The offspring are off from school this week; I don't know how I'll ever get to my writing. I did manage to clean and reorganize the linen closet, though. What a miracle.
I'm already losing sleep over Child Two's Communion party. It's not for a couple of weeks, and usually I'd be in full-on planning mode because there's nothing I love more than a party, but my mother is sick. It's dampened my enthusiasm. When Child One made her First Communion, Mom came to the store with us to help pick out the dress, and she helped me choose the flowers for the tables.
Yesterday we took her to the park in her wheelchair. The nurse's aide slipped out at 11:20 to attend 12:00 Mass two blocks away, so I was left to get Mom dressed. I have absolutely no training in lifting a person who can't help herself, but I managed it.
You couldn't ask for more beautiful weather, but it was tragic sitting on a bench watching my poor mother struggle to eat the stale sandwich my brother-in-law picked up at the supermarket (D'Agostino's on 1st and 53rd, if you'd like to avoid stale sandwiches). Ten months ago, Mom was driving my father and his empties to the bottle return at Stop & Shop.
On the way down to the park, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror next to my parents' elevator. Even though I exercise regularly, my legs looked strange, narrow on the bottom and wide on top. I looked like a dreidel.
My sister later informed me that the cut of my jeans was passe, and that nobody is wearing them nipped at the ankle anymore. She also said I should wear jeans with a lower waist.
So I took the low-waist jeans I bought last year out of my drawer this morning and put them on. I suppose I do look better, even if I've been fighting carpenter's crack most of the day.