Mama Bear on Mother's Day

Yesterday.

Mom: Gwen, what does your family have planned for Mother's Day?

Gwen: Uh, I don't know.

Mom: What are they planning for the Sunday meal?

Gwen: Uh, I don't know.

Mom: Are they cooking something good?

Gwen: Uh, maybe.

Enter Karis.

Grandma: Karis, what are you cooking up for Mother's Day?

Karis: I dunno. [Much more astute than I.] What would you like?

Grandma: Pizza.

Karis: Grandma would like pizza for lunch tomorrow.

Gwen: Okay, we have gluten free crust mix. I can make some.

Mom/Grandma: I like Papa John's.

Gwen: But Meg can't eat that.

I don't know how many times we have had this conversation. Meg has big, bad, go-to-the-hospital-if-you-mess-up celiac disease. Not a whim, not a food choice, an incurable disease. She is very diligent and uncomplaining about taking her own food everywhere she goes. I would really like it if she did not have to be in that position in her own home. So when Mom asks what would be a good night to order pizza, I always suggest we pick a night when Meg will not be home. Yes, there are gluten free pizzas available frozen in our local grocery. No, they do not compare to Papa John's The Works! And there is just something mean about eating something delectable in front of someone who can't have it. But Mama wants pizza from Papa John's for Mother's Day, and so it will be.

After Mom's nap this morning, I asked if she would like a snack. She replied, "No, but I'm wondering what treat your family will prepare for Mother's Day." Oh. Oh dear. I reminded her that we were having pizza. She was surprised. I reminded her that she had requested pizza. She denied. I told her Karis was taking Meg to the grocery to get a gf pizza, then stopping by Papa John's to pick up our order.

Mom: So Meg will have something she can eat.

Gwen: Yes. It will look pretty sad next to our pizza, but she will have one.

Mom: I can't get too worked up over Meg's food.

Gwen: No, I don't expect you to.

Mom: She eats such good food. But she hasn't been making her avocado dip. [Mom loves Meg's homemade guaco.]

Gwen: No, we haven't been able to find good avocados.

Mom: [dismissively] Anyway, she eats so well, it almost makes a body wish they had the same thing wrong with them. I just don't feel for her at all.

Enter Mama Bear.

I really tried to temper my response by remembering I was dealing with a frail old woman. But even frail old women can respond with compassion to the frailty of another. My mom has always been a cold fish, but for her to disregard the lifelong struggle of one of my babies so flippantly just flew all over me. I reminded Mom that Meg has a disease that prevents her from ingesting another speck of wheat, barley or rye for the rest of her life. I agreed that Meg is very disciplined and creative in coming up with healthy, appealing foods to eat. And I emphasized that the fact that Meg is strong and uncomplaining does not mean she does not deserve compassion!

I didn't holler. I didn't stomp out. I wasn't rough. I continued to care for Mom as I spoke. I was firm. I limited my words to Meg's condition and our response. I just could not let it pass. Argh. This is hard.