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....

-------------------------

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.

------------------

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.