More Fun Than Disneyland

Used To Be Mother wanted another sleepover. She brought her pyjamas, tooth cup and her scriptures in a little bag. I brushed her hair. And put cream on these little dry spots she has all over her back and face. I tucked her into bed. She was so happy she wasn't alone in that apartment of hers. It wasn't even 8 p.m. so hardly any wonder she awoke at 4 a.m. the following morning. She read her scriptures, made her bed, got herself dressed and had knit two dishcloths by the time I wandered down to the kitchen.

It's past my breakfast time. And I'm hungry.

I remember how she would have breakfast cooking when I would awake on a cold winter's day. Most mornings she would hum and greet each of us with a steaming bowl of porridge. We always dreaded the days there was no humming.

I fed her the mini-wheats she enjoyed so much at my brother's house and some fresh strawberries and her favorite:  orange juice.

The cereal has to soak in the milk for ten minutes.

Really Mom? Who told you that?

It's important or you can't eat it. It's too hard. (UTBM has all kinds of rules that are important. When to take your vitamins and how to put on your face cream and how to put things into the recyling. They are her particular Creed of Nicene and she is as devout to these as she is to the Ten Commandments.)

She's still hungry. A banana and a piece of toast fill her up.

Around 10 a.m. she is ready to go home. We stop on the way to fill the car with gas and wash it. Normally I wash the car at the self serve but today I took it to a drive through. UTBM grew very anxious and had a bazillion questions. How does this work? What if you were caught in here? How long is this going to take? How does that wand know how to turn? And it's a non-stop commentary from the time the door opens until we leave.

Oh my. Oooh. Look at that. That spray has covered the windshield. I can't see outside. (She's really nervous now.) Ooh...is that going to damage your car? How do you know it's going to clean your car?

The high pressured water beating down on the car has her riveted in her seat. She is even more nervous that we aren't ever going to get out of there. (I'm reminded of an earlier experience with my mother when I lived in a high rise. I didn't know until that moment how anxious elevators made her until she hopped into the elevator fully expecting it to sink into the centre of the earth.)

Two rinses and a wax. She is feeling a little better now that she can see the flashing message telling us to advance forward slowly. Two huge air vents turn on to dry the car and the arm is still down as I advance.

What is that noise? You're going to hit that! She is shrieking. Absolutely terrified.

White knuckled I refrain from commenting. And then as the arm moves upward away from the car...she sighs in relief. That's amazing! I thought for sure you were going to hit that thing.

As we leave the car wash, she is thrilled. I've never seen that before. Wow. That's just amazing. And your car is so clean. And you just know that she is going to share this new adventure with her table mates at lunch.

Who needs Disneyland? Tomorrow another adventure as we go for her second eye appointment.