Deuce

So. Guys. We've talked about peeing (here, here, and here), but what about POOPing? Of all bodily functions the General Surgeon should care for, shouldn't pooping come first? I mean, I'm not a urologist! (And come on, with the name of this blog, I don't know why it took so long. Because literally, this is story about... well, sh*t my mom did.)

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Our son was about 4 months old, when in a fit of lunacy, I decided that it would be a splendid idea to rent a condo in Park City for a family vacation. My husband had a conference in Park City, so why not bring my parents, my sister, and our infant son and stay in a condo that is literally 45 minutes away from our son's familiar crib and room??? Like many vacation condos, the space was fairly cramped, but adequate for us all. Downstairs had the living area and kitchen, and behind kitchen was a bedroom that we gave to my parents so they wouldn't have to use the stairs. And then next to the kitchen was a bathroom that they could use.

It was about 8 or 9pm, and we had just finished putting our son to sleep. My husband headed back downstairs and then noticed a terrible smell. What was that? It smelled like... poop? He rounded the corner to see my mom, sitting on the toilet, with the door open. Pooping.

HUSBAND: Mom, why did you leave the door open???
MOM: Oh. Sorry.

Just a foreshadowing: This was not the last time this happened...

Oops! ... She did it again

My mom- and hence, my parents, never can be anywhere on time. So, things like airplane travel can be very difficult for them. It is not uncommon that they will miss flights while traveling. When I was a kid, I remember spending several hours in O'Hare because my mom wanted my sister to see her cousin's bedroom. When we finally arrived to the airport, they wouldn't let us check our luggage because it was too late. I remember my dad trying to bargain with the poor ticket counter guy: "Can we just carry the luggage on?" No, it won't fit into the overhead bins. "If there are empty seats on the flight, we can just put our luggage on the seats." No sir, you are not allowed to do that. Anyways, you won't be able to get those bags past security- they won't fit into the X-ray screening machine.

So that was that, and we got bounced from standby flight to standby flight for several hours. I recall getting mighty bored in that airport, and my sister and I playing games for hours to pass the time.

My parents and I also missed our flight when we were headed to New York in 2002 to drop me off for college.

And my mom just missed a flight this past week heading back from Salt Lake City to LA.

Missing domestic flights is a bit of an annoyance, but imagine the stakes when my parents are traveling internationally. A few years ago, they went to Taiwan with my mom's sister, Chris. (The same aunt mentioned at the end of this story.)

On their return flight, it seemed that they- shockingly, were running behind. My dad texted my sister and I to let us know...

So it seems like my parents made their flight back from Taiwan, but my poor aunt was the sacrificial lamb. (And don't worry, Chris gets back home eventually. And then my parents start leaving her in Salt Lake City randomly. Oh, more stories for later times...)

(*To reference my lack of surprise about their overweight luggage, see this post.)

Peeping Mom

So, I do yoga at CorePower. They have two classes I like to take, CorePower 1 and Hot Power Fusion. I've taken my parents to CorePower 1 before, but never to Hot Power Fusion. Somehow, against my better judgment, I asked my mom if she'd like to go with me to Hot Power Fusion.

ME: Mom, it's a heated class, so don't forget to bring a towel and a water bottle.

MOM: Okay, okay.

ME: Mom, yoga class starts on time. And they lock the door if you aren't there on time. Class is at 9:30am. Can you be there on time?

MOM: Of course, of course.

ME: No, really, Mom. Like you won't be able to get in if you're late.

MOM: Yes, yes, I'll be on time.

ME: They'll lock the door. If you are going to be late, you're better off not showing up at all.

MOM: Yes, yes. Okay.

ME: ...Okaaay....

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The next morning, I text her that I might be late myself, since I'm dropping off the kids. But once I realize that I'll be able to make it, I text her to let her know.

And then, I arrive at class. No Mom. I text her. No response. So finally, I put my phone in my locker and go into class. I lay out my mat on the side of the room furthest from the wall of windows. Class starts, and I'm a little disappointed. To be completely honest, my mom is always bragging at how fit she is, I sort of wanted to see if this class would be hard for her and then I could show off. Not the point of yoga, I am aware. (And also, I'm really not that good at yoga either.)

Twenty minutes into class, out of the corner of my eye, I see somebody scurrying by to the door. Mom. Of course, the door is locked. I see her scurry back and forth a few times, and then she's gone. I go back to my breathing and following the calm voice of the yoga instructor.

And then I see her again. She is standing at the window, face and hands pressed against the glass, peering inside.

I feel my blood begin to boil. And not because it's a million degrees in yoga class, which it is. I keep telling myself to ignore her, breathe, and don't let her destroy my zen.

I'd also like to point out that a google search of "face pressed against glass" brings up lots of great finds...

We are at least 5 poses away from the end of class. Breathe, Alice, in... out... don't look at the window... 

We finally settle into the final shavasana (corpse pose) and I'm so glad I get to close my eyes for the rest of class and not see what I know is over at the window...

What I'm seeing on the backs of my eyelids during shavasana...

My body is still, but my mind begins to race. What do I say to her now? I am so angry and annoyed, but I don't want to let her actions affect the usual peace and focus that follows my yoga practice.

So I channel my inner Elsa. I emerge from shavasana, roll up my mat, fold up my towel, and head to the locker room. I see Mom coming into the studio, brushing brusquely by the yoga instructor, who while she passes, tells her, "You know, what you were doing was very distracting..."

My mom interrupts, "I'm here to see my daughter!"

Sh*t. Cover blown. I walk into the locker room, and my mom follows me. I remove my belongings from my locker and walk out to my car, and my mom catches up to me there.

"Mom, I can't deal with this right now, " I tell her. Then I get into my car and leave. 😳

Where did Mom go?

(Relevant backstory: Recently, we moved to a new house. Due to construction issues, we have one usable bathroom upstairs, and another downstairs. The one upstairs is sort of the master and also shared with the kids, so it's sort of a mess and disaster. So often when we have company, we ask them to use the downstairs bathroom.)

My parents were visiting soon after our second child was born. It was a great blessing to be able to have them come help us out- especially with caring for our first child, E, while we were busy with the second. It was dinner time, so we asked my parents to help E wash his hands downstairs. Ah-gong (maternal grandpa), Ah-ma (maternal grandma), and E all went downstairs, and then only Ah-gong and E returned.

And then 15 minutes passed.

"Where's Mom," I asked. Nobody knew. I nudged Lee, "Hey, maybe you should check downstairs. She likes to go through people's papers and things- maybe she's in your office." And yes- true story, my sister's boyfriend has found her rifling through his mail and bills. Lee bolted downstairs and then returned to report:

"So I went downstairs, and I didn't see your mom. And then I heard this splashing sound and the door to the bathroom was open. So I go up to the door, and go, 'Mom?' And then a hand comes out of the tub and pulls the curtain shut."

"WHAT?! She was taking a bath?!" She had not asked us if she could take a bath.

"Yeah! And I asked her if she had fresh clothes. She did not. I asked her if she had a towel. And she said she was just going to use one of the ones hanging on the rack. And I was like, E wipes his hands on those towels! You were going to wipe your genitals on that towel and then put it back without telling us?!" (Yes, she was. Since you are completely clean after you come out of the bath, this is okay.)

Some people are unusually sensitive about where their towels have been. Some... are not.

I spent the remainder of my mom's unauthorized random bath trying to be calm and rational when she reappeared. I'll spare you the entire conversation, but here are some of her choice justifications:

"If you hadn't found out, you wouldn't have cared."
"If I had asked, you would have said no."

The Grandeur Residence for the Elderly

Sadly, I have to change the name of my parent's business for the sake of keeping an eye out for my parents' business interests. But these stories are just way too good not to share.

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There comes a point in every parent's life when all the kids have finally moved out of the house and the house becomes full of unused rooms. Some parents downsize, and some parents repurpose and create a new office or workout room. Still others just leave everything just as is and freeze the room in time. Not my mother. She started an assisted living facility.

I can't even begin to imagine where to start when telling you all about this. So let's just start with the cars. In order to advertise, they put large decal stickers on my dad's minivan and also their extra car- a blue Camry.

Even better was when I visited LA and got to drive around in this blue Camry. I had been ignoring the stickers until I pulled up to pick up some friends and noticed the puzzled looks on their faces. Yeah... this is our ride. And they even got somebody trendy to name their different assisted living sites: The La Canada. The Glendora. Those were on the stickers too.

And strangely, the name of the facility was different almost everywhere it was written. On the cars: The Grandeur Residence for the Elderly. On the letterhead: The Grand Residence for the Elderly. On the website: The Grandeur Residence for Elders. It was a wonder that anybody could ever figure it out.

For the years that my parents were running this business, when I visited home, there would be a different random stranger in our large echoey living room, sitting on a strangely distant couch, watching Golden Girl reruns all day with the volume turned all the way up. She would ignore us, and I would generally ignore her except for the polite smile and nod- if she even glanced away from the TV when I walked in. But there she would be, day after day, as I came and went from the house. And then on another visit, another year, there would be nobody.

Dishwasher is broken

Tons of family crammed into our small space for Thanksgiving

After nearly 5 years of blissful marital living in the small condo we bought when we moved out to Salt Lake City, and 1.5 years of cramped family living in the same small condo, my husband and I finally moved to a larger space. We ended up deciding to sell our condo to my parents, so they could have a place to stay when they visited. This was an idea that I was pretty okay with, but my husband was very apprehensive about.

There is a ton more backstory that I'll address at another time (once I can think about it calmly without experiencing sudden tachycardia...) but I should have anticipated that they would ask us about everything going wrong in the condo.

For instance, this cryptic text message:
MOM: Dad said the upstairs one window can't open , who you use to help . First day OK

And then later on my husband told me that my dad had said the dishwasher was broken. There were bubbles coming out from the bottom of the dishwasher onto the floor.

"Oh," I told him, "I've made that mistake before. They just used dish soap instead of dishwasher detergent."

"No," He replied, "Your dad said that they definitely bought dishwasher detergent, and didn't use the dish soap. He said that it came in a ball, maybe one of those power ball things. I asked him to send me a picture of it, but he hasn't yet."

"Was it a lot of bubbles? Or just a little?"

"He said just a little."

"Oh, it's probably fine. Maybe it was just a one time thing. Doesn't make sense though, the dishwasher was working just fine when we left."

So I forgot about it until my husband went back to the condo to pick something up. That night I was exhausted from a long day at work and was still doing work at home, when he sat down across from me on the couch: "Come here come here, I want to show you these photos."

This was the dishwasher detergent they had been using. Good for use in high efficiency washers, I suppose. Because just like clothes, who doesn't want their dishes pro-whitened to a dazzling white?

And to be fair, there's nothing on the bottle that says it's meant for clothes washing machines, versus dish washing machines.
I mean- "regular loads"? Of what? Dishes? Or clothes?
"As with all colored loads"? I have white dishes and colored dishes. I don't usually separate them for washing, but I suppose my colored dishes could run into the whites and make them less "dazzling white."

TT;CB (Too tight; couldn't breathe)

Recently, my parents were visiting town. It was cold enough that I was wearing a Mountain Hardware down micro puff jacket that I've owned for a while, and my mom was admiring it. She was asking where she could get one too, so we took her to the Patagonia Outlet Store to see if we could find her something at a good price. She had just come from playing tennis, and was wearing a jacket over her tennis dress. I thought nothing of it until she started removing her jacket in order to try on new jackets, and I saw this:

And then I started chasing her around the store, giving her jacket back so it didn't look like she was wearing a tennis dress with no bra and gashes cut into it.

"Moooommm," I hissed at her, "What happened to your dress???"

"Oh," she replied, "It was too tight, I can't breathe."