Trust Me

In what Jean Piaget called the sensorimotor stage of cognitive development, from birth to about two, children achieve object permanence. This is the ability to understand that when a person plays peek-a-boo, stepping behind a barrier to “disappear,” the person hasn’t actually left even though they can’t be seen. In a later, pre-operative stage, generally between ages two through six, there is a skill that children acquire called conservation. The example usually given to illustrate it is when a person can distinguish that the amount of liquid poured from a short, fat glass that is completely full into a tall thin glass that becomes only half full is the same in quantity. Today I am wondering if it is possible to lose touch with such cognitive skills once they have been attained, or does Mom really consider me unreliable?

We go through some, in my mind, unnecessary rituals these days; and a greater variety of them is accumulating. It started out with asking me every Saturday if I would curl her hair after she washes it so that it will look nice for church. Why would I say no? I did it the last Saturday and the one before that; but, yes, I’m happy to curl your hair today, too. We also have to reestablish on a nightly basis that I will put drops in her eyes and let the cat in even though those things have been taking place for years. I think the basis for needing these reassurances is that she feels she is a burden and must be polite in re-asking the favors to let us know we are not being taken for granted. But, I ask you, is EVERY NIGHT really necessary?

Recently, I am loathe to say through tightened jaws, we have added to the repertoire. I now have to assert, when prompted, that I still feed the fish and her cat. I mean, come on! Does she actually consider it a possibility that I would let them starve? Me? The unofficial humane society of Eastern Oregon? (*sigh*) I mean, I was stunned the other night when, after I assured her that I had just fed Ellie, she gave me that motherly look of skepticism and pointedly said that Ellie’s dish in the kitchen was empty. (Grrr.) I calmly, though just as pointedly, said that the dish was empty because she ate the food and went outside and that I would feed her again, like ALWAYS, when she came back in for bed.

In all fairness, Mom has always had this tendency, but I think that it is amplified by my taking over more of the responsibilities that were hers for 95 years. She is partly afraid that she will forget as much as that I will forget and even though those things are too hard for her now, she misses being able to do them, being needed, and being active. I get it. (*duck head here and shift feet*) It is just difficult to not take it personally when your very motives and reliability are questioned to the point of insinuation. I really feel that if she doesn’t SEE me do something, she cannot completely believe that I did it; part of her must feel that I am just placating her.

This is when I pray for patience and God answers that he is giving many opportunities to practice it, how many more do I want? I am sure Mom is having the same conversation with him. I wonder which of us will go crazy first.