My morning got off to an unfortunate start - Mike nagging me to get up before I wanted to, then ordering breakfast like he was at then demanding a second cup of coffee before I'd even had my first. I had to set a boundary within the first fifteen minutes of my day. He apologized and started acting like a grown man instead of a two-year old. I wish we didn't have to go through this as often as we do, but we do. Is it because the boundaries I set aren't firm enough? He doesn't remember? He's a spoiled, selfish child? Why do we go over and over the same issues?

My malicious imagination has fantasies of rigging his chair with hidden speakers, then speaking to him through a voice distortion device in a deep bass voice that cusses him a blue streak whenever he acts childish. It's a language he understands and obviously prefers, judging from the movies he watches. It would probably scare the poor man to death, he can act like such a wuss sometimes. He doesn't act nearly so childish when Ricky or Benji or Skip are around, so I know he can control it.

I confronted him with that fact the last time he yelled for me. He admitted that if they were here, he would act differently. "Don't be saying or doing anything you wouldn't say or do if they were here," I told him. I don't know why they get more respect than I do, except that they're men. He's afraid of them, I guess, even though none of them has given him any reason to be.

He knows they love me and will not tolerate his abuse of me. I don't think any of them would physically harm him, but he doesn't know that, and it's good that he doesn't. I have a brother and a nephew nearby also, and they can act like mean junkyard dogs, even though they're not. My neighbor Art has told me more than once to come and get him if Mike gets unmanageable. It feels good to have such strong allies in my corner.

He tried to make me feel better about my situation by asking me if I realized how much harder it would be on me if he were one of those stroke patients who was not motivated to work on recovery? "I could be one of those men who was confined to a hospital bed and a wheelchair for the rest of my life," he said smugly.

"And that may be the next chapter in your story," I countered, "so don't be alienating the best care giver you will ever have. Do you realize how much harder your situation would be if I followed my own mother's example of caring for her stroke patient/husband?" I asked him. The "it could be worse" argument was over. We've got too much to be thankful for to waste our time arguing.