, , ,

The funny thing about The Mom’s new danger-seeking thrills, is that we know she’s been up to this sort of foolishness for years.

It runs in her family, though, we don’t normally call it living on the edge, or flirting with danger or whatever, we call it Being Stubborn.

Take for example, dearly departed Aunt M. At something like the tender age of 75, and just shy of totally nuts, Aunt M lived on her own in a ramshackle house (or so I’m told as she steadfastly refused to ever part with the address, so as to discourage visitors who might decide things had taken a turn for the worst). This funny old house was like all funny old houses, it was a bit worse for wear. But Aunt M, not being one to take these things lying down, took things into her own hands.

This involved getting up on her table – which she’d fixed herself and so three of the four legs were okay-ish, the other one… not so much. So up on this wobbly table, she’d fix the lights or change the lightbulb, it was never clear. She’d also chase vermin around the house with a broom.

When it was suggested that perhaps she might get somebody in to help out with this sort of thing, the scoffing was so loud and unending that it was never mentioned again. Stubborn, you see. Just like The Mom.

And speaking of The Mom and her slapdash ways, that’s really the thing. It’s not so much life on the edge she’s after, it’s that she just wants to be bloody done with it. One learns quickly to not ask too many questions because the answers are far scarier than you’d think they would be.

Say, for instance, in our old house. Before we moved, The Mom had to tidy up some of Your Father’s rather suspicious handiwork. So after learning that the wiring he’d done wasn’t anywhere near up to code, she simply got the glue gun out and glued all the visible wires into places where they were no longer visible. Out of sight, out of mind, you see.

And, in a rather ironic twist of events, whilst The Mom is rather cavalier with her own health and safety, she hovers over the rest of us, issuing forth reminders, tips and the like so that no harm will come to us.

When I lived with her last, and come to think of it, every time I’m home in the winter and I go out for a walk, she tells me to be careful on the ice. Even if it’s not icy. I’ve always waved her off, telling her that I did grow up in the Frozen White North and am fairly used to ice and snow. Though, of course, my luck being what it is, I went and slipped and broke my stupid wrist. In front of her house.

Now, if I can slip and fall and hurt myself, surely it is within the realm of possibility that she too can fall and hurt herself. But I suppose that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… I didn’t learn even though she fairly drilled it into my head that the ice was slippery and my boots not up to the task. So I guess The Mom won’t listen no matter how much we tell her to be careful.

Until, of course, she does herself harm. And then, when she’s lying in her bed, infirm, and at our mercy, perhaps she might think about being a little bit more careful in the future.