Every morning, Mother and I play The Sock Game. When I come out to the living room to wake her where she’s fallen asleep on the couch, I find where she’s hidden her socks (sometimes behind the pillow, more recently shoved way down into the toe of one of her shoes so they are not as easily detected), remove them from their hiding place, tell her to be sure to get clean socks, and then put them in her hamper, along with yesterday’s clothing she has set on the end of her bed.
She then goes into her room, gets dressed with fresh clothes from the closet (since I’ve taken away the clothing she had planned to wear), and proceeds to the bathroom to tidy the hair around her face and put on lipstick. Her next stop is the living room couch, where she sits down and realizes that her sock cache has been raided and she cannot finish dressing. Here’s where the frustrating part (for me) comes in. She doesn’t want to expend the energy to get up and go back to her room, and so continues to sit there until I happen by, usually about the time the driver is due to arrive, and ask her why she doesn’t have her shoes on. At this point, she asks me to get her some socks.
This morning, she watches me pull yesterday’s socks out of her shoes, and I remind her to get clean socks. When I find her later just sitting there, slippers still on, and she requests clean socks, I yell (because she’s deaf and because I am frustrated) that she needs to get clean socks EVERY MORNING! She remains unruffled (because she’s deaf and because my impatience doesn’t faze her) and tells me, “Well, I need socks, now.”
I get socks for her. She starts putting them on as I get more coffee. Then she calls out, “My ride is here!”, and I come back around the corner to see her struggling with her second sock, unsuccessfully trying to shove her toes into the heel corner. I help reorient the sock on her foot, for which she, as always, graciously thanks me, and she gets her shoes on while I put the now-barking dogs into the studio.
I open the door for the driver, help Mom get her sweater on, grab the comb from the lamp table to tidy her hair in the back as she’s walking toward the door, and vent to the driver about this morning’s version of The Sock Game.
And tomorrow, I’m sure, we’ll get to do it all again.
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