you are already runnung-a-muck!” Sarah rolled her eyes as only a 12-year-old can do, and continued to unpack.
I walked in and took a good look around. Yeah, as soon as we got moms pictures up and moved Sister Tweet in, (Sister Tweet is mom’s four year old ‘sassy’ parakeet), I thought mom would adjust very well. “Mom, before I go, do you want me to help you peel potatoes for your soup?” “You know I can’t peel very well with my arthritis.” “I’ll take that as a yes.” With Sarah’s help, we were done in no time. After showing mom the emergency buttons in the living room and bathroom, we headed home.
Meanwhile, back at the apartment.
“I am her mother, ‘heart and soul, come back anytime, can we help with the potatoes?...I’ll show her potatoes. One potato, two potatoes, three potatoes..” Splash! WHOOSH—she watched as the potatoes swirled down the toilet. With a satisfied grin on her face, she walked out of the bathroom.
After she had unloaded a few boxes, Mom went back into the bathroom to put her towels away. She heard a gurgling, and a growling. She turned to see that was causing the fuss. Her eyes got as big as her head as she watched her commode spew out a potato, (and various other objects). The floor was soon flooded, and she knew she was in trouble! Not knowing what else to do, she pushed the ‘I’ve fallen and can’t get up’ button on the bathroom wall. The resident RN and an aid were at her door in minutes. Upon entering the room, they realized that they were not the right professionals for the job! Ensuring that Mom was okay, they called Merrill, the head custodian. He already knew there was a problem, the pipes on the first floor had backed up and there was and inch of sludge covering the lobby.
I got a call that I should come A.S.A.P. As I slopped into the lobby, I heard an exasperated voice over the intercom saying; “Attention all residents, please do not flush or use water until further notice.” I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew that it sure didn’t smell like stale peanut butter anymore! Two weeks, and three of Mom’s Social Security checks later, the mess was cleaned up and pipes replaced.
When Jerome and Sarah heard about the, uh, event, they thought that it was the funniest thing to happen since Sister Tweet got out and flew around the neighborhood squawking; “Shake your booty, booty, shake your booty.”
It’s been six months since the potato induced disaster...
And I still don’t think it’s funny.
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