Mom called me Sunday morning. She was surprised that the call went through. I was surprised that she could find my phone number on the first page of her address book and could press all 11 numbers in order.
She greeted me with her now routine "where the hell are you?" She yelled at me because I wasn't there to take her to get her hair cut. Time has no meaning.
Last week she whined that she needed to get her hair cut, now! But I can't take her to the ONE person she trusts to cut her hair, for another two weeks.
We talked about her going downstairs at the assisted living and letting THAT WOMAN cut hair, but Mom was adamant that SHE would do a "crappy job" and would only "hack at my hair with her scissors." I don't know how to change her mind about the resident hairstylist.
Taking Mom to her favorite hairstylist is a full day project for me. One hour up to get Mom + 20 minutes to get her out of the building + 30 minutes drive to + 30 minutes of wash, cut, and blow dry + 30 minutes driving back + at least 20 minutes to get her back into the building + one hour drive home. Her beautifully coiffured locks are not worth 4+ hours and 100 miles of driving.
I think it's time for Mom to accept a new hair style and stylist. HA HA HA HA right...