August 25, 2005

• THE BROOM

  
  

  

  
  

  Okay, so I come home from work and mom is in the kitchen.  We never leave her alone too long because we just can’t.  I know the Parkinsons Disease and the medication have messed her mind up.  But this is the same woman that raised me and cleaning was never really her “forte” not that it matters…but this incident really can’t be blamed on the disease…she just doesn’t think when it comes to these things…well…the guinea pigs litter is made of dried corn because of Tere’s allergies I can’t use much else, wood chips and hay make her sneeze.  So this corn, well they shoot it out of the cage when they run and play and it hurts like the dickens when you step on it and my mom, just like me, dislikes shoes.  It is also much easier for her to walk barefoot with the Parkinsons.  So she decides to sweep.  Being of a lazier nature she doesn’t want to look, say in a closet or in any other place that a broom would be readily available.  She does spot, however, the “outside” broom.  A large green industrial broom that is extremely heavy.  She somehow manages to carry the sucker into the house.  Now not many days before that I had used it to deter a flood from over filling the hot tub…another story for another day…anyway…she decides to sweep the corn litter with this broom which was drying in the sun and still had a lot of dried mud in it.  Now the first and most important factor here is that the broom is enormous and mom is not.  She also is ill, she could very well have tripped over the top of the broom and hurt herself terribly.  She was not in any conditon to push and direct this thing about. So one can only imagine the way she must have looked trying to sweep with it.  Anyway, she managed to shove all the corn, along with a ton of dried mud in every nook and cranny in the house along with a shit load of it in the door jam.  I come home from work.  I was surprised, I didn’t flip I tried to talk to her.  She of course responded with how I should be thankful she tried to help and stop complaining.  I explained that no matter how tired and angry I was over the mess that she created when she tried to help, that will eventually be cleaned up.  I was more upset over her jeopardizing her well being.  She just don’t WANT to get it.  She kept starring at the tv like I wasn’t there.  I dragged my sorry and tired ass into the kitchen and cleaned some of it.  It is now day three and most of it is gone, I keep finding different areas in the living room, under furniture, under everything little pieces of dried mud.  Why does this piss me off.  I should be used to it by now, her antics.  I tell her again about how she could have cracked her head open and she says maybe I want that to happen since I keep mentioning it.  I get so pissed I start yelling, sure, thatz it you pitty monger, I want you to fall and crack your head open so I can find you like that when I come home from work, maybe I’ll dump you behind the shed and be done with it.  I don’t mean that.  I really don’t.  But when I try to tell her I am worried about her hurting herself she gets nasty.  When I say this she perks up.  Since I was a child, well before she was ill, she loved a good fight…or to hear about a good fight.  Another day, another lump of dirt….huggs…Sassy

  
  

   

  • 11:10 pm
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