Living in a small house with my mother can have its challenges, but they seem to magnify on Friday afternoons.  When the end of a long week begins it’s turn into a Friday evening, rest and relaxation are typically on my mind. Not so much my Mothers.

Late afternoons are the bewitching hour where she begins her decline into restlessness and increased confusion. She has new compulsive behaviors that tag along with her dementia and one that is particularly annoying to me, is her obsession of picking minute items off of the hard wood floors. Mom collects them in the palm of her hand and when she has a speck or two visible, will ask me to direct her to the trash can for their proper disposal.

I have tried to stop this behavior as it at times is accompanied with sweeping the floor with her fingers for a more satisfying pile of debris. Encouraging the use of a broom or whisk broom will not deter the project.  She prefers to do this chore by hand, literally.

In my practice to acquiesce when safety is not an issue, I decided on this day to let it go and try to ignore her as she was bent over diligently brushing her way towards the kitchen.  As expected she picked up her prized debris pile (so small that it could be comfortably pinched between thumb and forefinger) and collected it into the palm of her hand. Then she walked towards me, hand outstretched so I could see her prize, asking where was the trash can. Typically I put out my hand and say “Give it to me I will throw it out for you” but today I thought I would let her finish her task.

So as I stood at the kitchen sink, I piloted her towards the trash can with instructions of “turn left, now go right, now straight ahead” etc., until she found herself standing in front of the kitchen trash can. She looked at me and said “Now what?” I told her to step on the peddle at the bottom of the can and as she did the top opened and she began to deposit her pinch of debris into the trash.

As I watched she suddenly stopped and reached into the trash can and exclaimed “Oh look! How beautiful!  I am going to take this for me” and proceeded to pull a flowery used paper plate out of the bin. I silently cursed myself for allowing her to venture into the trash, as this is not an uncommon practice. She loves to salvage “perfectly good” trash out of the bin, try to clean it and put it out to dry.

I measure this habit a few annoying notches above the “finger sweeping” and so I urgently called out for her to put it back saying, “That is dirty trash Mom, please leave it alone!” She looked at me like I grew a third eyeball and demanded “This is beautiful and I want to take it for myself!” Weighing the option of arguing with a women who has Alzheimer’s or picking a battle more worthy of an ulcer, I responded “Well Ok Mom, it is yours to take.”

Mom happily took her paper plate to the kitchen sink to wash it. She then summarily marched her flower printed paper treasure into her room and placed it in a prominent position, propped up against her dresser mirror for display.

Moms Friday night gave her a new treasure. Mine gave me a reason to have a giant margarita!