Back Trouble

My dear mother, Janet's back was bothering her recently and it reminded me of long ago when she injured it. I don't recall how it happened, but my current theory is that she had three children who were such a pain in her...back. Oh, that s right, "neck" is the correct term. Anyway, she was in a lot of pain, and Mom is known for having a high pain-tolerance.

In this case, however the injury started, the result was a shock to the three of us, and even to my dad. We went from having a very active, busy-bee mother, who anticipated our needs, to a mother who was broken. The doctor made her a very hard plastic back brace and confined her to bed rest for several weeks. She was allowed to get up and walk the few steps to the bathroom, but that was it.

The three of us children suddenly gained an appreciation for all that Mom did for us, because, with no warning, we had total system failure. Nothing was being done. I was the oldest and even though I was usually a responsible lad, I was definitely indulged by my mother, and didn't have to fend for myself very much. Suddenly, I was plunged into being the Head of the Household while my Dad was at work.

I quickly learned that, at the very least, my sisters needed to be fed on a multiple times per day schedule. Who knew? At first they quite happily ate all the snacks I left out instead of meals. In theory, it seems like kid heaven, but after more than one day with no actual sustenance and riding a sugar-high roller coaster, no one was happy with my idea, including me.



Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack!


When we began to trip over the dog hair on the carpet, I figured out how to use the vacuum cleaner. I can't say I was vigilant about it, but I made an effort. I had dabbled at cooking before, but I now had two little food critics, who were used to eating at Mom's, which boasted simple fare, but everyone had always given 4 stars. I was in the negative star category. Even Dad was not impressed. I started trotting down the hall to Mom's infirmary, to consult with her on every aspect of her culinary expertise. She did not get much rest, as the infidels wanted more than one meal per day.

However, I wasn't really disturbing Mom while she was resting. Here was another shock for us- Mom was a bad patient. She was excellent at taking care of others. Our mother was a combo of Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton. We had a tray that sat on the bed when you were too sick to eat at the table, and even if you didn't feel like eating, you were served weak tea and toast. She had cool compresses to make you feel better. She had medications for every symptom. With the attention you got from being sick, all of us tried faking it at some point, but she always figured that out.

Mom's idea of torture

We found out that asking Mom to lie in bed all day was close to torture for her. She preferred to be the one taking care of others. She wanted to be up and involved and doing something, ANYTHING! Meal consultant was a role that she looked forward to me bugging her about.

My one area of new housekeeping skills where I excelled was doing the laundry. There were 5 of us and we had a very small top-load apartment washer that did little mini loads and then were transferred by hand to the spinning tube. Mom had squeezed a full-sized dryer into her bedroom at this point, as soon as Karin's crib was out of that corner. Hanging clothes out to dry in the country is often very romanticized. The reality is not quite so charming when you are doing it with your mittens on in February. Sheets may smell "outdoor fresh," but a towel dried on the line will abrade your skin like 60 grit sandpaper. Mom insisted that we have a dryer.

A lovely fantasy

Laundry was so easy. You put it in- you take it out. A machine does all the work for you. You don't have to stand there watching it. You can be off doing other things. As I was quickly learning, this was not watching soap operas and sitting with your feet up, eating bonbons. "Other things" meant other crucial things that prevented familial collapse. My mother praised me for keeping up on the laundry. I think I made her feel a bit incompetent in this one housekeeping arena. I was proud of doing something right. It was a skill that endured for years and helped more than one college freshman from trying to look masculine in a pink T-shirt. It's got to be sorted according to color, boys!

By the time Mom was about to be released from bed-prison, I was taking requests in the kitchen. She told me she had a taste for her banana cake. I could now follow a recipe and knew that cooking was an expressive art and baking was science. Experimentation there could lead to failure. I made the banana cake and it turned out just right. I decided I could surprise mom by adding food coloring to the white icing. Bananas are yellow, right?

A paler version of my icing.

Apparently, one should add food coloring by the drop and not by the little bottle. Apparently, once one has added too much, one can't make it less "vibrant." Apparently, one can make a new color that is not found in nature, but is quite popular in plastic toys made by Fisher Price. Apparently, this familiar color is far too tempting to a toddler, who pulled her little stool up to the refrigerator while her parent stand-in was busy. Apparently the color was quite edible to little Karin's palate, as she used her finger to remove all the icing from the cake. I must say I couldn't be angry. It was an improvement. Apparently, one can re-frost a cake with white icing and no one dies from toddler germs.

Some folding left to do...

 Just before Mom's recovery, we had a visit from our neighbor. She took away almost all of my laundry awards in one moment when she walked into our former living room. I liked doing the laundry, true, but I was running a bit behind on the folding of it. As in, I had dumped each basketful on any available seat to be folded later "when I had time." That you will never have time is a basic fact that every mother knows, but I was new at this. My sisters and I were wearing our bathing suits every day. If they ran through the sprinkler outside, that counted as a bath AND clean clothes, right? I thought it was ingenious. Besides, my sisters could jump into the mountainous piles of clean clothes, providing hours of entertainment. My Dad had noticed the flaw in my system, but it was hardly his most pressing concern with my mother out-of-commission. Since he could not wear a bathing suit to work, he would root through the piles for his clean work clothes.

Hey, it was all clean!

I couldn't be angry at Peg, our neighbor, about highlighting my shortcoming. She and her oldest daughter stayed and folded several weeks worth of laundry and helped me put it away in the empty dressers and closets. Everyone was now able to wear something other than a bathing suit if they wanted. Mom was soon up and back to happily providing for all our needs, but we all pitched in to help after that. We all appreciated her much more, but secretly we worried that she might hurt her back. No one wanted to go back to the chaos of me being in charge. We might have to wear bathing suits in the Winter.