Check. Double check. I nearly had a stiff neck from checking that she was still behind me. Before we left, my dad gave me the Robert DeNiro-to-Ben Stiller “I’m watching you, Focker.” Except he said, “Heidi…watch her.” No pressure, Dad.
A lot of the time I offered up my arm, which she thought was sweet since her knees bother her and she sometimes has trouble walking. But really, I just wanted to make sure she was hanging on and not getting run over by any of the million bicycles, mopeds, and taxis.
I’m not lying when I say that I grabbed her little butter-yellow quilted backpack (Vera Bradley, nay. This came directly from a craft show.) by the handle to yank her back onto a sidewalk.
Snacktime. She’s always ready for a snack. Preferably ice cream. Or candy. Or Belgian waffles.
She takes a lot of naps. We watched a 15-minute movie about building some crazy water blocking system and my mom snored.
She also has no filter. Case in point, the Van Gogh museum. As we looked at the masterpieces of Van Gogh, my mom looked kind of bored. Flowers, scenery, meh.
Then she spotted one painting of some onions on a kitchen table that he had painted and her eyes lit up. She exclaimed, “See Heidi? And you say that the pictures I take of the kitchen sink aren’t art! See? He painted onions! My pictures of strawberries and apple peelings are just as good!” I had to say quietly, “Mom, I can assure you, the pictures you take of FOOD SCRAPS are not equal to a VAN GOGH painting.”
She wanders. Despite my best efforts, my mom occasionally thwarted my watchful eye. One day, we walked around the Keukenhof Gardens. 32 hectares, 4.5 million tulips in 100 varieties, and we walked almost all of it. As we were about to leave, she wanted to stop in one last souvenir shop.
While I tried on a sweatshirt, I saw her walk out of the shop, through the exit turnstile, and out of the park. Knowing she was headed to the meeting spot with the rest of our group, I stood in line, blood boiling, dejected, and paid for my purchase.
When I exited the park, I saw my mom standing immediately outside the gate looking like a small, relieved child who sees her parent and immediately scolded her. I found myself saying, “Never leave the park! Never leave without me! If I hadn’t seen you walk past, I wouldn’t have known where you were. Stand at the gate and look for our group, but NEVER go through the turnstiles!”
All she could say was, “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I got worried that you left, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Organization? What organization? My mom prides herself on her organization. When she moved Granny B 6 times in 2 years, she had a system. Everything would get wrapped, placed in a box, and written on a piece of paper. The box and paper would get labeled (Box 2), so she had a record of exactly what was in every box.
This…is not the case when she travels. “Where’s my passport?” “Where’s my keycard?” ”Where’s my boarding pass?” By the end of the trip, it had been decided that any important paperwork would reside with me and I would present both my mom’s and my ID at the security gates.
She does not like beer. On the trip, I was present for my mom’s first beer at the Heinekin Brewery tour. She was not a fan.
You know how everyone’s first beer is pure dreck and they eventually get used to the taste? Well…by the time of the Belgian beer tasting, she was still not a fan. Maybe next time. I did get a great picture of her enjoying hot tea while I enjoyed an ice cold Belgian beer, though.
LOST (and found). Each day our cruise director would provide a local map of the area as well as an itinerary of activities and meals. Each day, I would grab these and fold them into my bag. Anyone that knows me, knows I rely heavily on my GPS in the car. But when walking around a foreign town, I can rock the shit out of a basic map and get us from Point A to Point B.
So when my mom said, “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” followed up 10 minutes later with, “I don’t think this is right. Excuse me, sir, which way to the….” only to have him point us in the direction I was taking us, I became infuriated. One day, I couldn’t take it. I handed over the map and said, “If you think we’re so lost, here, you take it and find our way back to the bus.”
Of course she was immediately flustered, turning the map upside down, head twitching back and forth like a pigeon, saying, “I can’t read this. What street are we on? Where do we need to go?” Only for me to say, “I don’t think this is right. Are you sure you know where you’re going?” as soon as she picked a direction. It wasn’t pretty.
But we found an ice cream shop, I took over the map reading, and she was happy again.
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