Oh, I Could Never Tell My Parents That!

In my childhood, my mother was the Sergeant and I was the private-in-training. She took this job seriously and I am grateful. We tangled, we fussed and we certainly had our years of tussles.

I'm not sure how she did it. She let me go from the child she was responsible for to a friend. To his credit, my father was and is a great buffer.

Lots of my friends are close with their parents. They love them and care for them. I try to do the same and I know I make them crazy sometimes. My mother still falls into drill Sergeant mode and I still become the rebellious child. (This is usually when one of us hangs up.)

We have our own version of communication. If I do something stupid or embarrassing, I tell my mother and she tells my father. If I'm scared, I do not hesitate to tell them. If I'm angry, I like to tell my mother because I'm convinced she has some magical powers and maybe she can put the whammy on them.

We're all clued in that we talk about each other. If I'm with my father, my mother is certain we are dissecting her. When she says to me, "your father and I were talking last night." I get a little nervous. My father gave up long ago -- he knows we discuss him.

I've tried to figure out how this works and I think it comes down to brutal honesty and wacky humor. When my father had a bad reaction (not life-threatening) to a medication last week, my mother described it to me in detail. I laughed so hard the husband was considering CPR.

Eavesdropping

Yep, I'm in my little office and the oldies are in the kitchen having their breakfast. The Today Show is on in both rooms. On the television, someone is skating on the Rockefeller Center rink. I just heard the mother-in-law say, "I wish I could skate like that."

Hello! You're still bouncing off walls. By the way, this is not a creative expression. It is an entirely accurate and scary description.

The oldies are supposed to see the doctor today and the husband is coming home mid-day to take them. She doesn't want to go. There was some discussion/disagreement this morning about whether or not she will go. I left the room thinking, Leave Me Out of It. Now I heard her say to her husband, "I know Sheri talked to the doctor but he hasn't called ME. That's not my kind of doctor."

Hello! You went three days without the ability to put together a coherent sentence. I have talked to the doctor. The husband has talked to the doctor repeatedly.

If I had to make a bet, I'd say the odds are 50-50. The husband can be pretty forceful but she can dig in her heels with the best of them.

She'll get over being miffed with the doctor; she adores him.

I'm skating a line here too. I try to balance honesty with humane treatment. There is no reason to tell her every detail of the last few days because she would only be hurt and humiliated. On the other hand, her irrational irritation with the doctor (or the husband) makes me want to sit her down and give her the blow-by-blow.

I know why she's avoiding the doctor. She's afraid he'll want to admit her into the hospital. I should go in her place. I could ask to be committed to a mental hospital. Instead, I'll stick it out. I don't think they'd let me take the husband or my dog.