Fish fingers, hash browns, veg with miso butter

This morning I woke up nice and early, ready to help mum get ready for church. I got up, fed Suki, used the bathroom, went into my room and opened the curtains… and mum slept on.

So I got up again, went to the dryer in the conservatory to get some clean, dry clothes, and shut the conservatory door with slightly more force than it really deserved.

At that, mum called a dozy “hello?”

“Good morning,” I called back. “It’s time to get up for church.”

“Church? No. I don’t think so.”

That was a problem as, selflessly, I know mum really wanted to go to church and would be upset with herself if she didn’t go. More selfishly, I would be upset if she didn’t go and give me 90 minutes or so of peace.

So I opted for a bit of manipulation of my own: I said “oh, OK, I’ll tell Charolais you don’t want to go”.

After a bit of changing her mind back and forwards, mum washed, got dressed, and eventually went out to church. I took my 90 minutes of peace and used it in a highly productive way: I sat on the bed with a book and Suki snuggled against my hip.

I do feel a bit guilty at the thought of taking Suki away from mum when I move out, but Suki is just so much more relaxed when mum isn’t around. She sprawled out on the bed, and even let me stroke her lovely, soft white belly. As far as Suki is concerned, I’m her person: when mum wants to stroke her, she accepts it quite happily, but when Suki wants to be , she comes to me.

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This evening I mentioned to mum that, as it’s the day before groceries are delivered, dinner would be a bit “what can I find in the freezer?” With the casual cruelty of both dementia and of mum being mum, she replied “you do that a lot. Isn’t there someone else who can bring us more food?”

I was briefly tempted to cook pasta, perhaps with a nice, chilli-spiked tomato sauce – if she’s not happy with my catering, let’s do her something she really won’t be happy with. But of course I’m too nice for that, so instead I cooked her a lamb and mint burger and hash browns. For myself, I cooked the rest of the fish fingers that mum asked me to buy for her then stated she didn’t like.

Mum served up her food, looked at her plate, and asked if there wasn’t something else she could have with it. My suggestions, of salad dressing or even, through gritted teeth, cream – were rejected.

She ate her meal, then asked what there was for ‘after’. My offered selection was apparently disappointing, so she just had a chocolate sundae, half a dozen orange chocolates, a choc nut ice cream cone, and half a dozen dark chocolate digestives.

Tomorrow our cover cleaner is coming – Lil being on holiday – so I will ask their help to try to find the source of the ongoing fly problem. We also have a delivery of groceries due, so mum can do her weekly switch from “there’s nothing to eat” from “why did you order all this food?”

And so the never-ending wheel goes on. Sigh.