Day #125 Writing Through COVID-19: On Complaints (or Cut Out My Tongue)

I could not have survived nearly five months with my parental house guests if they were not so cheerful and agreeable. They do not complain. Their first response to my delivery of lukewarm coffee or a frozen pizza is to thank me as if I'd rescued them from a desert island.

Note to self: If I live long enough to be dependent on the care of others, cut my tongue out. I do not want one word of criticism to pass my lips.
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That said, today after washing my parents' bedding, I asked my mother to help me make the bed. Since March, this is something we've done together every two weeks. Until today it was one of our "be of use" activities that was pleasurable in our shared effort.

But today when I enlisted her help, she harumphed, "This is the HARDEST bed to make!"

"It's easier with two of us," I cajoled.

We put on the sheets and a light blanket, but then I noticed the top quilt (which on non-washing days she always places smoothly over the bed herself) was folded against the footboard.

"Should we leave this top quilt off?"

"YES. I HATE that quilt! It's so heavy! It's horrible!"
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After four+ months she tells me she hates the quilt?

The thing is, my mom's complaints about making the bed might actually be remnants of memory from other beds she's made, some of which have--no doubt--been the HARDEST!

I do not think she connected her fussing about the quilt in any way to the hostess who had provided it.
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These days, loving my mother means granting her a wide swath of grace. I refuse to take her complaints today as anything other than annoyance at the life chore of bed-making.

Instead, I will find a bit of joy in her saucy attitude.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Wolf finds his thumb.