This M day was different.  Sean was working, Doc is away at a lacrosse tourney with Mn son, and Mom and I were alone.  I decided I would try, really try, to give her my full attention and see if that made any difference in how the weekend fell out.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my mom.  She taught me to read before I started school, has been a firm supporter and a good babysitter when I needed it.  She is also emotionally immature, is only happy when she has something to worry about, is chronically pessimistic, and is a hypochondriac.  So time together tends to wear thin on me after a few hours.

She came out Saturday at noon for a mother-daughter dinner at a local church that has become a tradition.  we spent the afternoon watching HGTV shows she likes and relaxing before dresssing.  It was a nice evening, neither of us had to cook, and she even won a prize for being the oldest mother there with the oldest daughter…no comment.

We came home and watched a movie together, Hugh Laurie in “Maybe, Baby,” and even her snoring on and off during it didn’t phase me.  There was a younger, gentler Hugh trying to make Joely Richardson preggers and several humping scenes held me just fine.  After a full evening, we both retired to sleep.  I’d ignored her worrying about a predicted storm for Sunday, boosted her worries about her new BP meds.  So far, so good.

The big Sunday dawned on a horrible storm hitting us, tornado watches, roaring winds, TV satellite going in and out, all 3 dogs shivering from thunder.  Plans to head to a MDay brunch at a local restaurant followed by a visit to the nursing home were squashed.  I defrosted two hefty steaks and smiled a lot.  We stayed in.  We watched “The Thin Man Goes Home” (love NIck and Nora).  We napped.  We watched “Stranger than Fiction” and Mom only snored a few times.  I did the Sunday crossword puzzle and walked the dogs in between showers.  We ate those steaks with pasta  and pesto sauce and on a whim I whipped up a batch hot chocolate chip cookies and we ate those, too.  I left the novel and the wash and the chores and the cleaning alone and just spent time with her.  I clipped her dog’s toenails and checked the balance in her checkbook.  I even got her to sit on the ledge and put her legs and feet in the hot tub.  I gave her my total attention.  I felt like a saint.

She slept over Sunday night, too, but sat through “Wire in the Blood” with me, which was DVR’d on my bedrm TV.  We laughed over her having to use two stepstools to get into my high bed–I need two steps, too.  Moderate snoring but I kept the volume up high.

The next morning she was packed early and ready to leave for home (25 minutes away, but hey, I live in the ‘country’ and she lives in ‘town’).  She kissed me and told me she’d loved spending quality time with me and that it felt like a mini-vacation.  She left and I got ready to buckle down to all of the work and things I’d ignored for two entire days.  It took me half of Monday to get them done, and when I sat down at the computer to get back to work, I had trouble getting into it.  It took me a minute to realize what was missing.

No snoring; no clicking on the weather channel every five minutes to check the storm progress, no small dog terrorizing my own two.  It was quiet, and peaceful, and strangely lonely.  I realized I had allowed myself to enjoy her company, and all it had taken was a heavy dose of patience on my end and a determination to relax and enjoy her company.

And I had.

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