When teaching people how to crochet, she will often point to a book and tell them to look at the diaphragm.
Sometimes she helps with groceries and buys paper toilet for the bathrooms and Fruit of the Loops for breakfast.
One such mix up that I cannot let her forget is when she had to go to the doctor about her foot.
She’d been experiencing pain in her foot for 3 weeks. One morning as she hobbled through the kitchen taking what seemed like tiny one inch steps, I finally convinced her to go to the doctor.
“What’d the doctor say about your foot?” I asked when she returned home.
“I have a sperm in my foot,” she said.
“Uh. . .a what?”
“A sperm,” she said again.
“Well how did THAT get THERE?” I knew what she meant to say, but now I couldn’t help how funny this conversation was turning out to be.
“I don’t know how a it happens mí híja, he said it’s a bone sperm,” she said.
“Are you sure he said ‘sperm’?” I’m sure I was grinning, smirking, trying not to laugh.
“Yes, he said sperm! A sperm!” she fussed not understanding why I was so amused.
“Well that is next level freaky mom, I’m calling your daughters!” I remember laughing as I called my sister, “Hey guess what’s wrong with mom’s foot? She’s got a SPERM in it!” Me and my sisters then discussed all the possible ways a sperm could have gotten into her foot.
Eventually I stopped teasing and tried to get my mom to say “spur,” not “sperm,” when referencing her foot condition. However, old habits die hard, and even though this incident happened years ago, I know that today if I ask her “Hey mom, what was that problem you had with your foot?” she will probably say she had a sperm in it.