Irony

The U-Haul is ordered, pizza promised, and commitments made by several close friends. The lease has been executed. I am committed. I move on Saturday. I offered to live with my parents during this period but my mother was adamant that I have my own home. This was said even as she pointed out that living elsewhere did not preclude my staying in their house, sleeping on my old bed as [she or my father] needed.

Then, Monday night she came to me after dinner (which we ate in her bedroom, while my father picked at his food) and sought my assurance that I would come whenever she wanted me. (I knew that she actually already knew that I will, but I sought to reassure her, even so.) By the looks of things, that will be quite frequently. She has tasks for me to do whenever I am to be at her home and I am sure that their number will increase rapidly. Granted, we are just beginning to discuss hospice care—I am investigating—which would alleviate some of the need for my presence. Still, I expect to be at my parents’s house quite a lot in the near future, sleeping in my childhood bedroom. I hope my furnishings will happy and comfortable in their new home.