We're settling in.

It's gotten easier, a little, or maybe it's just that I'm expecting less.

Today Mom has a dentist appointment. She grumbles that it's just for x-rays, "A way for them to take more of my money," although how she expects to have her teeth fixed (she needs a filling replaced) without them knowing what's in her mouth, I have no idea. "They need to support 5 hygienists, 2 receptionists and a family of four, Mom," I tell her. I feel the same way when people question my hourly rate, like I made up the amount out of a clear blue sky or something.

She seems pretty cheerful this morning. Lately she's been going to church with the old gentleman that lives next door to me, Jim. She says she puts both feet on the floorboards and grabs hold of the car door and shuts her eyes. I tell her she'll be safer if she can just relax instead. I think she's angling to get me to go back to taking her to church in the mornings. I won't cave, though. It's supposed to be Steve's job, since he's not working right now. But she thinks his driving is worse than Jim's.

My house has shrunk two sizes in the last couple months. Once, when Mom came to live here, and again, when Steve came back from Virginia. I can only imagine what it will be like in the summer, when the boys are home from school for three months, and Alice comes home from France. Plus, we're expecting to host Alice's host brother, Corentin, for a few weeks. I'm planning on moving my studio to the back of a gallery downtown, which will free up my basement to use as an additional sleeping area. It'll all work out, I'm sure. It's just hard to know where all the confusion will go. It can't possibly be contained in this one, small and getting smaller all the time household, can it?

In a lot of ways, having my mother come and stay has been like adopting another child. This one has required more than the usual adjustments. She comes with baggage. Drug dependencies, which we're working through, and anxieties, which we're trying to distract her from, and physical problems, which we're mostly ignoring, since there's nothing we can do about those until they get worse.

She's demanding, like a child, but unlike the rest of my children, she's better at getting me to do things for her. For one, she's the one that trained me, thirty years ago. With the kids, I tend to negotiate requests for things. I say, "Okay, I'll take you to your friend's house, but first you have to clean the bathroom for me." With Mom, I jump up to do her bidding, almost before she's finished framing the request. I take it back. I used to jump up to do her bidding. Now I negotiate when it will be possible to do her bidding, "I wasn't planning on going to the store today. How badly do you need diabetic milk shakes?" It's gotten less frenetic, since Steve's back home. Now he gets to do her bidding, and she's more reluctant to ask him to do things.

One morning, she stood in front of me while I sat on the couch, typing into my laptop, and said, "I want you to take me to church today." "Why can't Steve?" "I don't like to ask him." "Tough. I have to work today and he'll be happy to drive you to church. Besides, if you don't ask him, he'll have his feelings hurt." She did ask him and he did take her, but after that she started to call the man next door.

Jim's a life long bachelor. She pays him with cookies. Today's will be raisin, the lucky dog.