At least she's calmly muttering her insults today

Mom: I feel no joy when you visit. Any feelings I ever had toward you are dead. Only coldness emanates from you: the coldness of a know-it-all.

Dad and I thought today was shaping up to be peaceful day. At least she's saying these things, rather than screaming them.

I was doing yoga when mom came downstairs, but luckily, she went outside rather than talking to me (not before throwing a shirt at me so that I'd sew on a button, but still). I told her I'd get to it as soon as I was done. But then she started talking to me from the garden, through the window.

Mom: Come look at these flowers!
A.: Not now, mom. I'm busy. I'll look at them later.
Mom: Suit yourself.

Mom kept talking to me (i.e., to herself). She came in just as I was finishing up.

Mom: Have you finished?
A.: Finished what?
Mom: Sewing the button.
A.: I'm just about to start.
Mom: Get on it, because look at what I have to wear in the meantime.

Dad and I have had conversations with her about not going outside, even to the garden, in various states of undress, but she doesn't react well to these conversations at all.

I started looking for needles. Mom started rambling.

Mom: Yeah, dad just keeps moving everything around and I can't find anything anymore. I don't even try. Are you listening to me?
A.: Yes, I'm listening.
Mom: I need one of those brooms that inverts onto itself, so you don't have to... are you listening??
A.: Yes, yes I'm listening.

I find a needle and some thread, and get to threading it.

Mom: What side does the window need to be cleaned from? Look at it. Look at it!
A.: Mom! Do you want me to look at the window or do you want me to sew your button?
Mom: I can sew the button myself! Having to ask you to do it obviously costs me much more! You are so cold. The coldness of a know-it-all emanates from you, but I've told you that. I don't need for you to visit anymore.
A.: Here, your button is on.
Mom: Thank you.