No love for the food

My mom is a wonderful person who loves people unconditionally. This is not to be said of food. When we go to an Italian restaurant, she always orders fettuccine alfredo, but asks for the alfredo sauce on the side. Garlic bread, like at Olive Garden, is asked for without garlic.  She is picky, picky, picky.

Which is fun, fun, fun for me! Tonight for dinner she wanted a baked potato and ham, but I couldn't just bake the potato - oh no. First, in the microwave in a minute, thirty. Then, back in for another minute. Then out! Stripped of peel and cut into big chunks. And only big chunks. If they were too small, I would have had to bake another potato. Would that annoy you? 'Cause, yaurgh!, I'm about to wring her neck!!

Sigh. I love her, it's just been such a sudden and strange switch. A Freaky Hospital Friday. She took care of me and now I'm taking care of her. And she still must feel that I'm the child that needs taking care of, because she still micromanages me. Helpful when I have a migraine and can't remember my name; notsomuch now.  She was sitting in the chair, covered in the blanket from the bed, and when I took it off her so she could get up, she said, 'Put it back on the bed, hon.' No, really? Put the blanket back on the bed it came off of? I never would have figured that out