Let me be clear, we aren’t talking about that unprotected gap between the still forming bones of a baby’s skull.  The discovery of this soft spot came as a total surprise, especially since it belongs to my husband, a strong and handsome man with a very well formed head (no unprotected gaps).  He is a fair and balanced person and treats everyone with the same dignity and kindness.  As a part of being so fair and balanced, no one receives special treatment or exceptions.  He’s just that level.  Or so I thought.

Recently, we were discussing what’s to be done with my mother when she is unable to live alone.  I proposed an apartment in a cozy assisted living facility.  We could visit regularly; she could socialize with the other residents and never have to worry about lawn work again.  Much to my wonder and amazement, my husband countered with a simpler suggestion, something far more mother-in-law friendly than I could have previously imagined.

“She can live with us,” he said.

Immediately, my eyebrows and blood pressure both shot up.  I asked him to repeat himself, in disbelief at what he had just stated.

“Sure,” he explained.  “We’ll fix her up a shed in the backyard and run her an extension cord from the garage so she can have power.  She can use the bathroom inside until we set her up with an outhouse type of arrangement.”

It was heartwarming to hear such generosity towards my mother.  What an ideal situation, to have my mom camped out in our backyard with multiple extension cords running from the garage because one would never be enough for her, and an outhouse to top it all off.  I imagine she would start a small compost pile that would eventually grow and result in an eventual visit from the Board of Health.  Stray cats and dogs would know which shed in the area to visit for a meal and a few friendly pats on the head.  Of course, she would start a vegetable garden and would need to borrow a shovel, rototiller, scissors and the hose to water her plants.  Doing laundry inside would be a given, but then she would enlist the neighbor kids to help her dig holes to pour concrete and set up poles to string a clothes line and leave her underthings to air dry for all the world to see.  Sunshine is the best thing for underwear and sheets, you know.

Yes, I could imagine all of this and more and had to smile at the discovery of my husband’s soft spot, my mother.

2 thoughts on “The Soft Spot

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