My 89-year-old mother moved in with me two years ago, and she’s truly a force of nature.
Every morning around 7:30 AM, I hear her baby-talking to and feeding her 23-year-old cat. She follows this with breakfast in the sunroom, sipping coffee as the sunlight wakes her up. Then, for exercise, she dust-mops our 2,600-square-foot floors.
If she’s in the mood, she cooks, tidies the kitchen, and does some calisthenics. Her afternoons are a mix of beauty routines and sorting through her enormous wardrobe—filled with expensive, stylish pieces. Sometimes, she gifts items to me, donates them, or sells them online.
“Mom, you could’ve invested this wardrobe money and lived in luxury,” I tease. She always replies, “I love my clothes. Besides, one day they’ll all be yours—your sister has no taste.”
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