How Many Children Do I Have Anyway?

he past several weeks, we've gotten into the habit of taking my Sister to church with us on Sunday mornings. Then, we bring her home for dinner, spend the afternoon together, go back to the afternoon service, and take her home after supper. It seems to be just the right amount of time for her to be home. When she spends the night, breakfast becomes very stressful for me. She is such a morning person --- I, on the other hand, I'm not. Most of the time when she's with us, she never stops talking, and what she says is just repetition over and over and over again. Don't get me wrong, I love her dearly. It's just that it does increase my stress when she's home for more than a few hours of time.

There's a lot more to monitoring her than some people might think. She needs to be watched all the time so that she doesn't get into things that she's not supposed to be into, very much like a small child. We've had trouble with her with everything from eating too much food to cutting herself with razors. She can't be left alone at all! For example, yesterday afternoon when she was home, I went downstairs for 20 minutes, and while I was gone, Mom and Dad went to take a nap. When I got back upstairs, sister had helped herself to a snack. It was less than half an hour after we finished eating.

One Sunday morning, we were going through the line at coffee after church. Sister started taking the amount of food she wanted, and then I had to have her put some of it back because she taken too much. I looked up at my pastor's wife who was serving coffee and shook my head. She chuckled and said, "How many children do you have now?"

You see, I have three children of my own. Two of them are grown and on their own, and one was at home with us. I have a stepson who is married, and they have a baby. I'm taking care of my parents, which is often like taking of children, except I can't discipline them. And then there is Sister.

Yes. I have nine children. And I am truly blessed.

Recycled Teenagers

very once in awhile, Mom can be quite stubborn and bull headed.  (OK, every once in awhile? Who am I trying to kid? I just liked this "E" drop cap and had to find an opening word that started with "E"!)

We go to church twice on Sunday's. A couple of weeks ago, we came home from the afternoon service to an irate Dad. "Your mother fell again," he said as we walked through the door. "She fell cleaning up the mess you should have cleaned up."

I had been sick for 5 days. Saturday was the first day I was feeling better, but I still didn't want to spend much time upstairs, for fear of getting Mom or Dad sick. I had noticed there was something on the floor that needed to be cleaned up, but just didn't have the gumption to do it.

Mom knows she isn't supposed to lean over because her balance isn't good and she is prone to fall. But for some reason, she decided she just had to clean that mess up, at that time.

You guessed it. She fell.

She didn't get hurt badly, but she couldn't get up by herself. She asked Dad to bring a chair close to her so she could pull herself up. Instead, my 80+ year old Dad lifted her up from the floor and put her on a chair, straining his back.

I have a troubling tendency to blame myself for things that are other peoples' responsibility. It causes me a lot of anxiety and is one of the things I've been trying to change about myself. The mess she had insisted on cleaning up had happened while I was sick, and it sat there. Why couldn't she have asked Husband or Son to clean it up while I was out of commission? And why couldn't it have waited one more hour for us to get home? I was upset about the way Dad had blamed me for her fall, and I walked away and went downstairs. I didn't realize he had hurt himself. If I'd known, I would have understood that was the reason he was putting the blame on me, and I would have acted differently.

The next morning, he wanted to go to the chiropractor, so I called in. When the receptionist asked what he needed to be seen for, I didn't want to gripe about them harshly, yet I didn't want to make excuses for them and take the blame myself, so I decided to reference an old joke of Dad's. When he was about 60, he liked to tell people he was a Recycled Teenager. So, I told her that I live with a couple of Recycled Teenagers who like to be rebellious sometimes.

I think Dad appreciated my use of his joke.

Long Time No Post!

ikes! Has it been that long since I last posted?!?

Sorry, folks. Things have been crazy busy. I was sick for the better part of a week (stomach flu or food poisoning, not sure which). Then, about a week later, Husband and Son were sick with the stomach flu. Fortunately, we were able to isolate ourselves from the Elders, and neither of them got sick. I can't imagine how awful it would have been for them if they'd had the violent vomiting and overall achiness that we had.

Since my last post, there was an issue with the recycled teenagers. I'll post about that next time. That incident led to Dad having a backache, so he's had chiropractor appointments 2-3 times a week. Add that to Mom's physical therapy once or twice a week and the other appointments Dad has for his chronic pain and abdominal issues, and I spend a lot of time driving them to appointments--almost every week day, plus one Saturday Dad had to go to urgent care for bronchitis.

One good thing that has kept me from blogging is that I've been doing a much better time taking care of myself. Remember, sustaining the sitter's sanity is one of the most important aspects of eldersitting. I found a show I like to watch on Netflix. I went to the cosmetology school for a haircut and found out their prices are so reasonable, even I can afford to treat myself once a week. The depression/anxiety medication has kicked in, and I can once again concentrate to read a book. And, I'm writing a book myself (a training book for the computer classes I teach).

Additionally, Husband and I are meeting with our pastor for counseling. This is a very stressful situation we're living in, and while I have no regrets, we need to do some work on maintaining our relationship to ensure we don't eventually rue the day we moved here.

So, I've been busy. But, I miss posting, too, and I'm going make an effort to do a lot more of it!

A Near-Death Experience

sually, Mom is up before I am in the mornings. Generally, she wakes up at 7:00. I get up at 7:30, to make sure my son gets off to school and to start or help with breakfast. This morning, I was surprised, at first, to find that she wasn't up. Then, I was terrified.

Did she die in her sleep?

My son and I commented to each other that it was strange she wasn't up. We walked down the hall and peeked into their bedroom. They were both completely still. I decided I should wait until after Son got on the bus before I checked further. He left at 7:55; I decided to wait until 8:00 to check.

Yes, I was scared to look. Wouldn't you be?

Thoughts ran through my fear-ridden mind. What happened yesterday? Did we fight? Was it a good last day, if it was her last day? Looking back, I realized it was. We didn't fight. She got to see my younger Sister. We played some games together. It was a good day.

At 7:58, I heard her close the bathroom door. What relief! She is still alive!

I talked to my husband about it later in the morning. He made two important points:

1. Whom would it be bad for if her last day on earth wasn't good?
   
   Me, of course. She will be in heaven.
2. She could live for 10 or more years, yet. If I try to make sure every day is a good one, it will drive me nuts!
   
   Sure. But I'm not meaning I need to make every day good; I just need to make sure I'm doing whatever I can to not make her days bad.

Death. It's a reality I know I need to face, but one that I am not looking foward to.

Rural Town Rectification

ural Town is my hometown. I didn't really like growing up here, largely because I didn't like how everyone was always in everyone's business. For teenagers, who often don't want people to know what they're doing, a small town is not a fun place to be. For parents, it's wonderful. "It takes a village to raise a child" really rings true in a small town, where people tend to watch out for other people's children. It didn't happen often, but there were enough times that I got in trouble because one of my parents' friends saw me misbehaving and called them to make me happy to move to a Big City.

Now I'm back, as a parent and with nothing to hide, and I love Rural Town. Of course, being a parent in Rural Town has forced me (or should I say allowed me?) to become involved in Rural Town Rectification. I got my first opportunity this week.

Son had forgotten his gloves and needed them for an outdoor gym class. So, I drove in to bring them to him. The roads haven't been great because of the snow, and there is one spot about a half mile from Rural Town where houses on both sides of the road keep the wind from clearing things out. I always slow down when I get there. About that time, I saw in the rear view mirror that a pickup was right on my tail. The road wasn't too bad on my side of the road, so I sped up to 60 mph. The pickup whipped around me into the snow packed lane and got back into the correct lane just in time to slow down for the 4-way stop on the edge of town. There was another car in front of him, so by the time he got to turn, I was at the stop sign myself. I couldn't believe someone would do something so dangerous! And what did it gain him? Nothing!

I followed him as he fishtailed around a corner and then pulled in and parked at the school. I drove in right behind him, parked at the curb by the front door and waited for him to get out so I could see who he was. He seemed to take forever to get out of the truck! I didn't recognize him, so I went inside. After I gave Son's gloves to one of the women in the school office, the driver finally walked by. I asked them his name, but didn't recognize him or his parents (after 20 years of living Elsewhere, I no longer know everyone). I told the ladies what had happened, and one of them asked, "Do you want to talk to him? I'll call him up to the office!"

"Yes," I found myself nodding in agreement.

I waited outside the office for him to return, planning what I would say. The most important thing, I figured, was to make sure I didn't yell like some crazy person.

When he got there, I told him I was the person he'd passed half a mile out of town. I told him what he'd done was reckless and irresponsible. I told him that he gained nothing by passing me so close to town, since I pulled into the parking lot right behind him. I told him that road is dangerous, and that a high school student once hit a school bus on it, killing himself and injuring several other students. And I asked how old he is--17--and told him that he's old enough to know better. (Maybe a compliment will help the idea of responsibility to sink in better.)

To his credit, he was respectful, and didn't offer a load of excuses. Just that he was running late. I wish I'd thought at the time of the way he sauntered so slowly from the truck to the school building. If he'd just run across the lot, he'd have made up more time than he did in his dangerous passing maneuver!

I ran into the lady from the school office last night. She told me that the young man asked her who I was. She told him, but also let him know he was lucky I chose to talk to him myself rather than call the police.

We don't need to bother the police with a matter like this. We have Rural Town Rectification.

Balance

alance has been one of Mom's biggest physical issues since her stroke. When she had the first stroke, she couldn't walk for a few days, and it took a lot of physical therapy to get her back on her feet. She's had at least one, and possibly more strokes since then. Her left side is almost completely numb. It is difficult for her to walk, difficult for her to get out of a chair, difficult for her to carry things in her left hand. She says that she can hold stuff in her left hand, but only if she really concentrates on keeping her fingers in a death grip on the item. When she does that, she can't concentrate as well on her walking.

Have I ever mentioned Mom has a fierce independence and a stubborn streak that rivals the entire 20-Mule Borax Team?

So, she insists on walking, insists on getting out of her chair without assistance, insists on carrying two cups of coffee at a time.

I'm learning that it's not entirely a bad thing. The neurologist told us that she needs to exercise the parts of her brain that were injured by the stroke, and that anything she can do for herself, I should let her do. And I've been getting a lot better at standing back and letting her do things. She's back to putting out the (greatly reduced number of) supplements each morning. I've been asking her to help with things when I'm making dinner or supper (that's lunch and dinner, for those of you who don't know Rural Town-speak). For a couple of weeks, I even let her make breakfast by herself.

Then, she fell.

It was Christmas Eve. We had five extra people in the house for the holiday, and with five extra people comes five extra people's stuff. So, the piles in the house grew larger than usual. Mom was walking from the living room into the kitchen when she stubbed her toe on something and toppled to the floor. She caught herself with her left arm.

My son and I picked her up from the floor and got her settled in her recliner. I brought an ice pack and checked to make sure she could move her fingers and wrist. I called my sister, an EMT, to ask her opinion. And then, finally, gave in to Mom's insistence that she didn't need to go to the hospital.

The next morning, I couldn't believe the bruises Mom had! Her wedding rings had come off the night before because of the swelling, and her whole hand was a big bruise from where they had hit something on the way down. A crescent bruise on in inside of her elbow suggested she'd landed on a 2-litre soda bottle cap. And almost her entire forearm was bruised.

She still insisted that she didn't need to go to the doctor. She's still in physical therapy, and the therapist has been helping with the wrist, now, too. She also says Mom's balance is worse than it was when she started seeing her in September, and that is probably what made her fall.

Mom has been resting more, and sitting with Dad watching TV or shows on DVD (we recently bought them a season of Little House on the Prairie and I Love Lucy). Dad has been more talkative lately (which I will get into in another post), and that helps Mom to not minding resting. When she complained that she should be helping, Dad encouraged her, saying, "You've worked hard for 80 years. Now, you get to retire."

I hate to say her getting hurt was a good thing, but it has helped her to rest and not work all the time. I wouldn't have wished the pain on her, but at least it has come with some positive consequences.

I got another Bonus Task out of the deal--Mom used to wash all the dishes. It was good physical therapy for her, and it sure helped me a lot. But rather than taking this Bonus Task on myself, I delegated it. My son is now in charge of dishes.

Revelation

his week, I've had a revelation for relieving my stress taking care of my parents. I've been playing with them.


Not making fun of them or anything like that. But playing cards. They were big card players in their day, and when I was young, they'd go to someone's house at least a couple times a month to play cards. For many years, Dad hasn't wanted to go places. He's been depressed, but they couldn't find the right combination of meds to help him. Mom doesn't drive, so when Dad stopped going places... her social life almost completely cut off.

I never got into playing cards much as an adult, but my daughter is visiting from college this week, and she loves to play cards with her friends at the dorms. So, she's been teaching me and my son games over the past year, and this visit was no exception. And Mom, in turn, taught her how to play their favorite card game, Whist. (My son had previously learned when my brother was visiting a couple of weeks ago.)

Mom was fascinated watching us play cards Sunday afternoon. She didn't even take a nap! She didn't want to play the games we were playing, but she didn't want to miss out on watching us. So, I suggested we play Whist and let her in on the fun. We've played every day since, and I have been a lot less stressed out this week! My husband has learned to play, too, and let me tell you, he and my dad make a formidable partnership!

I used to work upstairs with Mom and Dad, cooking, cleaning, taking them to appointments, paying bills, and whatever else needed to be done. After our evening meal (is it dinner or supper?), I would immediately go downstairs, to "get away". But I'm finding staying up there for an hour is good for us all.

Repetition

t's funny listening to Mom and Dad talk to each other sometimes. Neither of them can hear very well. Dad's voice has changed so much that the gruffness makes it hard to understand. And Mom always thinks she's talking louder than she actually is.

One day, I heard them discussing a magazine.

Mom: Do you want this?

Dad: No, but the grandson (speaking of my son) might.

Mom: What did you say?

Dad: The grandson might.

Mom (looking around quizzically): I still can't understand what you're saying.

So, I step in to try and help.

Me: He said "The grandson might."

Mom: I can't understand you either.

Me (after trying a couple more times, then gesturing to myself): My son... He might like it.

Mom: Oh, yes, OK.


Then this morning, they were talking about going out to eat at a restaurant that gives Veterans a free meal on Veteran's Day. My husband and I aren't going to be home that day, so I suggested Dad might want to take Mom out for a meal. I asked if they were planning to take my son with them for dinner or go at lunch time while he's in school. First, Dad corrected me, saying that he'd be eating dinner while my son is in school, but they could take him along for supper (welcome to Rural America). Then Mom joked and said, "We'll take him with us for supper and make him watch us eat."

Dad didn't hear her. So, I got to watch the exchange again.

Finally Dad heard what she said. Then, he quipped, "That's when he'd grow a long arm." He knows my son well. :)

Happy Veteran's Day, and to all who have served or are serving our country, many, many thanks!