Some signs of the 'old' mom

I tweeted the other day, before the fall, that we were "still in bizarro world;" Mom had said, "this is a great house. For its size, it's very smartly configured--everything has its place." This almost worried me; finding fault is what mom does. It actually makes me feel better that even amid extreme pain, she finds the inspiration to ask me, every few hours, whether my hair is typically "in that style." (Because she doesn't care for it).

Mom's kind of doing better. She's still in a lot of pain and will be for weeks, but she's resorting to the mom antics we know and love. Take this conversation, during dinner.

Mom: What's wrong with this soup? I don't like this soup.
A.: You don't have to eat it.
Mom: That's not the point. Didn't I give you mushrooms? You could have made a perfectly good soup with those mushrooms.
A.: This soup isn't about the mushrooms.
Mom: But you could have made a different soup, with my mushrooms.
A.: Dad and I talked about soup options while you were resting. We agreed on miso soup. This is what miso soup tastes like. Miso soup takes shitake mushrooms.
Mom: I don't understand it.
A.: Don't eat it.
Mom: I won't. But I still don't understand it. I don't understand why you had to make this soup.
A.: I didn't realize you didn't like miso soup.
Mom: I guess it's okay in restaurants.
A.: That's because a lot of restaurants use powdered miso that doesn't really taste like anything.
Mom: Mushroom soup is better.
Dad: We decided not to make mushroom soup.
Mom: I just don't understand why anyone would make this soup.
A.: I don't understand why we're still having this conversation. The soup is made. Don't eat it if you don't like it.
Mom: I won't.