A visit with the mother-in-law
The generation gap isn’t as wide as I thought. Granted, we’re 23
years apart, but my Mother-In-Law and I looked at each other with
trepidation when we walked into the shoe store. It was a place that
she’d gone to only three years before on her last visit to the left
coast. She loves the outlets and anticipates her visits, not only
to see the grandkids, but for the trips to the sprawling stores. I
warned her that since it was the holiday season, to expect a
crowd.
There was no reason to worry.
A visit with the mother-in-law
The generation gap isn’t as wide as I thought. Granted, we’re 23 years apart, but my Mother-In-Law and I looked at each other with trepidation when we walked into the shoe store. It was a place that she’d gone to only three years before on her last visit to the left coast. She loves the outlets and anticipates her visits, not only to see the grandkids, but for the trips to the sprawling stores. I warned her that since it was the holiday season, to expect a crowd.
There was no reason to worry.
This time, the store wasn’t housing any soft leather shoes, ready for a work day or a night on the town. It was filled with what is politely called, Sensible or Comfortable shoes. As far as the eye could see, there were rows and rows and stacks of boxes upon boxes of what I call Old Lady Shoes. I’d always wondered where all the ladies pushing shopping carts at Safeway at less than lightening speed were getting all of those shoes.
It was amazing, and we were both speechless. It was a store that catered to the hip 80-something.
The young(ish) gal at the register was not amused by us, as we giggled and sifted through waffle-soled delights and sexily wedged orthopedics. In our defense, we thought we were whispering, but since we were the only two customers, I am sure we were quite audible.
On the way back to the car, we agreed that we’d keep that place in mind for our later years.
All of that making fun of our inevitable futures had made us hungry so we had lunch at a spot near the shopping hub, for which I was grateful because I try not to cook when my Mother-In-Law is visiting. Not because I am lazy. Well, not entirely. You all may remember from my Honeymoon days, that I am not exactly Julia Child.
I mentally counted how many meals I would have to make while she is here. Okay, 11 days, three meals a day. Uh-oh, 33. Breakfast: coffee, English muffin, yogurt or cereal. Easy. So, now it’s 22 meals. Plus, she is not big into breakfast. Lunch is harder. She’s more alert and might expect miracles.
Day 2 (today). I don’t normally “make lunch” as much as nuke Spaghetti O’s or grab handfuls of crackers. I was a tuna salad-on-toast craftsman, today. I almost impressed myself, with perfectly square bits of celery and onion but tried to act like I do it all the time. Orange wedges and chips adorned The Kids plates. I waited with bated breath. Which kid was going to rat me out? I’ll bet it’ll be The Girl. I told her she had to fold a load of laundry earlier.
I can hear it now, “Geez, Mom. You never make a lunch with all of the food groups.”
I was safe. Neither could say a word, except, “Can I have another sandwich?”
I laughed nervously. “You’d think I never feed them.”
After, I cleaned the kitchen until it shone and Ma said, “Time to take a break and then do it all again for dinner.”
Dinner? I thought about hauling her to the outlets for endless shopping excursions every day so at least I could get out of making at least one meal a day. I get the feeling she might not be as enthusiastic about my tuna salad for the remaining 10 days. And besides, if I did, I would need those ever so sexy orthopedics.
