Thursday, July 10, 2008


The caregiver arrived today.

"How much?" demanded Mom, as soon as Binta was introduced. She couldn't believe $18.00 per hour for a minimum of four hours per day. "I'm certainly NOT going to pay THAT!"

I said I would pay, because the help was really for me. I get anxious on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I'm at my daughter's house all day, taking care of 4-month-old Nathaniel.

Mom said, "Well, then, that's your problem, not mine. If you're anxious, you should see a psychiatrist."

Mom held court during the caregiver's short visit. She told Binta how much I had been yelling lately. She mentioned that she was once a school teacher. She insisted she could take care of herself. When I suggested that Binta could help Mom change her sheets, because I've seen her struggle with the blanket and spread, she snapped, "I don't WANT help with that!"

The caregiver's accent may pose a problem. Binta's from Sierra Leone. At first, I thought she was saying she was from "C.U.O."

Mom agreed to a trial run: the caregiver will come on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons next week. She beamed farewell at the woman, then turned to me. "And I don't want to hear ANY moaning and groaning next Thursday night about how anxious you are."

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