Episode 6 - Ship Shape

I realize that few of those reading actually know my mother. So here is a brief glimpse, through the eyes of her only child… Nana Mama.

Grandma is a ‘doer’ – she’s task oriented and a task master. I would put her work ethic up against anyone’s I know. My mother used to drive a school bus route morning and night, ran her own insurance agency six days a week and was a Sunday School Superintendent. She was involved with a dozen committees and organizations on the city, county and state level.

Her life growing up had been difficult. She was validated only for the things she did, never for who she was. Mom started working at age 14 and finally put herself out to pasture at the age of 82, after several years of being site manager of the senior complex in which she lived.

Her work ethic spilled over into her home life. I recall one Christmas morning when my youngest son was about 12. Grandma called to see if he could come over and help her clean the basement.

Me: Mom?! It’s Christmas. I’m not sending him over to help you clean the basement on Christmas.
G: I know it’s Christmas.,. but you're not going to open presents until tonight are you?
Me: AAAAAUUUUGHHH!

Mother could be intimidating. When she chaired a committee, she could get grown men to jump at her command, like young school boys kowtowing to their school master. She spoke with an air of authority that few challenged and if they did, she never backed down. Rules were paramount. No grayscale in her book… rules were there for a reason and everyone follows them.

Now, although I was raised by this highly energized, rule oriented, sometimes aggressive (at least in her day) woman, I am not a clone. I like a clean house, but I’m usually too easily distracted to get it that way … I have my Mom’s work ethic… but I enjoy slacking at times too (Thanks for those genes, Dad). I don’t like conflict or confrontation. Although I admitedly nag family members to pick up after themselves and help keep the house clean – I’ve come to realize some things are more important (to me) than an immaculate house. We clean when company is coming and abide by the motto: “Our house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy”. (And we may be stretching the healthy part).

When Grandma came to live with us, I realized it would be important to give her small tasks (daily) to do. Folding a load of clothes, dusting the living room… just something to make her feel needed and helpful. She’s risen to the occasion and then some. Every day I come home to a clean kitchen… her newspapers reassembled and neatly arranged by day on an end table. She struggles to readjust the knit sheets we use as throws over our still new furniture, making it taut like a slipcover. It’s good to see her feeling at home in the household. We thank her for her help but constantly remind her she isn’t here to earn her keep.

Having been immersed in the senior housing system for over 30 years, Grandma refers to our house as ‘this building.’ “This is such a nice building… are there any other people like me living here?” I assure her she’s the only ‘tenant’ and we did not foresee any additional occupants.

One day she asked us, “Who’s in charge of that room?” DH asks what room she’s referring to. “In there…” she motions toward our home office, which has recently gained some additional items as we made ready the basement for Grandma…. on top of the grandkids’ toys and DH’s computer and media editing equipment. “That’s just our office” DH replies… Grandma informs him that “whoever” is in charge isn’t doing a very good job.

A few nights ago, CeCe was babysitting next door. One of her regular chores is to empty the dishwasher. She hadn’t taken the time to do it before leaving, but I knew she would do it when she got home or in the morning. The supper dishes were stacked. There were pans in the sink I had failed to wash. I was tired and had gone upstairs to watch TV in bed. DH was due home shortly. CeCe arrived home and came upstairs. We said goodnight and she retreated to her room.

A few minutes later, the hall light went on (was DH home? No.) And then…. I heard a familiar voice calling my name…

G: Where are you? Are you home?
Me: Uh…Yes, I'm in bed…

She opened my door (while I wondered how I missed hearing her get up on the baby monitor… must have been when I'd gotten up to get a snack…)

G: I heard someone knocking… didn’t you hear someone knocking?
Me: No, CeCe just got home. You probably just heard her.
G: I’m pretty sure someone was knocking. I didn’t know why you weren’t doing something about it so I came to see… and that kitchen is a mess! Who left it like that?
Me: I guess I did. I’ll get it… tomorrow
G: Well I can't believe what a terrible mess it is.

She turns and descends the two flights of stairs back to her room (which required her to pass again through the war zone known as my kitchen.)

The next morning, CeCe emptied the dishwasher and I reloaded it. DH wiped off the counters while Grandma ate her breakfast. We had become the school boys under the school master’s rule. She’d likely forgotten how upset she’d been the night before. She hadn’t mentioned the messy kitchen... she didn’t need to. Life goes on… and in this case, greater effort will be made to keep things at a higher standard, maybe adopting the motto: Cleanliness is next to godliness...

So ends Episode 6