It's the first day of September.
This year I am not sad about the hours of Florida sunshine getting shorter. I'm not whiny about the dark coming earlier and earlier, or the weather cooling off, or the summer ending.
I haven't even gone to the perfectly good pool that I have access to (and pay for, really, with the monthly homeowner dues) at our condo complex one single time this year. I did buy a new bathing suit, but I haven't worn it.
If anything, the bright blue skies and hot yellow sunshine is annoying. Shut up, summer.
For the first time I'm looking forward to shorter days, sunset coming earlier, and even the cold(er) weather. I keep seeing visions in my head of chilly nights with a house in the darkness, warm orange light from inside peeking through the windows. I keep thinking of fuzzy throw blankets and pumpkin scented candles and cups of hot tea.
I'm also looking forward to Christmas. It'll be the first Christmas that I don't spend with Mom. (There may be one or two Christmases when I was in my late 20's and had just moved to Florida, and Mom and Dad were still a 12+ hour drive away in Virginia, and I stayed in FL and they stayed in VA and we didn't see each other. But that didn't happen more than once, I think. How can I not remember? I gave it so little thought at the time. I sure didn't know that 20 years later I'd literally be brought to tears by my inability to remember.)
It will also be the first Christmas of my married life with Greg that we don't have to drive 7+ hours to Georgia to visit Mom. I kind of hated that drive and I am looking forward to not doing it this year. I also kind of hated not really spending Christmas at home; not being there on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day made me feel like it wasn't really worth a lot of decorating, or a lot of cooking.
I'm going to get a few really good quality Christmas decorations, and find new ways to display the old decorations to give them places of honor in our home. I have handmade decorations made by several family members, some of whom are dead now. I have ugly styrofoam glitter things that I made in kindergarten and Mom saved and put up every year.
After taking our usual Thanksgiving day trips to Greg's various family members the month before, we can just take a few days off work and create our own brand new Christmas traditions.
I swear I'm looking forward to it.
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Friday, June 20, 2014
Planning a vacation
I'm trying to plan my time off for the rest of the year.
It occurred to me recently that I really do have somewhat of a talent for my job in that I love to plan ahead. I still hate math and spreadsheets and sitting under fluorescent lights for 8+ hours a day, but there are aspects that come somewhat naturally to me. I like planning ahead and being organized. I like it when I can help the agents in the call center with their scheduling problems and conflicts. I like helping other departments with forecasting their call volume and scheduling their agents. I am getting much better at training the supervisors and team leads on using the workforce management computer programs, and leading meetings with a bunch of people around a conference room table, and it's possible that one day I won't dread having to stand in front of the new hire classes and talk about workforce expectations and answer questions.
Anyway, I want to go visit Mom two more times between now and Christmas, and I want to take a little vacation with my sweetie to celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary the first week of October. We just went on a vacation to Cleveland to celebrate Greg's 40th birthday in April at the Cinema Wasteland convention, which means two things: One, he's super grateful because, even though I had a great time, he feels like it was his vacation and I think he kinda feels like he owes me one now. Two, we spent a lot of money (relative to not going on vacation, anyway) and I think we both kinda feel like we shouldn't spend much again so soon.
There are new cheap flights between the Orlando area and Roanoke, which means we could go back to my "home" (it will always seem like home, but since I haven't lived there since 1988 I'll go ahead and add grammatically incorrect quote marks). I feel guilty that I'm reluctant. I should go back now while my 100-year old aunt is still around, I should go visit all those relatives I haven't seen in decades, I should go while my Mom is still around for me to tell about where I go and who I see.
That thought really stabs at me. She would love to hear about me visiting "home", just LOVE it. I could bring back pictures and stories of people who haven't been so good at staying in touch. Not to mention visiting my father's grave. And this would be a lovely time of year to visit southwestern Virginia, the Appalachian mountains. Not too cold but a little nippy, possibly leaves turning brilliant red and yellow.
It just doesn't seem fun, though, it seems like an obligation, which makes me feel guilty. I wish I wanted to do this, I feel like I ought to do it, and honestly I feel like I ought to want to do it.
It's also an expensive option. Even with the cheaper flights it's still a car rental plus gas plus hotel for 3 or 4 nights plus meals. I may be able to get good discount hotel rates through my company, but still.
Or... we could go to Universal and go to the new Wizarding World expansion. Oh man, it looks SO fun. We could stay onsite for two nights in the brand new super cute lower-priced Cabana Bay resort and get a Florida Resident discount; staying onsite would get us into the parks an hour before they open to the non-staying-onsite general public. We could do the new Hogwarts Express train ride between Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and the Gringott's ride. It would be less expensive than going to Virginia, even factoring in meals and buying a reasonable amount (!) of Harry Potter crap.
Or we could just say home and spend a bit of money and time on fixing up our house, which has an ever-increasing list of things that need to be repaired or replaced or just fancied up. That idea has a lot of appeal and would, in many ways, seem to be the most mature and adult option. Plus a nice staycation would be relaxing.
What would I regret later? How badly would it hurt me if my mother passed away before I went back to Virginia? How guilty would I feel if I chose a children's book and an amusement park over an opportunity to delight my mother?
The thought of going back "home" after my mother isn't here to tell about it is just heartbreaking. There is no one, no one, who shares my memories from my childhood. I grew up without siblings in the house, and my father is gone, my aunt who lived next door is gone. I have a few cousins who remember their own slice of childhood that sometimes overlapped with my own, but no one who knows it all like my own sweet Mom. The neighbors next door who had an outhouse and raised bees, the way the snow drifted in the hilly backyard, the taste of the Silver Queen corn that Dad grew in the garden, the constant breeze from living in between two mountains.
It's also worth considering that the Wizarding World is going to be crowded; the first week of October is not peak and kids are not out of school, but the new expansion will pack in tourists anyway. If we waited to go in January we'd have nice (?) cool weather and the smallest crowds of the whole year.
I am sure of one thing, if I hesitate too long to book a Universal trip for October, it'll be too late. All the media coverage of the Wizarding World will ensure sold-out onsite hotels very quickly.
I suppose I'm lucky, really. Trying to make a decision between nothing but nice vacation options is a pretty good thing.
It occurred to me recently that I really do have somewhat of a talent for my job in that I love to plan ahead. I still hate math and spreadsheets and sitting under fluorescent lights for 8+ hours a day, but there are aspects that come somewhat naturally to me. I like planning ahead and being organized. I like it when I can help the agents in the call center with their scheduling problems and conflicts. I like helping other departments with forecasting their call volume and scheduling their agents. I am getting much better at training the supervisors and team leads on using the workforce management computer programs, and leading meetings with a bunch of people around a conference room table, and it's possible that one day I won't dread having to stand in front of the new hire classes and talk about workforce expectations and answer questions.
Anyway, I want to go visit Mom two more times between now and Christmas, and I want to take a little vacation with my sweetie to celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary the first week of October. We just went on a vacation to Cleveland to celebrate Greg's 40th birthday in April at the Cinema Wasteland convention, which means two things: One, he's super grateful because, even though I had a great time, he feels like it was his vacation and I think he kinda feels like he owes me one now. Two, we spent a lot of money (relative to not going on vacation, anyway) and I think we both kinda feel like we shouldn't spend much again so soon.
There are new cheap flights between the Orlando area and Roanoke, which means we could go back to my "home" (it will always seem like home, but since I haven't lived there since 1988 I'll go ahead and add grammatically incorrect quote marks). I feel guilty that I'm reluctant. I should go back now while my 100-year old aunt is still around, I should go visit all those relatives I haven't seen in decades, I should go while my Mom is still around for me to tell about where I go and who I see.
That thought really stabs at me. She would love to hear about me visiting "home", just LOVE it. I could bring back pictures and stories of people who haven't been so good at staying in touch. Not to mention visiting my father's grave. And this would be a lovely time of year to visit southwestern Virginia, the Appalachian mountains. Not too cold but a little nippy, possibly leaves turning brilliant red and yellow.
It just doesn't seem fun, though, it seems like an obligation, which makes me feel guilty. I wish I wanted to do this, I feel like I ought to do it, and honestly I feel like I ought to want to do it.
It's also an expensive option. Even with the cheaper flights it's still a car rental plus gas plus hotel for 3 or 4 nights plus meals. I may be able to get good discount hotel rates through my company, but still.
Or... we could go to Universal and go to the new Wizarding World expansion. Oh man, it looks SO fun. We could stay onsite for two nights in the brand new super cute lower-priced Cabana Bay resort and get a Florida Resident discount; staying onsite would get us into the parks an hour before they open to the non-staying-onsite general public. We could do the new Hogwarts Express train ride between Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and the Gringott's ride. It would be less expensive than going to Virginia, even factoring in meals and buying a reasonable amount (!) of Harry Potter crap.
Or we could just say home and spend a bit of money and time on fixing up our house, which has an ever-increasing list of things that need to be repaired or replaced or just fancied up. That idea has a lot of appeal and would, in many ways, seem to be the most mature and adult option. Plus a nice staycation would be relaxing.
What would I regret later? How badly would it hurt me if my mother passed away before I went back to Virginia? How guilty would I feel if I chose a children's book and an amusement park over an opportunity to delight my mother?
The thought of going back "home" after my mother isn't here to tell about it is just heartbreaking. There is no one, no one, who shares my memories from my childhood. I grew up without siblings in the house, and my father is gone, my aunt who lived next door is gone. I have a few cousins who remember their own slice of childhood that sometimes overlapped with my own, but no one who knows it all like my own sweet Mom. The neighbors next door who had an outhouse and raised bees, the way the snow drifted in the hilly backyard, the taste of the Silver Queen corn that Dad grew in the garden, the constant breeze from living in between two mountains.
It's also worth considering that the Wizarding World is going to be crowded; the first week of October is not peak and kids are not out of school, but the new expansion will pack in tourists anyway. If we waited to go in January we'd have nice (?) cool weather and the smallest crowds of the whole year.
I am sure of one thing, if I hesitate too long to book a Universal trip for October, it'll be too late. All the media coverage of the Wizarding World will ensure sold-out onsite hotels very quickly.
I suppose I'm lucky, really. Trying to make a decision between nothing but nice vacation options is a pretty good thing.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Mom's Heart
I went to GA and visited Mom over Memorial Day weekend, and it was, as usual, a very good visit. Any time I get to hang out with Mom and look at old photos and get Mom hugs is always very good.
Mom had a health scare a couple of days before I went. She was on her way to the dining room and felt sick so she stopped in the hallway and sat on her walker seat. A nurse saw her and brought her back to her apartment, where she lost consciousness for a couple of minutes. I spoke to a nurse during my visit who used the word "unresponsive" when describing what happened, and that is a terrifying word. They think it may have been Mom's heart, but Mom doesn't want to go to the hospital for tests, and honestly I don't think I can blame her. Since then she's felt fine, and she seemed normal to me while I was there.
She was a little reluctant to leave to go out to a restaurant for lunch, so we didn't. I didn't want to push her, but she never goes out to eat, and I feel like maybe it's good for her to, even if it's only rarely. She does go out twice a month to have her hair washed and set, but she gets too tired to combine that outing with lunch.
My Mom is so sweet. I know which of the retirement home employees are good and which ones are, shall I say, less good, by the way they are with Mom. The ones who have made an effort to speak to her, which can be difficult because of her hearing problems, just love her. Your mother is the sweetest person, they tell me, the receptionist and the activities director and the manager. One of the cooks has a whole thing where she and Mom blow kisses to each other. One of the nurses gives Mom little crosses to carry with her and hugs Mom every day in the dining room, telling her how blessed she is. Mom grasps her hands and looks into her eyes and tells her that she is blessed, too.
The majority of them are like that, and they know Mom's likes and dislikes, and they are clearly fond of her and try to make her happy. They check on her at random times in her apartment and watch to make sure she eats enough. (I'm not sure they know that when Mom doesn't like what's for dinner or lunch she'll come back to her apartment and eat an apple, or a sliced up banana with peanut butter on it, or an ice cream sandwich. My sister keeps her stocked.)
There are a few that seem competent but also seem young and inexperienced, and probably also low-paid, and definitely have less patience for trying to get to know someone who can barely understand them when they speak. They are okay, just not going out of their way to be nice, and of course since it's my own dear mother I want to smack everyone who doesn't love her.
It's hard to watch people who are essentially strangers take care of my mother, who is so vulnerable. I try to look at her sweetness and kind nature as her superpower that does seem to come through (for anyone paying attention) despite her physical weaknesses. Any retirement home employee would have to be a truly evil person to be mean to her.
Mom had a health scare a couple of days before I went. She was on her way to the dining room and felt sick so she stopped in the hallway and sat on her walker seat. A nurse saw her and brought her back to her apartment, where she lost consciousness for a couple of minutes. I spoke to a nurse during my visit who used the word "unresponsive" when describing what happened, and that is a terrifying word. They think it may have been Mom's heart, but Mom doesn't want to go to the hospital for tests, and honestly I don't think I can blame her. Since then she's felt fine, and she seemed normal to me while I was there.
She was a little reluctant to leave to go out to a restaurant for lunch, so we didn't. I didn't want to push her, but she never goes out to eat, and I feel like maybe it's good for her to, even if it's only rarely. She does go out twice a month to have her hair washed and set, but she gets too tired to combine that outing with lunch.
My Mom is so sweet. I know which of the retirement home employees are good and which ones are, shall I say, less good, by the way they are with Mom. The ones who have made an effort to speak to her, which can be difficult because of her hearing problems, just love her. Your mother is the sweetest person, they tell me, the receptionist and the activities director and the manager. One of the cooks has a whole thing where she and Mom blow kisses to each other. One of the nurses gives Mom little crosses to carry with her and hugs Mom every day in the dining room, telling her how blessed she is. Mom grasps her hands and looks into her eyes and tells her that she is blessed, too.
The majority of them are like that, and they know Mom's likes and dislikes, and they are clearly fond of her and try to make her happy. They check on her at random times in her apartment and watch to make sure she eats enough. (I'm not sure they know that when Mom doesn't like what's for dinner or lunch she'll come back to her apartment and eat an apple, or a sliced up banana with peanut butter on it, or an ice cream sandwich. My sister keeps her stocked.)
There are a few that seem competent but also seem young and inexperienced, and probably also low-paid, and definitely have less patience for trying to get to know someone who can barely understand them when they speak. They are okay, just not going out of their way to be nice, and of course since it's my own dear mother I want to smack everyone who doesn't love her.
It's hard to watch people who are essentially strangers take care of my mother, who is so vulnerable. I try to look at her sweetness and kind nature as her superpower that does seem to come through (for anyone paying attention) despite her physical weaknesses. Any retirement home employee would have to be a truly evil person to be mean to her.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Holiday Weekend
In two days I'll drive up to Georgia for a short weekend visit with Mom. I always get nervous beforehand about the 7+ hour drive and about the possibility of something going wrong, but it's always fine and I'm sure it'll be fine this time too.
This time it'll be just me and Mom, no other relatives going out to lunch with us, so that'll be better. Mom has such trouble hearing that when we go to a restaurant everyone ends up talking around her and mostly ignoring her, which I hate. If it's just the two of us, even if we don't speak a lot, it'll at least be to each other. I'm hoping to take her out to lunch at Red Lobster on Saturday, and then maybe out to breakfast at IHOP on Monday before I leave to drive back.
She's not up to shopping anymore, so while she's taking her afternoon nap I plan to go to a nearby mall and see if I can't find her some new clothes. If I can do that on Saturday, then Sunday I could return anything that didn't fit.
Unfortunately this retirement home doesn't have a dedicated Guest room like the place where she used to live. It was a small studio apartment, but it was comfortable with a TV and a mini refrigerator and fresh linens. It cost $50 but included meals, and it was invaluable to be able to just walk down the hall in my pajamas and slippers to hang out with Mom at night. This place in the past has let me stay in empty "show" apartments, which was hit or miss with things like fresh linens or TVs, but they let me stay for free. Now they have a new corporate policy to charge $125 a night, and that doesn't even include a guaranteed TV or linens. Good grief. Clearly they don't want people to stay. So I'll be a mile away at a small hotel that I got at an employee discount rate of $39. I won't be down the hall from Mom, but I'll at least have wifi. And I am going to not care about driving a mile in my pj's and slippers.
This time it'll be just me and Mom, no other relatives going out to lunch with us, so that'll be better. Mom has such trouble hearing that when we go to a restaurant everyone ends up talking around her and mostly ignoring her, which I hate. If it's just the two of us, even if we don't speak a lot, it'll at least be to each other. I'm hoping to take her out to lunch at Red Lobster on Saturday, and then maybe out to breakfast at IHOP on Monday before I leave to drive back.
She's not up to shopping anymore, so while she's taking her afternoon nap I plan to go to a nearby mall and see if I can't find her some new clothes. If I can do that on Saturday, then Sunday I could return anything that didn't fit.
Unfortunately this retirement home doesn't have a dedicated Guest room like the place where she used to live. It was a small studio apartment, but it was comfortable with a TV and a mini refrigerator and fresh linens. It cost $50 but included meals, and it was invaluable to be able to just walk down the hall in my pajamas and slippers to hang out with Mom at night. This place in the past has let me stay in empty "show" apartments, which was hit or miss with things like fresh linens or TVs, but they let me stay for free. Now they have a new corporate policy to charge $125 a night, and that doesn't even include a guaranteed TV or linens. Good grief. Clearly they don't want people to stay. So I'll be a mile away at a small hotel that I got at an employee discount rate of $39. I won't be down the hall from Mom, but I'll at least have wifi. And I am going to not care about driving a mile in my pj's and slippers.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Treasure
Last week I went to GA to visit Mom. She's still doing pretty good health-wise. Every time I go visit she has a little more trouble walking around and she has a little more trouble hearing. It's gotten to the point where I have to repeat myself several times every time I call her on the phone, so it feels more important to go visit more often. I can't easily just talk to her on our daily phone calls, if she has no context to guess what I'm saying and it's unexpected, sometimes she never does understand me and it's just painful and frustrating for both of us.
We had a nice visit. We went to IHOP and Mom got her usual: the senior special with one pancake (strawberries on top but hold the whipped cream), one egg over medium, and one piece of bacon extra crispy. She always eats it all, too, which is unusual for her. She doesn't go out very often anymore. My brother and his wife and my sister met us for lunch there.
The way Mom looked at my brother really touched me. She looked up at him like seeing him made her purely joyful, and she clasped one hand in both of hers and just smiled at him. Now that I think of it, I guess she looked at me like that too, when I arrived mid-afternoon on Sunday. (We'll assume she looked at my sister similarly even though I didn't notice the moment.)
My sister is primarily in charge of Mom's finances, paying her bills online and keeping track of her checking account. I don't have access to the checking account, but I'm in charge of her mutual fund, which is what remains of her (and Dad's) life savings. Based on my math she has enough money for about another year of rent payments at the assisted living home, and then I have no idea what will happen. I need for someone to tell me exactly how things will go and how long she'll live and what her health will be like and then I can make all the right plans and decisions. I'm trying very hard not to be consumed with dread about it. I just love her so much and I want so badly to make her happy and make sure every single thing is taken care of for her.
I feel so far away.
Mom actually has money coming to her from the VA, but the forms my brother and sister filed last January still haven't been processed. If that comes through it'll help, especially if there is retroactive money from when it should have started a year ago. The VA is notoriously behind, though.
I'm from a very rural county in the Appalachian mountains of southwestern Virginia, and recently someone started a Facebook page to share old photos from there. I'm amazed and fascinated by the photos people are sharing. I've seen beautiful landscapes from as early as the 1800s, photos of old homes and barns and schools and churches. Some are not areas or people I'm familiar with, but even still they are interesting to see.
But then a woman posted some photos that just floored me. She is apparently a descendent of a schoolteacher (and amateur photographer) at the small wooden schoolhouse near my father's family's house. It was very unusual to even own a camera, and this guy seems to have taken photos of area families and children. He even saved the negatives, so he clearly took it very seriously.
These pictures are from before my father was born in 1915, I'm going to guess they're from around 1912 or 1913. I have never seen photos of these relatives as children until now.
This is my aunt Mamie Sue, the oldest of the children. She was the opposite of my mother; she was not sweet, comforting, or nurturing. In my memory she was pretty severe, one of those women who would describe themselves as not willing to put up with any foolishness. She was not unkind, at least to me, and I liked her but I was always a bit afraid of her, too.
This is Ralph and Kathleen. I have never seen a photo of Ralph, although I'm sure some others must have been taken. Are these the only ones that still exist? He was killed at 18 in a coal mine. My mother never met him, he was already gone when she met my Dad. I can't get over this photo. What a cute little face he has. These photos must have been a big deal to the family, photos were so very rare. I imagine their mother despairing over her lack of control over his hair. Mom told me that she made all their clothes, I'm sure they are all dressed in their finest for the occasion.
Baby Kathleen is the only one who still survives, and she turned 100 last year. Everyone calls her Hun, I have to say I am one of the few who know her given name. Hun (short for honey, not like Attila) is to this day a very outgoing, friendly, social, flirty woman.
Greg, going up to her at my father's funeral: Mrs Hun, I'm Greg, Ellen's husband.
Aunt Hun (grabbing his hand): Oh, Greg! Of course I remember you!
And they walked off without me.
She has made arrangements at the family cemetery to have her fictional birth year engraved on her headstone. (Why honey, she said on her 50th wedding anniversary when they tried to throw a party, you can't tell anyone I've been married for 50 years, there are people who think I'm barely 50 years old right now!) They tried to make a big deal over her 100th birthday, but she wasn't having that either. The local news even came by and filmed her surrounded by family on her big front porch, and she laughed and flirted with the reporter and refused to admit her age.
Aunt Mamie Sue looks a little less cranky in this one. The other girl is my Aunt Cleo, who never married and was an independent career woman, living alone and supporting herself. She went to nursing college and spent her life working in VA hospitals. She had retired and lived next door to us when I grew up, and I was closest to her than any of Dad's other siblings. She was very smart and looking back on it with an adult perspective I can appreciate how much she liked me. Before he passed away Dad gave me her watch, which was a very pretty and sturdy pocket watch that she used for decades the hospital.
Look at Ralph, sitting like a prince in the little chair, his feet not quite touching the floor. I love their black leggings and their scuffy shoes and their fancy clothes. What must their lives have been like, living on the farm, only rarely going into town, no television or computer or car.
I miss Dad a lot, I think about him frequently, and it is purely painful that I can't show him these pictures and ask him to tell me details about their lives and about his childhood.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Gifts
It's always a challenge to find Christmas gifts for Mom. Not only does she not want anything she tries to get rid of the stuff she does have by giving it to me whenever I visit. Plus she always pleads with me not to spend any money on her. But I really want her to have wrapped packages to open, so I'm always determined to find something.
Every year I get her a Robert Tuckwiller calendar (he paints lovely landscapes of the area of Virginia where we are from). So that's an easy one.
This year I got her a pretty Marjolein Bastin bluebird refrigerator magnet from Hallmark. She had a bunch of photos and magnets and things on her refrigerator when she lived in Gainesville, but now her frig is a small one and somehow nothing ever got put on it. She seemed really happy with the little decoration.
A bestselling book from a few years ago (Wish You Well by David Baldacci) has been made into a movie that was filmed in Giles County, where I'm from. Part of it was actually filmed on the tiny little road where I grew up, right down the street from our house, in the old abandoned one-room building that was my father's school. (Don't picture the school in the Waltons, that's too modern - picture the one in Little House on the Prairie.) My cousin's young daughter (whom I've never actually met) is an extra as one of the schoolchildren. The movie is completed but hasn't been released yet.
I found a copy of the book that meets Mom's requirements: it's a trade paperback but it's not too heavy, and even thought it's not actually Large Print it's easy to read. Inside the book I put a pretty pink and lavender bookmark, and Mom's started reading it already.
I also bought her a small box of chocolates that had whole hazelnuts inside. She just loves hazelnuts.
So she had several pretty packages to open and she seemed genuinely delighted with each of the gifts. We opened presents in her apartment on Christmas Eve and then went to my sister's house for a lovely lunch on Christmas Day (roast chicken, green beans with almonds, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, cranberry sauce, carrots and homemade pecan pie that consisted primarily of butter, Karo syrup and brown sugar). We all ate too much, and Mom took home a leftover piece of pie.
It was a lovely holiday visit. I am aware that I get too caught up in trying to make sure everything is perfect for Mom, and often having Greg there makes it even worse because instead of letting him help me I just add to the pressure by feeling like I have to make sure everything is perfect for him, too. Being aware of my tendency to get too stressy makes it a little easier to cut it out when I see it starting, so I think I did a pretty good job this time of just relaxing and enjoying the time with Mom.
It's been too long since I've visited her, and I want to go again within the next couple of months.
Every year I get her a Robert Tuckwiller calendar (he paints lovely landscapes of the area of Virginia where we are from). So that's an easy one.
This year I got her a pretty Marjolein Bastin bluebird refrigerator magnet from Hallmark. She had a bunch of photos and magnets and things on her refrigerator when she lived in Gainesville, but now her frig is a small one and somehow nothing ever got put on it. She seemed really happy with the little decoration.
A bestselling book from a few years ago (Wish You Well by David Baldacci) has been made into a movie that was filmed in Giles County, where I'm from. Part of it was actually filmed on the tiny little road where I grew up, right down the street from our house, in the old abandoned one-room building that was my father's school. (Don't picture the school in the Waltons, that's too modern - picture the one in Little House on the Prairie.) My cousin's young daughter (whom I've never actually met) is an extra as one of the schoolchildren. The movie is completed but hasn't been released yet.
I found a copy of the book that meets Mom's requirements: it's a trade paperback but it's not too heavy, and even thought it's not actually Large Print it's easy to read. Inside the book I put a pretty pink and lavender bookmark, and Mom's started reading it already.
I also bought her a small box of chocolates that had whole hazelnuts inside. She just loves hazelnuts.
So she had several pretty packages to open and she seemed genuinely delighted with each of the gifts. We opened presents in her apartment on Christmas Eve and then went to my sister's house for a lovely lunch on Christmas Day (roast chicken, green beans with almonds, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, cranberry sauce, carrots and homemade pecan pie that consisted primarily of butter, Karo syrup and brown sugar). We all ate too much, and Mom took home a leftover piece of pie.
It was a lovely holiday visit. I am aware that I get too caught up in trying to make sure everything is perfect for Mom, and often having Greg there makes it even worse because instead of letting him help me I just add to the pressure by feeling like I have to make sure everything is perfect for him, too. Being aware of my tendency to get too stressy makes it a little easier to cut it out when I see it starting, so I think I did a pretty good job this time of just relaxing and enjoying the time with Mom.
It's been too long since I've visited her, and I want to go again within the next couple of months.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Getting Oriented
I was sitting at my desk at work one week ago today, having read my sister's email about how she and her husband and my brother and his wife planned to take Mom out to lunch for Mother's day, and I thought, and thought. This could be her last Mother's day, how much would it mean to her to have her three kids all there together, wouldn't I just love to see her again. Could I make it work? Could we afford it? And I asked Greg what he thought. And I'm sure we all know what he thought. And I sent an email to my boss the drill sergeant and requested Friday and Monday off, and he answered 45 seconds later and said okay. I called and spoke to LaDonna the retirement home director and she said (in what has to be the strongest Southern drawl I have ever heard, and I am from Georgia) that it would be just lovely for me to see Mom for Mother's day and of course I could stay in the model apartment again with no charge and it would be just fine.
I drove up on Friday, had dinner at the retirement home Friday night, and gave and received lots of Mom hugs. Mom actually seems better, more happy and more energetic and just more on top of things than when I was there in March. I tried to talk her into going to lunch with me on Saturday, because she just never gets to leave that building, but she was afraid it would make her too tired and she wanted to be okay on Sunday.
She kept asking questions about where she was. Where exactly is Alpharetta? Is it near Atlanta? Why don't they show it all the time on the weather map on the news? Was there a Walmart nearby? A Walgreens? A Red Lobster? And I finally realized she was trying to get a picture in her head, she'd been in that building nearly constantly and she didn't even know what was around her.
So I took her driving, and we drove down the street and all the way around the big mall nearby, and I pointed out the Target and the Ruby Tuesday and the Chick-Fil-A. We drove past big office buildings with brightly colored flowers planted in front. I assured her that I had checked and there was no IHOP, no Walgreens, and no Red Lobster anywhere close, unfortunately. We came back and I parked across the street and we looked at her retirement home from there, she could see the entrance and the parking lot and the landscaping all around and the McDonald's drive through next door. We picked out where her apartment windows would be around the back.
I showed her a map on my phone of the area, and how Alpharetta is right next to Roswell, so if the weather map on TV shows Roswell she should just assume it'll be the same in Alpharetta.
I don't think that even with her walker she is strong enough to walk very far, so while she could maybe shop in a drug store, going through a mall or even a Target would be too much for her. Next time I go up there I'm going to take her out to lunch with me, though.
Lunch was awful in that way that going to a restaurant on Mother's day is inevitably going to be awful; it was confused and crowded and noisy and we had to wait too long for everything. But still, we were all together. And Mom and I shared an entree, and our salmon and broccoli was pretty delicious.
The best part was just sitting with Mom, reading the paper or watching Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune or America's Funniest Home Videos (it's way better with the sound off and the closed-captioning on).
Going back to work today was crap, but I'll get through the backlog of work, and it was worth it. I'm determined to go back in a couple of months.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
If My Worrying Helped, The Whole World Would Be Problem-Free By Now
Mom had a bad week. She had an ultrasound and it turns out her sternum is cracked. The doctor gave her tramadol for the pain.
She's also been having problems with being very shaky, not just unsteady on her feet but shaky in general. I actually didn't notice anything like that when I was there at Christmas, but she said it's getting worse. Tuesday she couldn't walk very far at all, even using the walker, and she sounded really confused when I spoke to her on the phone. She hadn't been down to the dining room at all for meals because she couldn't walk that far (they were bringing meals to her apartment), and couldn't sleep. My brother and sister were talking about looking for assisted living homes for her to move to, and getting a motorized wheelchair for her.
I was pretty upset at work. I can't help but think that, at her age, any serious physical problem might be the end. I walked around at work that day all teary, trying to lose myself in thinking about work stuff so I wouldn't just worry pointlessly. It was hard. That night when I called she said she couldn't do the crossword puzzle she does every day, which scared me a lot.
But on Wednesday things got better. The tramadol was messing with Mom's brain, she stopped taking it and has been herself again. Her doctor thinks the shakiness is because of a thyroid problem and is sending her some new medication. He also arranged for a home health nurse to check on Mom a couple of times a week, and a physical therapist to help her get back to walking (with a walker) again.
I spoke with the nurse ("You're her daughter? Oh, your mother is just so sweet!") and they seem to think she'll be fine, that with the medication and therapy she won't need a wheelchair. The physical therapist told Mom she'd be walking to the dining room again within a week. Mom said she was going to throw away the tramadol.
In the meantime, she hasn't left her apartment, but her friends Mickie and Wilma and Marie are coming by to visit and help her out, which cheers her up.
I'm trying to calm down about the whole thing, but it annoys me tremendously to be so far away and to not know every single detail about exactly what is happening. Despite multiple phone calls and emails with my sister, I still don't understand what the doctor thinks is wrong with her thyroid and why it would cause her to be so shaky. But things are definitely better.
She's also been having problems with being very shaky, not just unsteady on her feet but shaky in general. I actually didn't notice anything like that when I was there at Christmas, but she said it's getting worse. Tuesday she couldn't walk very far at all, even using the walker, and she sounded really confused when I spoke to her on the phone. She hadn't been down to the dining room at all for meals because she couldn't walk that far (they were bringing meals to her apartment), and couldn't sleep. My brother and sister were talking about looking for assisted living homes for her to move to, and getting a motorized wheelchair for her.
I was pretty upset at work. I can't help but think that, at her age, any serious physical problem might be the end. I walked around at work that day all teary, trying to lose myself in thinking about work stuff so I wouldn't just worry pointlessly. It was hard. That night when I called she said she couldn't do the crossword puzzle she does every day, which scared me a lot.
But on Wednesday things got better. The tramadol was messing with Mom's brain, she stopped taking it and has been herself again. Her doctor thinks the shakiness is because of a thyroid problem and is sending her some new medication. He also arranged for a home health nurse to check on Mom a couple of times a week, and a physical therapist to help her get back to walking (with a walker) again.
I spoke with the nurse ("You're her daughter? Oh, your mother is just so sweet!") and they seem to think she'll be fine, that with the medication and therapy she won't need a wheelchair. The physical therapist told Mom she'd be walking to the dining room again within a week. Mom said she was going to throw away the tramadol.
In the meantime, she hasn't left her apartment, but her friends Mickie and Wilma and Marie are coming by to visit and help her out, which cheers her up.
I'm trying to calm down about the whole thing, but it annoys me tremendously to be so far away and to not know every single detail about exactly what is happening. Despite multiple phone calls and emails with my sister, I still don't understand what the doctor thinks is wrong with her thyroid and why it would cause her to be so shaky. But things are definitely better.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Christmas Day
I love the task of trying to find Christmas gifts for my Mom, just one or two, so that she can have packages to unwrap and, hopefully, be delighted with a gift. It's pretty difficult since she doesn't want anything and is trying to get rid of the things she does have.
For the past few years I've given her calendars with artwork by Robert Tuckwiller, an artist who lives right exactly where we are from, and paints the landscape we think of as home. I get one for me to put up at my desk at work, one for Mom, and I started getting one for my sister, too, when I realized how much she liked them.
I swear, that is practically the exact view across the street from the house I grew up in, and the white house looks just like the house that the lady who sent me the bread recipe still lives in.
When I placed the order I told Mr. Tuckwiller how my mother really wanted to know the location of all of the paintings in the calendars, and he wrote out a list for her, even including previous years. She was completely thrilled to get that.
She gets a ton of Christmas cards, and I also gave her this cute display hanger from Pier 1:
Greg did exactly what I love, which is to get me multiple things to unwrap. The highlights are a 40"x25" canvas art print of Adam Ant! How neat is that? He might know me.
And a really fancy USB turntable so I can not only listen to all my albums (yes, I still have all my albums from the 70s and 80s, shut up) but I can also convert them to mp3s. I actually have a bunch of albums that were never released on CD, so I'm really excited about that.
I'm also excited about the blu-rays of season 1 and 2 of Downton Abbey, which came along with a promise from Greg to watch it with me. The blu-rays will just look gorgeous on our giant tv.
But the best part was the sneaky way I ninja'd Greg's present. It's pretty hard to spend a lot of money without him knowing it, since we share a bank account, but I realized a couple of months ago that I could just get $20 cash back whenever I made any purchase anywhere when he wasn't with me, and he'd never notice. I racked up a couple of hundred that way, took his $100 cash bonus that he got at work, and with a little extra "Christmas shopping money" from the ATM I ended up with a bit more than the ~$400 he thought I had.
So he was pretty surprised to get the 4th generation iPad with retina display and a red magnetic cover to go with it. Heh. If he ever puts it down, I'll ask him if he likes it.
Despite Mom still being in pain and despite me hovering over her and forcing her to let me do her laundry and take out her trash and turn down her bed (all things she normally fusses at me until I give up even trying to do) we had a pretty nice Christmas.
My sister and her husband came and we all had ham, sweet potatoes, and green beans in the dining room together.
It certainly wasn't the typical Christmas most people picture, but I was with my sweet Mom and my sweet husband and we shared hugs and thoughtful gifts and it was, for the most part, very nice.
For the past few years I've given her calendars with artwork by Robert Tuckwiller, an artist who lives right exactly where we are from, and paints the landscape we think of as home. I get one for me to put up at my desk at work, one for Mom, and I started getting one for my sister, too, when I realized how much she liked them.
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| No Place Like Home - Robert Tuckwiller |
When I placed the order I told Mr. Tuckwiller how my mother really wanted to know the location of all of the paintings in the calendars, and he wrote out a list for her, even including previous years. She was completely thrilled to get that.
She gets a ton of Christmas cards, and I also gave her this cute display hanger from Pier 1:
 |
| It looks a lot cuter with actual cards in it |
Greg did exactly what I love, which is to get me multiple things to unwrap. The highlights are a 40"x25" canvas art print of Adam Ant! How neat is that? He might know me.
 |
| It's already on our wall |
And a really fancy USB turntable so I can not only listen to all my albums (yes, I still have all my albums from the 70s and 80s, shut up) but I can also convert them to mp3s. I actually have a bunch of albums that were never released on CD, so I'm really excited about that.
I'm also excited about the blu-rays of season 1 and 2 of Downton Abbey, which came along with a promise from Greg to watch it with me. The blu-rays will just look gorgeous on our giant tv.
But the best part was the sneaky way I ninja'd Greg's present. It's pretty hard to spend a lot of money without him knowing it, since we share a bank account, but I realized a couple of months ago that I could just get $20 cash back whenever I made any purchase anywhere when he wasn't with me, and he'd never notice. I racked up a couple of hundred that way, took his $100 cash bonus that he got at work, and with a little extra "Christmas shopping money" from the ATM I ended up with a bit more than the ~$400 he thought I had.
So he was pretty surprised to get the 4th generation iPad with retina display and a red magnetic cover to go with it. Heh. If he ever puts it down, I'll ask him if he likes it.
Despite Mom still being in pain and despite me hovering over her and forcing her to let me do her laundry and take out her trash and turn down her bed (all things she normally fusses at me until I give up even trying to do) we had a pretty nice Christmas.
My sister and her husband came and we all had ham, sweet potatoes, and green beans in the dining room together.
It certainly wasn't the typical Christmas most people picture, but I was with my sweet Mom and my sweet husband and we shared hugs and thoughtful gifts and it was, for the most part, very nice.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Christmas Eve
Greg and I drove up to Georgia with our Jetta packed with prettily-wrapped Christmas presents, laptops, our giant suitcase, snacks and our pillows (the secret to sleeping on an uncomfortable bed is to bring your own pillow).
We went out for our usual breakfast for dinner at the local IHOP, and the pancakes with hot syrup and butter were as delicious a treat as always.
The next morning Mom called me while we were still waking up and said she'd fallen and hit her chest on the corner of the table in her apartment. We ran, and she seemed relatively okay, but in a lot of pain. She said she felt a sharp pain whenever she breathed. I looked at her chest and she had a minor bruise, but I know (I think?) with elderly people sometimes things take longer to show up. She is typically very anti-going to the doctor or hospital, so when she tearfully asked about getting medical attention I knew she must be really hurt. She insisted we take her to an urgent care clinic, because she was scared of having x-rays and being admitted to a hospital.
We went, in the freezing Christmas Eve morning fog and rain, and found a packed waiting room run by a cold-faced woman who said she had no idea how long the wait would be and waved a long sign-in sheet at me saying, "All these people are ahead of you."
We left and put Mom back in the car, Greg holding the umbrella over our heads while I helped her in, and I told her that if she needed to get medical care, I thought maybe the best plan would be to go back to her apartment and call an ambulance. That way, she'd be taken right in, without spending hours in a crowded emergency room waiting room. I told her they couldn't admit her if she didn't agree to be admitted, and she said okay.
In the hallway, I looked at Greg. Help me figure out what to do, I said, I'm freaking out. He held my hand and told me to take care of my Mom, and he'd take care of me.
They got there quickly and a bunch of EMTs crowded into her apartment. I noticed one or two stayed in the hallway, not bringing the gurney in right away. They were all nice Georgia boys with heavy accents, going out of their way to be polite to Mom and address her as Ma'am and direct their questions to her, speaking louder when she couldn't hear them. Feeling exactly like a scared 12-year old I tried hard to be the adult in charge, and I told them directly and succinctly what had happened.
They asked her if it was okay to examine her chest, and I knelt by her chair and held her hand, knowing it's hard at any age to have your chest examined after having two mastectomies. The one who appeared to be in charge said he didn't believe any bones were broken or cracked, that he thought she had a bruised sternum. They listened to her breathing with a stethoscope and took her blood pressure, and said she was breathing just fine. He cautioned me that he didn't have "x-ray vision" and there was no way to know for sure without an x-ray.
She's 91 and has back problems and going in for x-rays will be extremely hard on her and painful for her, I told them. I don't want to put her through that if it's not vitally necessary. What would happen if she does have a cracked or broken sternum?
There's still not much they can do, the EMT told me, except give her pain medication. I know Mom's history with pain medication, and it's basically nonexistent; even after fracturing two vertebrae she took mild pain pills only rarely, and under great protest.
What would you do, if she were your mother, or grandmother, I asked them. They looked at Mom. "Ma'am, do you want to go to the hospital?"
She shook her head. "No, unless I have to."
Everyone looked at me. I said that I thought it would be best if we just kept her at home and kept an eye on her. They all looked relieved and told us to call again if she got worse and they would come right back, it would be no problem. One guy told me that that's exactly the decision he would have made, but he wasn't allowed to tell me that before.
We all apologized for bringing them out, and they said that it was no problem at all. Merry Christmas, they wished Mom as they left, telling her they hoped she'd feel better real soon.
Greg and I gave Mom a bunch of ibuprofen and she got back in bed, and by noon the next day she felt well enough to get dressed and have lunch in the dining room with me and Greg and my sister and her husband. I could tell she was in pain, but she seemed to hold up okay.
She's still having trouble moving around, but has been able to shower and get dressed and undressed, and she said today she thinks it's starting to get better.
We went out for our usual breakfast for dinner at the local IHOP, and the pancakes with hot syrup and butter were as delicious a treat as always.
The next morning Mom called me while we were still waking up and said she'd fallen and hit her chest on the corner of the table in her apartment. We ran, and she seemed relatively okay, but in a lot of pain. She said she felt a sharp pain whenever she breathed. I looked at her chest and she had a minor bruise, but I know (I think?) with elderly people sometimes things take longer to show up. She is typically very anti-going to the doctor or hospital, so when she tearfully asked about getting medical attention I knew she must be really hurt. She insisted we take her to an urgent care clinic, because she was scared of having x-rays and being admitted to a hospital.
We went, in the freezing Christmas Eve morning fog and rain, and found a packed waiting room run by a cold-faced woman who said she had no idea how long the wait would be and waved a long sign-in sheet at me saying, "All these people are ahead of you."
We left and put Mom back in the car, Greg holding the umbrella over our heads while I helped her in, and I told her that if she needed to get medical care, I thought maybe the best plan would be to go back to her apartment and call an ambulance. That way, she'd be taken right in, without spending hours in a crowded emergency room waiting room. I told her they couldn't admit her if she didn't agree to be admitted, and she said okay.
In the hallway, I looked at Greg. Help me figure out what to do, I said, I'm freaking out. He held my hand and told me to take care of my Mom, and he'd take care of me.
They got there quickly and a bunch of EMTs crowded into her apartment. I noticed one or two stayed in the hallway, not bringing the gurney in right away. They were all nice Georgia boys with heavy accents, going out of their way to be polite to Mom and address her as Ma'am and direct their questions to her, speaking louder when she couldn't hear them. Feeling exactly like a scared 12-year old I tried hard to be the adult in charge, and I told them directly and succinctly what had happened.
They asked her if it was okay to examine her chest, and I knelt by her chair and held her hand, knowing it's hard at any age to have your chest examined after having two mastectomies. The one who appeared to be in charge said he didn't believe any bones were broken or cracked, that he thought she had a bruised sternum. They listened to her breathing with a stethoscope and took her blood pressure, and said she was breathing just fine. He cautioned me that he didn't have "x-ray vision" and there was no way to know for sure without an x-ray.
She's 91 and has back problems and going in for x-rays will be extremely hard on her and painful for her, I told them. I don't want to put her through that if it's not vitally necessary. What would happen if she does have a cracked or broken sternum?
There's still not much they can do, the EMT told me, except give her pain medication. I know Mom's history with pain medication, and it's basically nonexistent; even after fracturing two vertebrae she took mild pain pills only rarely, and under great protest.
What would you do, if she were your mother, or grandmother, I asked them. They looked at Mom. "Ma'am, do you want to go to the hospital?"
She shook her head. "No, unless I have to."
Everyone looked at me. I said that I thought it would be best if we just kept her at home and kept an eye on her. They all looked relieved and told us to call again if she got worse and they would come right back, it would be no problem. One guy told me that that's exactly the decision he would have made, but he wasn't allowed to tell me that before.
We all apologized for bringing them out, and they said that it was no problem at all. Merry Christmas, they wished Mom as they left, telling her they hoped she'd feel better real soon.
Greg and I gave Mom a bunch of ibuprofen and she got back in bed, and by noon the next day she felt well enough to get dressed and have lunch in the dining room with me and Greg and my sister and her husband. I could tell she was in pain, but she seemed to hold up okay.
She's still having trouble moving around, but has been able to shower and get dressed and undressed, and she said today she thinks it's starting to get better.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Evening Lake
We live in a small condo community that circles a little lake with a fountain. It can be quite pretty, when it's sparkling under a blue sky, or twinkling in the dark (it's lighted). We see a lot of ducks and turtles and the occasional small alligator.
For some reason I've gotten into the habit of snapping a quick iPhone photo out the back window most nights, right after my 8:00pm phone call to Mom. This time of year it's still pretty light out at that time, but a few days ago we had some pretty dark clouds gathering, and I especially liked this photo.
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| Our little backyard lake |
Monday, July 16, 2012
Visiting My Mother
I drove up on Monday morning, leaving home at 7:30am, stopping once to drive through Burger King for breakfast and once to get gas and pee. At 4:00, 500 miles later, I arrived and checked into my room.
Except this time the managers put me in a 2 bedroom 2 bath "show" apartment, which was much nicer than the guest apartment, and closer to Mom. I really don't mind staying in the little guest room, which is just one small room with a mini-refrigerator and a tv and a bed and a chair (well, and a bathroom), but having room to walk around in was a lot more comfortable. Having a big flat-screen HDTV and a couch to sit on and a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking the magnolia trees was way better.
Mom and I always go to the IHOP to have breakfast for dinner the evening I arrive, it's our ritual. She always gets the Senior Rooty, with blueberries or strawberries on her pancakes. I always get the 2x2x2, which is 2 eggs, 2 pancakes and 2 pieces of bacon. We always get the Splashberry drinks, which are Sprite, orange juice, and strawberries. For some reason Mom always eats pretty much everything on her plate at IHOP.
Afterwards we hang out in her apartment, she gives me the stack of things she has been saving for me (interesting articles from our local paper in VA, letters and cards that she's gotten, and magazine articles about eating healthy and finding a job), and we watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. She has turned on the closed-captioning and doesn't use the sound at all any more.
Mom's hearing is not great. She has hearing loss and has a hearing aid, but she also has nerve damage that distorts sound. The doctor says it won't get worse, but there's nothing to do to help it, either. The past time or two that I've visited I've noticed that Mom doesn't drag me all over the retirement home to introduce me to people like she used to, and I think it's because she is afraid that she won't be able to understand them.
At this point, there are plenty of people there who know me. When Rhea, the manager, walked me down the hall to my room I ran into Paul; he lives across the hall from Mom. He's from Florida, so we have that in common. "How are things down in Orlando?" he called when he saw me coming. "Too hot, like everywhere else," I answered.
My fancy 2 bedroom apartment was right next door to Dee. Dee is still very mobile for her age, tall and slender with curly white hair, and she's always dressed well. Dee has breakfast with Mom every morning, and sometimes sits with her at lunch, depending on who else is there. Dee doesn't come down to dinner, though, because she eats in her apartment with her boyfriend from down the hall.
Mom typically has lunch with Wilma and Mickie, who are her two closest friends. Wilma is a lovely woman with painted nails and pretty jewelry, who flirts with the waiters in the dining room. I won't say she flirts with every man, because I wouldn't want to hurt Greg's feelings. She always asks about Greg and talks about how she's looking forward to seeing him again.
I think some women, regardless of age, just have a flirt gene. I am not one of those women.
Mickie is very, very sweet. She walks with a walker, and she is always smiling. When I visited in March, Mickie gave me a birthday card, and signed it Your Mother's Friend. When I sit in the dining room with them, I always try to put my back to the room so Mom and Mickie can watch everyone coming in, see who sits where, and discuss what's been going on with whom.
At some point I always run into Connie, either in the lobby or the dining room or the elevator. She's a friendly Southern lady and always gives me a big hug.
On Tuesday Mom and I met my sister Mary and my niece Susan at Red Lobster for lunch. I try to include Mom in the conversation, but I know she misses as much as she hears. She says she hears enough, and she seems to enjoy herself. She feels overwhelmed by all the food, though, and is only happy if someone will split a meal with her, because she thinks it's just too much. I split lunch with her this time, sharing a salad, shrimp scampi, and broccoli. There is always a small argument over how much goes on my plate and how much goes on hers.
On Wednesday I took Mom to Belks to try to find a blouse. She can get along pretty well in a store with her walker, but we ended up having to walk too much this time, and she didn't find anything she liked so it felt like a waste of time. Then the two of us went back to Red Lobster. She likes it and she's comfortable there, so it's certainly fine with me. This time we split a fish and chips lunch, and it was surprisingly good.
Each afternoon I would leave Mom alone to rest a while. There was no wifi in the retirement home this time, the person from whom I usually steal it is farther away from the fancy apartment so I couldn't get it. But I had my computer, and my Kindle, and the fancy TV, so it was relaxing for me, too.
On Tuesday and Wednesday we had dinner in the dining room with Mickie and Wilma, and afterwards we watched TV and looked at pictures and talked about people back home.
We went back to IHOP, for actual breakfast this time, on Thursday morning. We got the same things, though, without bothering with menus. I was on the road headed south at 9:30am and drove up to my house at 5:00pm, literally just a moment before Greg pulled up.
I miss her already. I remember the first time that Greg and I drove Mom and Dad up there and helped them move in, and I cried as we drove away. Now, I don't usually cry, I just settle in for my long boring drive, feeling sad. I feel sad and think about Mom until around Macon, which is about 2 hours. Then after the Macon bypass I get on 75, the highway that'll take me into mid-Florida, and I start thinking about home.
Except this time the managers put me in a 2 bedroom 2 bath "show" apartment, which was much nicer than the guest apartment, and closer to Mom. I really don't mind staying in the little guest room, which is just one small room with a mini-refrigerator and a tv and a bed and a chair (well, and a bathroom), but having room to walk around in was a lot more comfortable. Having a big flat-screen HDTV and a couch to sit on and a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking the magnolia trees was way better.
 |
| Fancy living room |
 |
| Fancy bedroom which is in fact nowhere near a sea |
Mom and I always go to the IHOP to have breakfast for dinner the evening I arrive, it's our ritual. She always gets the Senior Rooty, with blueberries or strawberries on her pancakes. I always get the 2x2x2, which is 2 eggs, 2 pancakes and 2 pieces of bacon. We always get the Splashberry drinks, which are Sprite, orange juice, and strawberries. For some reason Mom always eats pretty much everything on her plate at IHOP.
 |
| Why even look at the menu, really? |
Afterwards we hang out in her apartment, she gives me the stack of things she has been saving for me (interesting articles from our local paper in VA, letters and cards that she's gotten, and magazine articles about eating healthy and finding a job), and we watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. She has turned on the closed-captioning and doesn't use the sound at all any more.
Mom's hearing is not great. She has hearing loss and has a hearing aid, but she also has nerve damage that distorts sound. The doctor says it won't get worse, but there's nothing to do to help it, either. The past time or two that I've visited I've noticed that Mom doesn't drag me all over the retirement home to introduce me to people like she used to, and I think it's because she is afraid that she won't be able to understand them.
At this point, there are plenty of people there who know me. When Rhea, the manager, walked me down the hall to my room I ran into Paul; he lives across the hall from Mom. He's from Florida, so we have that in common. "How are things down in Orlando?" he called when he saw me coming. "Too hot, like everywhere else," I answered.
My fancy 2 bedroom apartment was right next door to Dee. Dee is still very mobile for her age, tall and slender with curly white hair, and she's always dressed well. Dee has breakfast with Mom every morning, and sometimes sits with her at lunch, depending on who else is there. Dee doesn't come down to dinner, though, because she eats in her apartment with her boyfriend from down the hall.
Mom typically has lunch with Wilma and Mickie, who are her two closest friends. Wilma is a lovely woman with painted nails and pretty jewelry, who flirts with the waiters in the dining room. I won't say she flirts with every man, because I wouldn't want to hurt Greg's feelings. She always asks about Greg and talks about how she's looking forward to seeing him again.
I think some women, regardless of age, just have a flirt gene. I am not one of those women.
Mickie is very, very sweet. She walks with a walker, and she is always smiling. When I visited in March, Mickie gave me a birthday card, and signed it Your Mother's Friend. When I sit in the dining room with them, I always try to put my back to the room so Mom and Mickie can watch everyone coming in, see who sits where, and discuss what's been going on with whom.
At some point I always run into Connie, either in the lobby or the dining room or the elevator. She's a friendly Southern lady and always gives me a big hug.
On Tuesday Mom and I met my sister Mary and my niece Susan at Red Lobster for lunch. I try to include Mom in the conversation, but I know she misses as much as she hears. She says she hears enough, and she seems to enjoy herself. She feels overwhelmed by all the food, though, and is only happy if someone will split a meal with her, because she thinks it's just too much. I split lunch with her this time, sharing a salad, shrimp scampi, and broccoli. There is always a small argument over how much goes on my plate and how much goes on hers.
 |
| Yes, have another biscuit! |
On Wednesday I took Mom to Belks to try to find a blouse. She can get along pretty well in a store with her walker, but we ended up having to walk too much this time, and she didn't find anything she liked so it felt like a waste of time. Then the two of us went back to Red Lobster. She likes it and she's comfortable there, so it's certainly fine with me. This time we split a fish and chips lunch, and it was surprisingly good.
Each afternoon I would leave Mom alone to rest a while. There was no wifi in the retirement home this time, the person from whom I usually steal it is farther away from the fancy apartment so I couldn't get it. But I had my computer, and my Kindle, and the fancy TV, so it was relaxing for me, too.
 |
| Hanging out in my Gryffindor t-shirt, taking an iPhone pic of myself blowing a kiss to Greg |
On Tuesday and Wednesday we had dinner in the dining room with Mickie and Wilma, and afterwards we watched TV and looked at pictures and talked about people back home.
We went back to IHOP, for actual breakfast this time, on Thursday morning. We got the same things, though, without bothering with menus. I was on the road headed south at 9:30am and drove up to my house at 5:00pm, literally just a moment before Greg pulled up.
I miss her already. I remember the first time that Greg and I drove Mom and Dad up there and helped them move in, and I cried as we drove away. Now, I don't usually cry, I just settle in for my long boring drive, feeling sad. I feel sad and think about Mom until around Macon, which is about 2 hours. Then after the Macon bypass I get on 75, the highway that'll take me into mid-Florida, and I start thinking about home.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Everyone Goes On Vacation To Florida On July 4
For somebody who doesn't have a job to go to, I've been kind of busy.
Greg and I had originally planned for a vacation week over July 4. My pre-approved vacation days are a moot point now, but Greg still took the week off.
Last Saturday we had lunch with a writer friend that I met on Twitter. I am trying to cultivate writerly friends, and how awesome is it that we met on Twitter? She and her husband live over near the coast but drove over for lunch and tour of Orlando's finest comic shops.
Monday we went to Cape Canaveral to have lunch with my cousin, her husband and their son. Despite hours of hard thinking, I couldn't even remember the last time I saw this cousin. We've kept in touch through Facebook, but I swear it was at least the 1990's, and could possibly have been the 1980's when we last met. They were on vacation and had a lovely timeshare right on the beach. We had a great time catching up, it's nice to connect with someone who knows your history and your childhood.
Tuesday we went to various hardware stores to buy stuff to put up many many shelves in our living room to hold Greg's many many DVDs and Blu-rays. It was one of the main things we wanted to get done during our vacation week, but it turned out to be more expensive than we expected so we're putting it off until I find a job.
Wednesday we stayed home for a quiet Independence day celebration, had hamburgers and corn on the cob, and watched The Sound of Music, which Greg had never seen. Never! He loved it, of course. Days later I'm still humming Sixteen Going on Seventeen, and A Problem Like Maria.
Thursday was supposed to be beach day, which I've been looking forward to for weeks, but I got my period and felt awful, so we didn't go. I consoled myself by whining a lot. Greg and I watched Die Hard, which he also had never seen. I know, right?
Friday at 7am we took little, tiny, baby Alabama in to be spayed. Then we sat around and worried about her all day. I honestly don't know what we would do if either of us had to go in the hospital for a serious procedure, we were wrecks all day for a cat having a completely routine surgery. At 6pm we brought her home and were tortured by her grogginess and by having to put a cone on her poor little head. The second the cone comes off she tries to lick her incision, so we had to leave it on her, even though she is clearly completely tormented by it. At first she freaked out and tried to pull her head out or pull it off or run away from it, then she just broke and lay down sadly in defeat, while Greg and I stood over her wringing our hands and apologizing to her.
Yesterday we managed to tear ourselves away from the kitten, who is healing just fine but still hates the cone, to go to lunch with one of Greg's old friends and two of her daughters. They were in town on vacation for a few days, and it was fun.
Today I'm getting ready to drive up to GA to visit Mom. I can't wait to see her, phone calls are just not the same at all. Over time, it seems like fewer and fewer of those little daily life details get said on the phone, and I feel like I'm missing things. And we just feel so much closer after seeing each other in person.
I'll drive back home on Thursday, and we are going to the beach for sure this Saturday. I'm already looking forward to it.
Greg and I had originally planned for a vacation week over July 4. My pre-approved vacation days are a moot point now, but Greg still took the week off.
Last Saturday we had lunch with a writer friend that I met on Twitter. I am trying to cultivate writerly friends, and how awesome is it that we met on Twitter? She and her husband live over near the coast but drove over for lunch and tour of Orlando's finest comic shops.
Monday we went to Cape Canaveral to have lunch with my cousin, her husband and their son. Despite hours of hard thinking, I couldn't even remember the last time I saw this cousin. We've kept in touch through Facebook, but I swear it was at least the 1990's, and could possibly have been the 1980's when we last met. They were on vacation and had a lovely timeshare right on the beach. We had a great time catching up, it's nice to connect with someone who knows your history and your childhood.
Tuesday we went to various hardware stores to buy stuff to put up many many shelves in our living room to hold Greg's many many DVDs and Blu-rays. It was one of the main things we wanted to get done during our vacation week, but it turned out to be more expensive than we expected so we're putting it off until I find a job.
Wednesday we stayed home for a quiet Independence day celebration, had hamburgers and corn on the cob, and watched The Sound of Music, which Greg had never seen. Never! He loved it, of course. Days later I'm still humming Sixteen Going on Seventeen, and A Problem Like Maria.
Thursday was supposed to be beach day, which I've been looking forward to for weeks, but I got my period and felt awful, so we didn't go. I consoled myself by whining a lot. Greg and I watched Die Hard, which he also had never seen. I know, right?
Friday at 7am we took little, tiny, baby Alabama in to be spayed. Then we sat around and worried about her all day. I honestly don't know what we would do if either of us had to go in the hospital for a serious procedure, we were wrecks all day for a cat having a completely routine surgery. At 6pm we brought her home and were tortured by her grogginess and by having to put a cone on her poor little head. The second the cone comes off she tries to lick her incision, so we had to leave it on her, even though she is clearly completely tormented by it. At first she freaked out and tried to pull her head out or pull it off or run away from it, then she just broke and lay down sadly in defeat, while Greg and I stood over her wringing our hands and apologizing to her.
Yesterday we managed to tear ourselves away from the kitten, who is healing just fine but still hates the cone, to go to lunch with one of Greg's old friends and two of her daughters. They were in town on vacation for a few days, and it was fun.
Today I'm getting ready to drive up to GA to visit Mom. I can't wait to see her, phone calls are just not the same at all. Over time, it seems like fewer and fewer of those little daily life details get said on the phone, and I feel like I'm missing things. And we just feel so much closer after seeing each other in person.
I'll drive back home on Thursday, and we are going to the beach for sure this Saturday. I'm already looking forward to it.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Childless Heathen
I'm 46 years old and I never had children.
When I was a teenager, I couldn't imagine myself as an adult woman at all, much less married and taking care of children. I wanted to grow up and be a writer or an artist, traveling around on planes and seeing exotic lands and wearing glamorous clothes. Yet at the same time, in the back of my mind I kind of figured I'd probably end up like everyone else and get married and have a baby or two. It seemed like the default position.
Before sending me off to college, my mother gave me one uncharacteristically intense piece of advice: Don't get pregnant. I could see the sense of that. I was careful not to, even though I fell in love for the first time and spent many hours daydreaming about a future that included marriage and a house and babies.
But it didn't work out with him, and the next guy who came along had gone through a divorce and had a baby of his own. We lived together for several years and became engaged, but instead of getting married... we broke up.
So I was in my mid 20's, and kind of liked the idea of getting married and having children. But having gone through two relationships that ended, I was in no hurry. I moved into a little apartment of my own and enjoyed being single.
I always liked having my period, the introspective, hormonal, creative changes that come with it, and the break in my routine that it forced. I loved the idea of being pregnant, and who doesn't love the idea of smelling a baby's head and playing with the tiny toes? But actually raising a child and being a parent seemed overwhelming and exhausting, and really not appealing in any way. Maybe everyone feels that way, I reasoned, and tried to imagine little arms hugging me around my neck. Probably some sort of instinct would kick in when I met the man who would be a good candidate for fertilizing my sad, unused eggs.
Then all of a sudden a decade had passed, and along came Greg. A few months after we started dating, we went to St. Petersburg and stayed at a hotel on the Gulf of Mexico for a little vacation with my mom and dad, my brother and his wife, my niece and her husband and their baby daughter. The first morning we were in my niece's room, and the baby, who was not yet a year old, wobbled over to Greg, who scooped her right up. He held her in his arms and tickled her and talked to her, and I just stood there watching, waiting for an alarm to go off in my uterus. "She's never like this with strangers," her parents gushed. "She sure likes you!" Despite my silent uterus, Greg went up a couple of notches in my already-besotted estimation. He's so good with kids! Babies love him!
At 38 I got married to Greg, glad I waited for the right guy. No baby-wanting instinct kicked in, though. Since my mother had given birth to me when she was 45, I figured I had a few years left to think about it, and discuss it with my new husband.
We had many, many conversations that all went like this:
Me - How many children do you see yourself having?
Greg - None, I don't want any kids.
Me - I don't know what you mean by that. One baby?
Greg - I like our life the way it is, I don't think it could be improved by bringing a baby into it.
Me - But you love babies.
Greg - I love other people's babies.
Me - But you want one baby.
Greg - Do you want to have a baby?
Me - Not really.
When I was a teenager, I couldn't imagine myself as an adult woman at all, much less married and taking care of children. I wanted to grow up and be a writer or an artist, traveling around on planes and seeing exotic lands and wearing glamorous clothes. Yet at the same time, in the back of my mind I kind of figured I'd probably end up like everyone else and get married and have a baby or two. It seemed like the default position.
Before sending me off to college, my mother gave me one uncharacteristically intense piece of advice: Don't get pregnant. I could see the sense of that. I was careful not to, even though I fell in love for the first time and spent many hours daydreaming about a future that included marriage and a house and babies.
But it didn't work out with him, and the next guy who came along had gone through a divorce and had a baby of his own. We lived together for several years and became engaged, but instead of getting married... we broke up.
So I was in my mid 20's, and kind of liked the idea of getting married and having children. But having gone through two relationships that ended, I was in no hurry. I moved into a little apartment of my own and enjoyed being single.
I always liked having my period, the introspective, hormonal, creative changes that come with it, and the break in my routine that it forced. I loved the idea of being pregnant, and who doesn't love the idea of smelling a baby's head and playing with the tiny toes? But actually raising a child and being a parent seemed overwhelming and exhausting, and really not appealing in any way. Maybe everyone feels that way, I reasoned, and tried to imagine little arms hugging me around my neck. Probably some sort of instinct would kick in when I met the man who would be a good candidate for fertilizing my sad, unused eggs.
Then all of a sudden a decade had passed, and along came Greg. A few months after we started dating, we went to St. Petersburg and stayed at a hotel on the Gulf of Mexico for a little vacation with my mom and dad, my brother and his wife, my niece and her husband and their baby daughter. The first morning we were in my niece's room, and the baby, who was not yet a year old, wobbled over to Greg, who scooped her right up. He held her in his arms and tickled her and talked to her, and I just stood there watching, waiting for an alarm to go off in my uterus. "She's never like this with strangers," her parents gushed. "She sure likes you!" Despite my silent uterus, Greg went up a couple of notches in my already-besotted estimation. He's so good with kids! Babies love him!
At 38 I got married to Greg, glad I waited for the right guy. No baby-wanting instinct kicked in, though. Since my mother had given birth to me when she was 45, I figured I had a few years left to think about it, and discuss it with my new husband.
We had many, many conversations that all went like this:
Me - How many children do you see yourself having?
Greg - None, I don't want any kids.
Me - I don't know what you mean by that. One baby?
Greg - I like our life the way it is, I don't think it could be improved by bringing a baby into it.
Me - But you love babies.
Greg - I love other people's babies.
Me - But you want one baby.
Greg - Do you want to have a baby?
Me - Not really.
Greg - Okay, then! No babies.
Me - But are you SURE?
Greg - YES!
After Greg and I had been married a year or two, I spoke about it to my parents. When they told me that having a baby is certainly not something that I should feel pressured to do, that it was fine with them if I didn't and that they would not be a bit disappointed if I didn't present them with a grandchild, a big chunk of the weight lifted off my shoulders.
Despite the fact that it's a pretty personal decision, a lot of people asked. One friend with a small child told us how we just had to have a baby, it's the greatest thing ever, it completely changed his life for the better. He pushed parenthood with all the fervor of a Christian pushing religion. One person wanted to know who would take care of me when I'm old, if I don't have children. While I can kind of understand the logic of each generation taking care of the previous generation, I don't think that's a good reason to bring a human into this world. A few years ago when I had my episode of existential questioning (we won't call it a crisis, particularly since it led to a novel) I felt real sadness about my family photos, knowing no one would want them after I die. If, right then, I could have been guaranteed to have a baby who would grow up wanting to painstakingly preserve and document family history (particularly about me), I might have been tempted. But no one knows how things will work out, and it's entirely possible the baby would have grown up to have normal interests.
And with each passing year the idea of getting pregnant also got more and more medically questionable. I began to have an irrational fear that, at age 44 or 45, suddently Greg and I would realize that we actually did want to have a baby, very much, and then I'd be unable to get pregnant, and then we'd be sucked into the depressing vortex of attempting painful and expensive medical treatments.
Greg - Aww, look at this picture of the new baby, isn't she cute?
Me - You want a baby.
Greg - Oh my god, there is something wrong with your brain.
Me - Seriously, it's almost too late now, you have to tell me!
Greg - I have told you! No baby!
Me - But are you SURE?
Greg - YES!
During the year that I was 45, I thought a lot about my mother giving birth to me at that age. I began to have a whole new appreciation for how hard it must have been for her. Greg said that he likes our life the way it is, and even if it's kind of selfish, he didn't want to change it by having a baby. But really, is it selfish to decide not to have a baby? Our planet is overpopulated, maybe it's selfish to have a baby. But what if our baby was smart, and we raised our baby to be kind, and forward-thinking, and to, on a large scale or a small scale, make the world a better place? There are certainly a lot of babies born to thoughtless or abusive parents that grow up to make the world a harder place, shouldn't those of us who would focus on nurturing and loving do our part to at least even things out? Of course, the best thing to do would be adopt a baby. Or better yet, a child. But then that would be giving up the one thing that I think I'd actually like, the being pregnant part. But if all I want is to be pregnant and not actually be a parent, should I even be considering it?
And finally, at the age of 46, I am putting all these thoughts behind me. I am not going to have a baby, I am not going to adopt a baby. Greg and I are our little family of two (or four, if you count the furry family members). And, whew! All I feel is relief. No regret, no questioning. It was the right decision.
Now what am I going to do with the part of my brain that has been worried about whether or not to have a baby for the past 25 years? All of a sudden my head feels roomier.
Me - But are you SURE?
Greg - YES!
After Greg and I had been married a year or two, I spoke about it to my parents. When they told me that having a baby is certainly not something that I should feel pressured to do, that it was fine with them if I didn't and that they would not be a bit disappointed if I didn't present them with a grandchild, a big chunk of the weight lifted off my shoulders.
Despite the fact that it's a pretty personal decision, a lot of people asked. One friend with a small child told us how we just had to have a baby, it's the greatest thing ever, it completely changed his life for the better. He pushed parenthood with all the fervor of a Christian pushing religion. One person wanted to know who would take care of me when I'm old, if I don't have children. While I can kind of understand the logic of each generation taking care of the previous generation, I don't think that's a good reason to bring a human into this world. A few years ago when I had my episode of existential questioning (we won't call it a crisis, particularly since it led to a novel) I felt real sadness about my family photos, knowing no one would want them after I die. If, right then, I could have been guaranteed to have a baby who would grow up wanting to painstakingly preserve and document family history (particularly about me), I might have been tempted. But no one knows how things will work out, and it's entirely possible the baby would have grown up to have normal interests.
And with each passing year the idea of getting pregnant also got more and more medically questionable. I began to have an irrational fear that, at age 44 or 45, suddently Greg and I would realize that we actually did want to have a baby, very much, and then I'd be unable to get pregnant, and then we'd be sucked into the depressing vortex of attempting painful and expensive medical treatments.
Greg - Aww, look at this picture of the new baby, isn't she cute?
Me - You want a baby.
Greg - Oh my god, there is something wrong with your brain.
Me - Seriously, it's almost too late now, you have to tell me!
Greg - I have told you! No baby!
Me - But are you SURE?
Greg - YES!
During the year that I was 45, I thought a lot about my mother giving birth to me at that age. I began to have a whole new appreciation for how hard it must have been for her. Greg said that he likes our life the way it is, and even if it's kind of selfish, he didn't want to change it by having a baby. But really, is it selfish to decide not to have a baby? Our planet is overpopulated, maybe it's selfish to have a baby. But what if our baby was smart, and we raised our baby to be kind, and forward-thinking, and to, on a large scale or a small scale, make the world a better place? There are certainly a lot of babies born to thoughtless or abusive parents that grow up to make the world a harder place, shouldn't those of us who would focus on nurturing and loving do our part to at least even things out? Of course, the best thing to do would be adopt a baby. Or better yet, a child. But then that would be giving up the one thing that I think I'd actually like, the being pregnant part. But if all I want is to be pregnant and not actually be a parent, should I even be considering it?
And finally, at the age of 46, I am putting all these thoughts behind me. I am not going to have a baby, I am not going to adopt a baby. Greg and I are our little family of two (or four, if you count the furry family members). And, whew! All I feel is relief. No regret, no questioning. It was the right decision.
Now what am I going to do with the part of my brain that has been worried about whether or not to have a baby for the past 25 years? All of a sudden my head feels roomier.
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Restaurant Procedure
My visit with Mom last week was just lovely. I worked on Monday then drove up to North GA on Tuesday, and we had our traditional breakfast for dinner at the nice IHOP. (It really is kind of surprisingly nice for an IHOP.) I had the 2x2x2 like always (2 eggs, 2 pieces of bacon, 2 pancakes), without even going through the pointless charade of looking at the menu. Mom had the Senior Rooty, with blueberries on her pancakes.
Mom walks with a walker now, but it's too hard to manuever inside a restaurant, so that means our Restaurant Procedure, which is as follows:
I park in a handicapped spot (Mom has a placard to hang on my rearview mirror). I come around and help Mom out, I carry the pillow that she uses for her back and we walk into the restaurant with her holding onto my outstretched arm and hand. A lot of times people see us coming and helpfully hold the door for us. Inside, I ask for a booth (chairs are more likely to have hard backs that are uncomfortable for Mom, even with her pillow) and if it's a big restaurant like Red Lobster, I ask for a booth near the front to avoid a long walk. I walk with Mom to our table, and help her adjust the pillow behind her back.
Once seated, the temperature discussion begins. Is it too cold? Should I go out to the car and get Mom's jacket for her? Is there a breeze blowing on Mom, should we ask for another table? Mom has trouble hearing, she has nerve damage in her ears that her hearing aid doesn't help with, so I lean across the table to speak to her. When the temperature issue is settled, the what-will-we-order discussion starts. Mom feels very put upon by the large portions most restaurants serve, so I offer to split an entree with her. Mom worries that I won't have enough food, and I reassure her that it'll be fine. She usually says she never really feels hungry, and I don't quite know how to respond to that.
Sometimes servers are very respectful to Mom, and once they see that she has trouble hearing, they will speak up a bit, or speak a little slower. Sometimes they're impatient, and I have to translate what they said for Mom; but she always does her own ordering.
Once settled in and with our order in place, Mom will look around at the other diners. Last week in IHOP, she had a whole waving thing going with a tiny girl in a baby seat who kept smiling at Mom. When the food comes, there is always a minor argument when Mom wants to give me "just one more shrimp" or something else off her plate.
The big argument happens when the check comes. My tiny little mother, who I have never known to raise her voice or be confrontational with anyone (LITERALLY, I am not exaggerating) will snatch away that check as quickly as her arthritic hands will let her. And let me tell you, she is not kidding.
She is a Southern woman who fully believes that it is her job to show visitors hospitality such as the visitor has never previously known. This Southern hospitality must, at all costs, consist of copious amounts of food, including but not limited to sweet tea and biscuits, and if possible sending the visitor away with a big bag of tomatoes, peaches, or walnuts, whichever is in season. It hurts Mom to have visitors come and, not only can she not feed them, but they are trying to buy her food! That will not DO, not at all.
This is where the bargaining begins. How about if I let her pay at IHOP, but I will pay when we go to Red Lobster? If I let her pay the check, can I leave the tip? My rate of success depends largely on the time of year. At Christmas, she is adamant about wanting to pay for everything, because the horror of her not being able to feed me and Greg is compounded by her not having a pile of beautifully wrapped gifts for us. Last week, the best I could do was leave the tip, because she felt bad about not having a birthday present for me. It's a tricky thing, because I just hate having her pay for anything, but I don't want to hurt her feelings, and it's a big deal to her. I thanked her several times during the trip, telling her how much I appreciated her birthday present of buying my lunches.
As annoying as all this sounds, I love it. I really do. I'm proud to walk into a restaurant with my 90-year old Mother on my arm. I'm proud of her for going out, when walking is such a scary thing for her, and she has so much trouble hearing people. I love her for being so sweet and wanting to give me things. I try so hard to make sure everything is comfortable for her, and it can get stressful when things are not in my control.
But my visit was so very nice. I had dinner with her and her friends in the dining room, we shopped successfully for underwear and a robe and a pretty blouse for her, we looked at old photos, she seemed delighted to get the large-print biography of Regis Philbin I brought her (she loves Reege), and everything was just fine.
I drove back on Friday. I miss her already. With all the upheaval in my life, I am not sure when I'll be able to go back.
Mom walks with a walker now, but it's too hard to manuever inside a restaurant, so that means our Restaurant Procedure, which is as follows:
I park in a handicapped spot (Mom has a placard to hang on my rearview mirror). I come around and help Mom out, I carry the pillow that she uses for her back and we walk into the restaurant with her holding onto my outstretched arm and hand. A lot of times people see us coming and helpfully hold the door for us. Inside, I ask for a booth (chairs are more likely to have hard backs that are uncomfortable for Mom, even with her pillow) and if it's a big restaurant like Red Lobster, I ask for a booth near the front to avoid a long walk. I walk with Mom to our table, and help her adjust the pillow behind her back.
Once seated, the temperature discussion begins. Is it too cold? Should I go out to the car and get Mom's jacket for her? Is there a breeze blowing on Mom, should we ask for another table? Mom has trouble hearing, she has nerve damage in her ears that her hearing aid doesn't help with, so I lean across the table to speak to her. When the temperature issue is settled, the what-will-we-order discussion starts. Mom feels very put upon by the large portions most restaurants serve, so I offer to split an entree with her. Mom worries that I won't have enough food, and I reassure her that it'll be fine. She usually says she never really feels hungry, and I don't quite know how to respond to that.
Sometimes servers are very respectful to Mom, and once they see that she has trouble hearing, they will speak up a bit, or speak a little slower. Sometimes they're impatient, and I have to translate what they said for Mom; but she always does her own ordering.
Once settled in and with our order in place, Mom will look around at the other diners. Last week in IHOP, she had a whole waving thing going with a tiny girl in a baby seat who kept smiling at Mom. When the food comes, there is always a minor argument when Mom wants to give me "just one more shrimp" or something else off her plate.
The big argument happens when the check comes. My tiny little mother, who I have never known to raise her voice or be confrontational with anyone (LITERALLY, I am not exaggerating) will snatch away that check as quickly as her arthritic hands will let her. And let me tell you, she is not kidding.
She is a Southern woman who fully believes that it is her job to show visitors hospitality such as the visitor has never previously known. This Southern hospitality must, at all costs, consist of copious amounts of food, including but not limited to sweet tea and biscuits, and if possible sending the visitor away with a big bag of tomatoes, peaches, or walnuts, whichever is in season. It hurts Mom to have visitors come and, not only can she not feed them, but they are trying to buy her food! That will not DO, not at all.
This is where the bargaining begins. How about if I let her pay at IHOP, but I will pay when we go to Red Lobster? If I let her pay the check, can I leave the tip? My rate of success depends largely on the time of year. At Christmas, she is adamant about wanting to pay for everything, because the horror of her not being able to feed me and Greg is compounded by her not having a pile of beautifully wrapped gifts for us. Last week, the best I could do was leave the tip, because she felt bad about not having a birthday present for me. It's a tricky thing, because I just hate having her pay for anything, but I don't want to hurt her feelings, and it's a big deal to her. I thanked her several times during the trip, telling her how much I appreciated her birthday present of buying my lunches.
As annoying as all this sounds, I love it. I really do. I'm proud to walk into a restaurant with my 90-year old Mother on my arm. I'm proud of her for going out, when walking is such a scary thing for her, and she has so much trouble hearing people. I love her for being so sweet and wanting to give me things. I try so hard to make sure everything is comfortable for her, and it can get stressful when things are not in my control.
But my visit was so very nice. I had dinner with her and her friends in the dining room, we shopped successfully for underwear and a robe and a pretty blouse for her, we looked at old photos, she seemed delighted to get the large-print biography of Regis Philbin I brought her (she loves Reege), and everything was just fine.
I drove back on Friday. I miss her already. With all the upheaval in my life, I am not sure when I'll be able to go back.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
I Still Don't Know What I Was Waiting For
"I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
Then I turned myself to face me
But I never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test."
~ Changes, David Bowie
Every time I think things at work are so bad, just SO very bad, they get worse. It's darkly hilarious to me now that just a few months ago I was worried about vital programs not working, about not being adequately trained, and more recently about having a smaller desk in a noisier place.
I have always struggled with how much to write about my job. I wouldn't want to be Dooced. And really, people whining about incomprehensible corporate policies, their annoying co-workers quoting nonsense from Fox News, or the unfairness of being passed over for a raise is, typically, pretty boring, right? Blah blah blah. Who cares.
"Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that, it's called everybody, and they meet at the bar." ~ Drew Carey
I've spent 16 years at this company working at a job that is good enough. It's not my life's work, I've never felt that it was any kind of calling. I look at lists of numbers and put numbers into reports and spreadsheets. It's not like I'm saving people's lives or anything. It's not meaningful.
Next week I'm driving up to Georgia to visit Mom. I wonder if I ought to cancel the trip, but I can't, she's looked forward to it for so long, and I know that she would be deeply disappointed. So would I. I'll drive back on Friday, and be home with my sweetie for my birthday on Saturday.
Then back at work for whatever Monday brings.
I'll be 46 years old. Everything is changing.
David Bowie performing Changes live 1973
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Trying To Keep Perspective, But Mostly Failing
I have never before been so stressed about work stuff that I just couldn't stop myself from thinking about it all the time, while at work and at home in those moments where my mind is not occupied by something immediate. When I'm driving, when I'm taking a shower, when I'm doing the dishes, despite my best efforts to calm down and stop thinking about it I find my mind turns to work issues.
I have never wanted to write about work stuff on my blog, and I still don't but there seriously isn't anything much else in my head these days. And I'm so busy, and so tired.
I work in a call center operations department, overseeing two call centers in two cities, totaling over a hundred agents and dozens and dozens of different types of calls coming in on different lines. We use two main programs for this, one to watch/control the calls and one to watch and track the agents. Both are changing, this weekend.
The new program to watch the agents is one that we have received a fair amount of training on, and a manual. The training was all done in a hypothetical context, because none of the actual information that we will be using was loaded into the program. Still, it was helpful.
To learn about the new program to watch the calls we were included, along with a dozen other supervisors and managers, in a web conference projected onto a screen in our training room. The actual stuff that we will do, watching and controlling calls, was but a very small amount of time, and very hard to see on the screen. And that's it, no training manual.
To say that we are panicking is putting it mildly. My department is small, only 9 people, and we are all walking around like we are in a nightmare. (One co-worker is actually having nightmares.) One other co-worker looks weepy and confused, one keeps snapping at me and then apologizing.
Our boss is a wonderful person who we all care about a lot, and she is having a very sad family emergency and has been out of the office most of this week. Our sadness for her is not helping, and neither is the fact that she's not there.
Pretty much every other department is the same as ours, panicked and overworked and understaffed (two supervisors have left and not been replaced, two people on the technical team overseeing these changes have quit).
Like a cloud of doom hanging over our heads is the fact that our office location will soon be reconfigured to be 50% smaller. We have no idea how this will happen or when it will begin, but the office manager keeps bringing people into our area muttering about knocking down walls and putting in doors. When asked they tell us that an official statement will be coming at some point, they don't know when, but soon, within a month. Until then we feel somewhat homeless, having been asked to clear out anything not vital from our cubicles. None of us has even started with that yet, and unused bins sit stacked in the corner, a reminder that something is coming, but who knows what, or when.
We found out yesterday that a giant amount of information that was supposed to be uploaded into one of the new programs hasn't been, and won't be -- the company didn't pay for that upgrade. I have no idea how that wasn't made clear to us earlier, but it means we will have to do it all manually, before Sunday. It's extremely tedious and will take a really, really long time.
When I visited Mom last month, we went through some very old photos, and I found this one. Mom laughed but was slightly appalled when she saw it, I don't think she quite approves of Dad having taken a photo of her so (in her mind) unattractive. It must have been taken sometime in the late 1930's.
I love it, and I am sharing it, because it really makes me smile.
Written in her handwriting in pencil on the back is this. It says, "Made just after I got up to the top of Stone Mt! Some climb --"
And here is the front. I love this, and I feel a lot like this lately, especially when I am finally walking out of the building, across the parking lot to my car to go HOME. Too bad I don't have a cute hat like that.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
90
On Friday 9/23 I posted this status update to Facebook: On Friday, September 30, one week from today, my wonderful mother will celebrate her 90th birthday. She absolutely loves to get mail, and would be delighted to get birthday cards. Anyone interested in pleasing a sweet 90 year old woman, please PM me for her address. :)
I was surprised to get more than a dozen messages from people who wanted to send her a card. One person from high school that I haven't seen in decades, one person in another state that I only know from work, so many people who have never met my mother sent her cards. She ended up getting 32 cards, here's a pic of her display (she got more after I left, so this isn't all 32):
Many of the cards were from our relatives in VA, including my cousin Clara Sue, who is a third grade teacher and had her whole third grade class draw cards for my mother. How sweet is that? Here is Clara Sue's birthday wish/memories:
Here's a pic of the whole group of drawings laid out on Mom's bed:
She also got a giant flower arrangement from my cousin Tony and his wife. You can't really tell in this pic, but I swear it had to be nearly 3 feet tall. And it meant so much to Mom, who remembered how Dad used to grow sunflowers in the garden in VA.
I had quite a wonderful trip. I always get slightly anxious about making the long drive alone, but then once I'm on the road I'm fine, and everything went perfectly. We had our traditional breakfast for dinner at IHOP the afternoon I arrived. The next day we went shopping at Belk and Penny's and bought a couple of new blouses for Mom. She made it just fine with her cane and with me helping her get around, although it always makes her very tired.
On Friday, her birthday, we went to Longhorn for lunch to celebrate: It was my brother and his wife and their daughter (her husband was at work and couldn't come), my sister and her husband, and me and Mom. A big enough group to be celebratory, but small enough so that Mom was able to hear what was being said (most of the time).
I had several meals in the dining room with Mom and her friends Mickie and Wilma, and spent time watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. Mom has turned on the closed captioning because often has trouble making out what people are saying, but I tried to speak clearly and she rarely had to ask me to repeat anything.
She's been sad about her hearing, and I think this visit cheered her up. I'm already looking forward to going back at Christmas. It just makes me feel good to be with my Mom.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Up With Ruts
As I get older and get to know myself a little better, I am beginning to understand one thing about myself: I don't like change.
I would really like to be the kind of person who thrives on new experiences, finding new ways of doing things and being adventurous. But no, I am a stick in the mud old fuddy duddy who really enjoys a nice, comfortable, boring rut.
Things are busy, lately. Both Greg and I have had some kind of stomach problem that has lasted for around a month and a half. Not bad enough to call in sick to work, but bad enough to be no fun at all, and it just won't go away. Greg has had it worse, and he went to the doctor last week. Hopefully test results will show that it's something very quick and easy to get rid of. We are, as the saying goes, sick and tired of being sick and tired.
All of those changes that I mentioned earlier are starting to happen at work. The first of several major changes happened last week, and it's been stressful for everyone. The second and third major changes will happen at the exact same time mid-October, and we are all extra busy trying to prepare. The fourth major change, our company moving to a whole different building or our department moving to a different area of our current building, is still hanging over our heads like a cloud of doom. We don't even know when we'll know.
On Wednesday I'll drive up to Georgia to spend some time with Mom, and on Friday we'll go out to lunch to celebrate her 90th birthday. Saturday I'll have breakfast with her and then drive home, and will hopefully be home in time to have a nice dinner with Greg to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary. We took two vacation days to celebrate, so Sunday, Monday and Tuesday will be all about having fun and relaxing.
One good thing is that I'm now old enough to recognize those things about myself that I might have been reluctant to acknowledge during my thoughtless youth. I can at least plan ahead and make it a point to take care of myself.
I would really like to be the kind of person who thrives on new experiences, finding new ways of doing things and being adventurous. But no, I am a stick in the mud old fuddy duddy who really enjoys a nice, comfortable, boring rut.
Things are busy, lately. Both Greg and I have had some kind of stomach problem that has lasted for around a month and a half. Not bad enough to call in sick to work, but bad enough to be no fun at all, and it just won't go away. Greg has had it worse, and he went to the doctor last week. Hopefully test results will show that it's something very quick and easy to get rid of. We are, as the saying goes, sick and tired of being sick and tired.
All of those changes that I mentioned earlier are starting to happen at work. The first of several major changes happened last week, and it's been stressful for everyone. The second and third major changes will happen at the exact same time mid-October, and we are all extra busy trying to prepare. The fourth major change, our company moving to a whole different building or our department moving to a different area of our current building, is still hanging over our heads like a cloud of doom. We don't even know when we'll know.
On Wednesday I'll drive up to Georgia to spend some time with Mom, and on Friday we'll go out to lunch to celebrate her 90th birthday. Saturday I'll have breakfast with her and then drive home, and will hopefully be home in time to have a nice dinner with Greg to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary. We took two vacation days to celebrate, so Sunday, Monday and Tuesday will be all about having fun and relaxing.
One good thing is that I'm now old enough to recognize those things about myself that I might have been reluctant to acknowledge during my thoughtless youth. I can at least plan ahead and make it a point to take care of myself.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Old
My mom got some bad news: Her hearing loss is being made much worse by a problem within her inner ear, which is distorting the sounds she hears. The doctor said her ability to understand sounds went from 90% two years ago to 20% now. There's nothing that can be done about it. Her hearing has gotten noticeably worse in the past few months, even with her hearing aid, but we were all hoping that a new hearing aid or an adjustment would help.
Every now and then on the phone she has to ask me to repeat myself, but mostly she can still understand me when I speak to her. It's harder for her if there is any background noise, or if the person speaking isn't clear. Sometimes she holds the phone up to her answering machine to see if I can hear her messages, because she has so much trouble making out what they are saying. It was tremendously upsetting for her to find out that it wouldn't get any better.
Overall, at almost 90, she is in pretty good shape. Everyone at the retirement home just loves her, she is the "sweet" one who tries to help out and be kind to people. Her mind is fine. She walks perfectly well with the aid of a walker/rollator, which is really only there to keep her steady in case she needs it. Her vision is good enough to do crossword puzzles and read the newspaper. She gets tired easily, and her back hurts because of her osteoporosis, but she is in better shape, I would guess, than the average 90 year old.
I'll be driving up to visit her next week on September 28th, and we'll be going to a birthday lunch celebration with other family members on her birthday, Friday September 30th. I know she misses Dad so much it's hard for her to celebrate anything. Some days I can tell she just feels tired of living. I hope her birthday celebration cheers her up, at least a little.
Every now and then on the phone she has to ask me to repeat myself, but mostly she can still understand me when I speak to her. It's harder for her if there is any background noise, or if the person speaking isn't clear. Sometimes she holds the phone up to her answering machine to see if I can hear her messages, because she has so much trouble making out what they are saying. It was tremendously upsetting for her to find out that it wouldn't get any better.
Overall, at almost 90, she is in pretty good shape. Everyone at the retirement home just loves her, she is the "sweet" one who tries to help out and be kind to people. Her mind is fine. She walks perfectly well with the aid of a walker/rollator, which is really only there to keep her steady in case she needs it. Her vision is good enough to do crossword puzzles and read the newspaper. She gets tired easily, and her back hurts because of her osteoporosis, but she is in better shape, I would guess, than the average 90 year old.
I'll be driving up to visit her next week on September 28th, and we'll be going to a birthday lunch celebration with other family members on her birthday, Friday September 30th. I know she misses Dad so much it's hard for her to celebrate anything. Some days I can tell she just feels tired of living. I hope her birthday celebration cheers her up, at least a little.
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