I really wasn't surprised to hear that my mom was pissed that I tossed her rack of lamb. It was just one of the many [two 2-ton dumpster full] casualities in my house cleaning extravaganza.
And this week, she finally heads home after spending the last month with a family friend, so I'm sure this will only be the start. More than enough reassurance as to why I live 800 miles away.
I had this brilliant idea to Facetime with her as she walked through the house for the first time since she had her heart surgery but then I realized that might not be as smart. The last thing I need is for me to be excited about the completely cleaned out kitchen cabinets and her freaking out about where all her dishes went.
(In a box. In a garage. It's all the other stuff in the kitchen I tossed, Mom).
There's really no hope for her not to be angry at me at some level. I saved what I thought was important and tossed what I thought was not. But because I'm not her (and she's not me), her definition of important and mine are probably a little off.
Actually, I'm sure of it based on all the crap that was in her house.
I imagine much of what I tossed she won't even miss. And if she does, like say her obsolete nursing textbooks from 1994 that are all now in their 5th edition and she never uses, I told my brother to tell her I packed them away in a box in the basement.
But I'm hoping that the hospital grade cleaning that brought me to tears when I my brother sent me pictures and the fresh coat of paint will help ease the shock.
The kitchen after. Now you see why I was crying.
Add in the power washing, which my brother described as "Harry Potter like" when all the throngs of daddy long legs spiders leapt away from the house during his chemical pre-treatment, the new air conditioner (which hadn't worked for a couple of years - eep!), and a little bit of landscaping.
We even purchased a new television and family room furniture set to make up for the one we tossed that was so completely covered in dust and cat hair that we couldn't even donate it.
The truth is she's been wanting to sell the house for years but could never bring herself to do what I did, probably because she would never have been able to do it herself.
I could barely do it myself, even with the help of my brother and his wife.
So now it's ready. And I hope she sees what everyone else is telling me it is: A gift.
The money I put in her account will be more than enough for her to purchase what she thinks she's missing, which so far is a pretty important rack of lamb.
And if it doesn't, I will happily remind her that she was sleeping on the original mattress she had when she moved into the house. In 1978.
With pictures to remind her of its condition.
And that I found mouse shit in her silverware drawer.