So, my mom and I have our birthday in the same month. Because I work full time, like many families, we usually plan family celebrations on the weekend.
I usually bring a complete lunch and some cake and all the trimmings, no matter whose birthday it is. The weekend we would normally have had the celebration for my mom’s birthday found my older daughter down with the flu, so we put it off one week. I called that Monday to set up the whole thing.
MONDAY:
“Hi, Mom. I’m calling about lunch this weekend for your birthday.”
“Okay. That will be nice. What are we having?”
“Oh, I was thinking Chinese, since Dad loves it so much.” (An inside joke. My Dad hates Chinese. He gripes like mad about it, even though my mom just loves it.
Mom chuckles and says, “Oh, good! That sounds great!” An aside to my dad: “We’re having Chinese for my birthday. How do you like that?”
From my dad in the background: “I’ll be out for a burger and beer that day.”
Into the phone: “Your father says it sounds good.” Laughing: “What are we really having?”
“Well, I thought I would bring the makings for Chicken Parmesan. How does that sound?”
“Well, I’ll check with your father, but I think that sounds very good. We really like your Chicken Parmesan.” Aside to my dad: “Isn’t that right?”
From my dad in the background. “Anything not Chinese sounds delicious.”
Into the phone: “You heard that?”
“Yep, I did. We’ll be there about noonish and get started on it. We’ll bring some kind of snack to have when we get there, and then we’ll have lunch around 2:00.”
“Well, okay, then. That sounds fine.”
A bit more chatting, then we hang up.
TUESDAY:
Phone rings at work: “Are you going to be here this weekend for my birthday?
“Yes, Mom. Remember yesterday we talked about having Chicken Parmesan?”
“Oh, yes. Your father will like that. Well, I can make a cake. I’ll make a chocolate cinnamon cake.”
“Mom, it’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to make the cake. We can do that.”
With asperity: “I can still bake a cake, Sharon Lee.” (The middle name thing!) “I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I know, Mom, but it’s your birthday. I just want you to have a nice day without doing anything.”
“I’ll just make the cake. Your father loves that cake.” Loudly, from my dad in the background: “Your father loves any cake. Or, pie. Or anything else for that matter! Except Chinese.”
“Okay, then, Mom, you make the cake and we’ll bring the rest.”
“What time will you be here?”
“About noon with some snacks to hold us over while we make the Parmesan. Then, we’ll eat around 2:00.”
“All right.” With a bit of ire: “Everyone okay at your house, I guess?”
Warily: “Yes. Everyone is just fine.”
“Just wondered. No one from your house seems to call and check in.”
Uh-oh. “I’m calling right now, Mom. And, we spoke yesterday, too.”
“Well, I haven’t heard anything from either of your sons or daughters in a while.”
“They called you on your birthday, Mom. You told me you heard from all of them.”
“But not since.”
There is no appropriate response to this. I try shifting to something else. “Do you think some ice cream would be good with that cake?”
WEDNESDAY:
Phone rings at work: “Sharon, your father is driving me crazy. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Everything okay, Mom? Is he feeling well?”
“He isn’t sleeping at night. He gets up in the middle of the night and goes in to watch television or read and stays up for hours and then naps all afternoon.”
“Sounds like he’s got his days and nights mixed up, Mom. Maybe if he forced himself to stay awake all day, he would be able to sleep at night. Have you talked to him about that?”
“I told him he was keeping me up and making himself sick. I’ll talk to him. You just don’t know what I have to deal with every day.”
“Maybe if he gets some sleep, he’ll feel better. Maybe you can just suggest to him to go to bed at a regular hour each night and try staying in bed until he falls asleep.”
“I don’t know. It’s like he just does it to make me mad, sometimes.”
Time for my usual evasive tactics. “Hey, Mom? Do you think I should bring salad to have with that Parmesan? It would probably go very well, don’t you think?”
“Oh, that sounds good! Salad and Parmesan. And, I’ll bake a cake.”
“Sounds perfect to me, too. Okay, I’d better get back to work. Talk to you later.”
“Okay.” All cheerful. “Bye!”
“Bye, Mom,” and I hang up, sighing.
THURSDAY:
Phone rings at work: “Hi, Mom.”
“I was wondering which silverware you want. There’s some that belonged to each of your grandmothers.”
“Oh.” Blinking. Silverware? “Well, I don’t know, Mom. Do you have a preference?”
“It’s not going to be mine, so you have to decide on your own.”
“Well, why don’t you let me look at it when we get there?”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. You can decide when you see it.”
“Okay.”
“And, you can go through some of these things on the shelves above the television and decide what you want.”
“Oh. Well, okay. If we have time. I’ll be cooking dinner and stuff.”
“Well, just how long do you think it will take you to make dinner, then, Sharon Lee? You have to be letting it just cook at some point, don’t you?”
“Well, sure. I’ll try to go through some of that stuff while it cooks.”
“Fine. And, you can take a bunch of it home.”
“Mom, I am trying hard to remodel my house right now. It’s in very bad shape and I have things piled everywhere. I don’t really have the space to add more things to the piles, at present. We aren’t even using three of the rooms while we are working on replacing everything. I just don’t have space.”
“Well, I guess you think I can just hold on to all of this while you decide what you want to do?”
“I’m just saying that some things may have to wait a bit before they come to my house.”
“Well, fine. I’ll just pack them up and you can go through it all when I die.”
Pause. Pause. “By the way, Mom, what kind of ice cream do you think will go best with the chocolate cinnamon cake?”
FRIDAY:
Phone rings at work: “Sharon, I need to ask you something. Do you want one of the family Bibles? Your brothers want one of them, so I figured you would want one, too.”
“Um. Sure.”
“Well, you can pick it up whenever you come next.”
Pause. “Mom, I’m going to be there Sunday for your birthday, remember?”
“Oh, that’ll be nice. I’ll cook something for us.”
“Mom, I’m bringing the makings for Chicken Parmesan, remember? And, you are going to ak a chocolate cake.”
“I guess I remember. You know what? I have been really, really wanting gumbo like I had growing up in Louisiana. Why don’t we have that?”
“Well, Mom, are you sure you want to do all of that? I already have all the stuff for the Parmesan.”
“No, I think we should have gumbo. It’s my birthday, and that’s what really sounds good to me. I’ll start it early, because it takes 3 or 4 hours from start to finish.”
“I’ll be there about noonish to help you with it, too. I’ll still bring salad, and I’ll bring something for the girls to eat.”
“They won’t eat gumbo?”
“No, Mom, remember? The girls don’t like shrimp or crab.”
“They sure don’t know what’s good.”
“Be that as it may, I’ll bring something else to fix for them.”
“I didn’t know they didn’t like my food.”
“It’s not your food, Mom, it’s the taste of shrimp and crab. They just don’t like it.”
Sharply. “Well, I’m sorry they don’t like what I fix.”
Sigh. “Well, I’m looking forward to it, so we’ll see you Sunday and I’ll bring something for them. Do you still want to make the cake?”
“Do you think I’m that incapable of doing two things at once? Yes. I’ll make the cake.”
Bigger sigh. “Great. That sounds good.”
“Why don’t you bring some ice cream to go with the cake.”
Huge sigh. “Good idea, Mom.”
SATURDAY:
Cell phone rings while I’m washing dishes.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sharon, what time will you be here today?”
“It’s tomorrow, Mom. We’re trying to catch up on laundry today. We’ll be there after church tomorrow.”
“I thought you said you would be here this morning.”
“No. Tomorrow at noonish. We’ll come straight from church.”
“Oh, I remember. Well, I’ll make the gumbo tomorrow, then.”
“Good. Sounds great. I’m getting hungry for it.”
“I have some fabric upstairs I want you to take home for your quilting. There’s some nice knits there.”
“I usually quilt with 100% cotton, Mom. Knits are too hard to needle.”
“Well, you’ll like them. You are always buying more fabric, so now you won’t need to.”
Mom, I haven’t been out to buy fabric in a while. I have plenty of stash to work from. Seriously, I don’t need any more fabrics, knit or otherwise.”
“Well, I want you to have them. Some of them are from your grandmother. It will be nice for you to make something with them. I’ve been saving them for something special.”
Frowning a bit. “How long have you had them, Mom?”
“Oh, some of them were given to me right after we got married, and I’ve been waiting for a good project, so I’m giving them to you.”
“Mom, I don’t need them. Really. I have nowhere to keep more fabric and no time to quilt right now.”
“Well, you can decide which ones you want when you go through them all tomorrow while I finish up the gumbo.”
“See you tomorrow, Mom”
“And, don’t forget the ice cream.”
“Right.”
SUNDAY:
We stop by the grocery after church on the way to see my folks and get packages of macaroni and cheese and some Brussels sprouts for my daughters to eat, as well as some good, crusty French bread to have with the gumbo. Because the girls like mac and cheese so much, we get extra to take home after our visit. All the way to see my folks, the girls tease me about eating gumbo, and make cracks about all the junk their grandmother keeps sending home with us. They tell me that there is no room in the car for anything this time, because there are school supplies for their classrooms in the trunk, and not to take anything home. They bring this point up several times.
When we arrive at the folks’ house, we’re in pretty good moods and starting to get hungry. We walk into the den and greet the folks. The girls are told to go out and put bird seed into the bird feeders.
“So, Mom, what can I do to help with the gumbo? I brought some good bread to eat with it.”
“Well, I haven’t started it yet. I guess we should do that pretty soon.”
“You haven’t started it?”
“I made a chocolate cinnamon cake.”
“That’s good. I brought vanilla ice cream for that. The gumbo isn’t on?”
“Not yet. I’ll make it in a while.”
“Mom, it’s lunch time. Why don’t you let me fix something else so we can go ahead and eat in a little while.”
“Well, the gumbo should only take about 3 or 4 hours to simmer right. It should be ready by then.”
The girls walk back in and hear this last bit. They suggest we make the mac and cheese for everyone, so I turn to Mom. “I brought mac and cheese for the girls, and there’s plenty of it. How about we make mac and cheese and have Brussels sprouts and salad and French bread?”
“Well, all right. We can do that. What do you think?” she turns to my dad to ask.
“I thought we were having Chicken Parmesan,” Dad answers. “But, I’m very fond of Macaroni and cheese.”
“Change of plans, Dad, after talking with Mom.”
“I don’t know why we can’t wait for the gumbo,” Mom says, peevishly. “It will only take me about an hour to go get the ingredients at the store.”
I’m mildly flummoxed. I had all the makings for the Parmesan at home. Time for evasive tactics again. “And, after lunch, Mom, you can show me those fabrics.”
She brightens up. “Good. You can take them all home.”
I walk into the kitchen to see both daughters glaring at me. “What did we say about not getting talked into taking stuff home!?”
I shrug helplessly, and say, “You tell her, then.” They shake their heads vehemently. “No, thanks. We’ll find room.”
From the den, my Dad calls out, “This isn’t Chinese food, is it?”
