Miscellaneous

My Week as a Full Time Slave

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I spent the last week in Broomall, Pennsylvania, helping my mom out after she had a hip replacement surgery. Or in her words, I have spent the past week as a “full-time slave.” But TBH, this is not fair, because she is recovering incredibly quickly, and she really doesn’t need full time help at all. I did do 6 loads of laundry over the course of a week, but with my excessive amount of gym clothes, that’s not much more than a normal week for me.

By the time I arrived, 8 days post-surgery, she had already graduated from a walker to a cane, and she was walking around without much help at all, albeit at a slow pace. Also, she bought a grabber* from Amazon so when she dropped things, she could pick them up herself. Once she found where she had left her grabber, of course. We hung out at home, watched The Handmaid’s Tale (WTF!?), I read and finished a book (The Light We Lost, by Jill Santopolo, HIGHLY recommend), we ALMOST finished a 750-piece puzzle, AND we did crossword puzzles every day.

But we also left the house! We went on a lot of adventures to the mall, to the library, to a yard sale, to Moe’s (WELCOME TO MOE’S!), to Rita’s for 99 cent custard, to Staples, to Ross; basically we did a lot of shopping and eating. And a LOT of walking! She added on 500 steps/day on her fitbit, and by the time I left, we were up to 7,500/day! She was a walking machine.

However, there were definitely still things she needed help with, and I was happy to help. I don’t take my working body for granted, especially since I tend to sprain my ankle at least once annually. But this experience definitely opened my eyes some more to what would happen if I needed help because my joints weren’t working at 100%. What would you not be able to do if you couldn’t bend more than 45 degrees? Here’s a short list in all of its hilarity:

  • Dry the bottoms of your legs. Nothing like having wet calves. Drip dry anyone?
  • Shave the bottoms of your legs. I’m now a pro. Also, I have learned that I shave OTHER people’s legs much more carefully than I shave my own. On my own, I usually miss an entire strip of hair. Or 3.
  • See anything on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. It was a true (smelly) adventure going through the contents of the bottom shelves. And don’t get me started on the contents of the drawers. The grabber couldn’t slide them open.
  • Carry heavy things. This was my second workout after my free trial pass at Anytime Fitness. Did you read that blog post?
  • Put on socks and shoes. To bunny ears, or not to bunny ears? After 25+ years of tying my own shoes, it was backwards and took me a few times tying my mom’s to realize it was the same as when I tie a hair ribbon in my hair. Which I still do at least 3 times a week. Yes, I am 30.
  • Pick up a roll of paper towels. Again, grabber was no good here. Maybe we should return it to Amazon.
  • Drive. This was a big one. It is rare that a New Yorker who has not driven in almost a year is the driver of choice, but by process of elimination, it was true. I think I make a damn good chauffeur, too. Maybe my mom is even starting to like hip hop. Maybe not. I was jammin’ to Q102, Philly’s #1 Hit Music Station. I think I finally know all the words of Despacito.

Anyway, my life of servitude has officially come to an end, and I am back in NYC, the smelly land of rotting garbage and effed up public transit due to drunk people on the train tracks. Unfortunately, this also means I need to start paying for my own meals and clothes again. I’d do someone else’s laundry for free shopping trips any day of the week. Hell, I do my bf’s for free! Should I move back home? Thoughts?

*”grabber” (n.) (gra-ber) – a term of art. Not its given name according to amazon.

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Miscellaneous

True Life: I Call My Mom Incessantly

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Monday I talked to my mom 4 separate times on the phone. And that doesn’t include the one time I called her and it went to voicemail so I just hung up knowing I’d call her back later. The most surprising part of this? It’s not abnormal at all.

True life: I am 30 years old and I talk to my mom multiple times a day. Generally in 4-minute increments. On my way to the subway. On my way from the subway to work. Walking to grab lunch. Waiting in line for lunch. Even waiting for an abnormally slow elevator. Sometimes it continues into my elevator trip, much to the chagrin of the other elevator passengers.

Last year, I read a piece in Vogue called “I’m an Adult Woman, and I Call My Mother Three Times a Day” and I was like OMG THIS IS ME. It’s so me that I link to it in my About Me page here on the blog. The only difference is that I don’t have kids… yet. I can’t imagine how many times I will call her, then.

I was scrolling through Instagram last night and I came across a buzzfeed video of “Things We Still Ask Our Moms,” which is pretty accurate because honestly, who knows when mascara expires, or how to wash something that says “dry clean only?” Mommy does, that’s who. However, half of the time I call my mom not to ask questions, but just to give her general updates on what EXACTLY I did on that specific day. I can’t bore my boyfriend with this tedium, and my friends definitely don’t give a sh*t, but my mom? SHE HAS TO LOVE ME. And she has to pretend to care.

Back to Monday when I called my mom incessantly. Did I mention it was my dad’s birthday? I talked to him once, too, but there were SO MANY THINGS I had to tell my mom. Examples of the things that just could not wait until the next day to tell her: I got a new book out from the library (Hungry Heart by Jennifer Weiner). I went to the grocery store (has she ever heard of this new flavor of SmartPop?). My boss was being a big B (not a rare occurrence). My spin class had 29 people despite great weather (also not surprising). I clocked so many steps on my Fitbit so I knew I would beat her for the week (I’m always over 10,000, nothing new there). More on my Fitbit obsession another time.

Sometimes I feel bad because I call my mom and it goes something like this:

Me: “Hi! What’s up?”

Mommy: “You know…”

Me: “Well you won’t believe what happened to me in the past 2 hours since the last time I’ve talked to you.”

Should I wait an extra 2 seconds for her to finish her thoughts before I launch into the full saga of events that happened to me between 9 am and 11 am? PROBABLY. But I just can’t help it, I have SO MUCH TO SAY.

Last week, my friend said at dinner, “I’m so stressed about moving, don’t judge me, but I have been calling my mom every day during lunch just to vent.” I answered with “GIRL!! I have talked to my mom every day since FOREVER!” Then I started to think about when it was exactly that I started calling my mom all the time. I think the answer is: as soon as I moved out of her house. Even in undergrad, when most people are specifically trying to get away from their parents, I remember my sophomore year apartment had bad cell reception so I had to step outside on the stairwell to call my mom. About what!? NOTHING. As usual. But it was enough of an emergency that I had to use my secret back door and stand on a deserted fire escape stairwell in the winter to tell her all of that nothing.

Last week I went to Canada, and when I finally called my mom after I touched down back in NYC, she said “I missed you SO MUCH!” Despite, of course, me emailing her 3 times during my 3-day trip, and calling her from the airport right before my plane took off. Some people will read this and say “wow, you must be best friends with your mom then, huh?” And to that I would tell them that my mom always was clear that she never wanted to be my friend, just my mom. In fact, we weren’t even Facebook friends until 4 years ago! We may not be “friends,” but we are really, really, really close.

I gotta go now, I haven’t called my mom yet to tell her what I had for lunch.

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