It was time to catch the shuttle and Mom wondered if they would need their sweaters. I suggested they wear them even knowing there would come a time when I would have to carry one or both. Mom agreed and tried to get Dad into his sweater.
“Bill. Come here,” holding his sweater out, shaking it, as if to entice a bull into charging a cape. “Bill! Here! You need your sweater.”
Dad said, “What?”
“You need your sweater!”
Dad asked, “Why?”
“Bill. Come here,” waving the sweater like a cape. “Bill! Here! You need your sweater.”
Dad said, “What?”
“You need your sweater!”
“Why?”
“YOU NEED YOUR SWEATER!!!” You can almost hear the foot stomps in each word.
The shuttle driver explained the shuttle and bus routes as we rode to the shopping district. We wouldn’t be needing the bus, but I could see Mom concentrating, trying to understand what he was saying, as if (pretending) to commit it to memory.
I knew she would remember a detail or 2 of what he said, and then become fixated on her interpretation. “Didn’t he say we needed to meet the bus by 5:30? Are you sure? I was thinking he said…”
We walked the few blocks to a store Sis had heard about. On the way, we detoured to a few other stores, but a quick walk about said we were out of luck.
As we walk, naturally we will pass children. When Dad sees children, he gravitates toward them. I try to keep watch in every direction and divert his attention. If that fails, he’s heading off, and I’m stuck trying to catch his arm, saying, “Doanboddadababy!”
He’ll shake me off like a stray hair.
“Dad! (Or, Mr. Bill!) Doanboddadababy!”
And, he’s at the child, often times trying to pick them up! I say, “Oh, God. Mom, stop, please. Dad’s seen a kid!”
Dad mutters incomprehensible words to the child, face lit with warmth from forehead to heart, smiling from ear to ear.
And, I’m placing my hand on his back in a way that throws off his center of balance enough that he can’t stand back up with the child in his hands.
If they are in a stroller, or their parent’s arms, he’s touching their face, cooing and asking, “Where’s your mommy/daddy.”
“Please, Dad. Doanboddadababy!”
When he’s not chasing after children, Dad tries to take Mom’s purse. He’ll reach for it and lift it toward him; Mom will say, “Bill! I need this!” and pull it back. “I want to carry it. I feel better if I have ahold of it.” He persists. “Bill! Give me my purse!”
Sometimes she relents. Dad says, “Heavy! Feel how heavy!” and hefts it up and down, then tucks it close to his body and holds on for dear life.
Mom needed something nice for the banquet and Sis met the challenge! Sis, as always, had the right fashion sense!
Dad needed shirts, so I took Dad to the men’s department. Dad insisted that he didn’t need anything, but I just kept showing him one of the shirts and repeating, “You need a new shirt. Do you like this one?” After doing this a dozen or so times, Dad started to point out colors and indicate that he did not like them. He was pretty much set on white.
As we stood in line to pay, the purse grabbing continued. Then a child came into view and “Doanboddadababy” was repeated. Then the purse again, and the child again…
And, we finally get to pay. Mom has a huge, pink wallet that she must first fish from her purse.

“I keep everything in here.”
Then she must search for the right zipper to unzip the inner compartment.
Then she fingers through the various inner sections until she comes to the next zippered compartment where she keeps the secretary style picture/card insert. Now, she must search the leaves for her cards, and ask which card, and say, “Oh, that’s right. I was thinking we needed this card.”
We missed the return shuttle by just a few minutes meaning we would need to wait nearly an hour for the next one. A quick look around showed few places to spend the time without further stress to Dad (and us!) so Sis hailed a cab like a pro!
Soon we were back at the hotel and Mom was asking, for the umpteenth time, “Is the banquet tonight?”
No, Mom, it’s not until Monday. Today is Friday.
“Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking I heard someone say it was tonight.”
A few minutes later, “Is the banquet tomorrow?”
No, Mom, it’s not until Monday. Tomorrow is Saturday.
“Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking it’s tomorrow.”
Shopping complete, we were all starting to get hungry. We tried to coax Mom away from her futzing before it got out of hand. It was time to head down to the buffet.
There were more struggles with Mom trying to get Dad to wear his sweater, Dad trying to put on his jacket, or hang it over the back of the chair, set it on the bed, or hang it back in the closet. Mom would take it away and hang it up, Dad would retrieve it and put it back on.
Every trip to the closet led Dad in front of the mirrors and he’d start chatting with that guy…
Often times he’d catch the reflection of one of us and start directing that guy to look at us. I would wave at the the angled reflection of Dad, making eye contact. Dad would look that guy in the eye and say, “Look! You see them. Look!” and he’d gesture, hand colliding with the mirror. Sometimes when his hand would collide with the mirror and he’d turn to that guy and look him in the eye. One eyebrow would come down, and he’d try to determine if that guy was just being funny or intentionally trying to prevent Dad from reaching out to point. If he determined that that guy was trying to prevent him from reaching, Dad would ’spank’ that guy in the mirror. And, then he’d posture and mutter sounds that could only mean, “Don’t stop me again or you’ll get more of that!”
I fell face down on the bed in uncontrollable fits of laughter when he went to ’spank’ that guy and instead connected with the reflection of his, um, groin area. His face instantly reflected sympathetic discomfort, his other hand went into protective cover mode, and he apologized to that guy for the mistake.
After dinner, Mom wanted to visit with their friends. Dad, bored, picked up a foil wrapped pat of butter and ate it like a Hershey’s mini! Ugh! We couldn’t stop him in time, but we did manage to remove all the rest from temptation!
I asked our server if they had any ice cream? She wasn’t sure, but went to check. Moments later, she returned with a big slice of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. Mom said, “Bill! You don’t need that. Shheee!”
Ice cream and chocolate. Dad was in heaven!
Back in our room, futzing resumed…
Mom wanted to try on her new outfit, and I must say she looked great! Sis sure has an eye for what works! As Mom stood admiring herself in the mirror, I wanted to get a picture. Mom turned to me and posed, but my camera phone wasn’t ready. “Mom, do that again.” She’d pose, then, a split second later, turn to the mirror to see if that was how she’d done it before. *Snap* blurry face. “Ok, Mom, pose again.” Pose, turn and look, blurred picture… “…again.” A few tries later, I managed to snap this picture:

I think it took another half hour to get her back out of those clothes and moving on toward getting ready for sleep.
Mom wanted Dad to take a shower. Dad wanted nothing to do with taking off his clothing because that guy was in the bathroom with them. Mom said, “Bill! That’s us!” Dad protested, angry at that guy for not leaving the room while Mom tried to disrobe him.
When Mom got Dad into the shower, she’d turn on the water to get Dad wet, then turn it back off to spread the water, back on to get more wet, back off to spread the soap, back on to rinse, off to check the rinse, on to rewash or rinse, off to check again.
Dad was showered and Mom escorted him from the bathroom, past that guy in the bathroom mirror, past that guy in the mirror across the hall from the bathroom, past that guy in the mirrors on the closet doors, and over to their bed.
When Mom returned to the bathroom for her own shower, Dad decided to get dressed…

Those missed belt loops…
Satisfied that he was dressed, he picked up the suitcase and started stuffing it with other articles of clothing. I tried to stop him, but he’d return to it and start again. I’d try to explain that we needed to leave it there, but he wouldn’t believe a word of it.
When he wasn’t messing with the suitcase, he was fiddling with Mom’s blouse. He’d hold it, check it, pick it up, put it down… finally, he decided to put it on.
Those missed belt loops… his pants hit the floor, and Sis and I lost all control! He fished them back up, and resumed packing…
Mom, finished with her shower, started calling to Dad, wanting him to come to the bathroom so she could brush and floss his teeth…
“Bill! You need to brush your teeth!”
“What?”
“Bill! Let me floss your teeth!”
“What?”
Teeth taken care of, Mom guided Dad to bed.
Dad wanted nothing to do with that bed and insisted that it was time to go. “Bill! We aren’t going anywhere. We aren’t leaving. We’re sleeping here.”
Where?
“Here! We are sleeping here.”
Oh, I don’t think so…
“Bill, get into bed!”
Dad was finally put to bed and Mom’s futzing was about to intensify.
Sometime after midnight, I had to call an end to it! “Mom! You’ve been futzing for 2 hours. It’s time for bed!”
About an hour later, Mom finally gave in and went to bed. I turned out the lights and slid into bed.
Silence came over the room. I could hear Sis breathing in her sleep. I could hear Dad breathing in his sleep.
I heard Mom crying, softly…
Oh, man…
I had hurt her feelings.
I am such a shit.
I got up, went to her, held her, kissed her forehead, and told her I was sorry I’d been so stern. I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. It was late and we had a busy day ahead of us.
She dried her tears and said, “Is the banquet tomorrow?”