No Clean Underwear--Again???

nderwear.

None clean.

Again.

Yes, in today's Eldersitting blog post, I'm airing Mom and Dad's dirty laundry.

Dad had a heart attack in November. They put in a stent the next day, and he's recovered quite well for an 83 year old with COPD! Since then, he's had cardiac rehab three days a week. In Big Town. About 18 miles away. And he hasn't driven in the intervening months. So, I drive him there. Did I mention it's three days a week?

So, three days a week driving to cardiac rehab. Another one or two for physical therapy or various other appointments. Plus, I've been sick a couple of times, myself. (Unfortunately, I think the mild winter, which I've thoroughly enjoyed otherwise, has something to do with it.) Between all these things, I have fallen behind on housework. Very far behind!

One of the things I'm farthest behind on is laundry. It's actually one of my favorite jobs to put off in the first place, so having no time is a great excuse to not get it done. I finally got Dad to let me know when he takes the second to last pair of underwear from his drawer. In the meantime, I had to buy some extras for him. At first, I never had to worry about Mom running out--she had more pairs than Dad, and since I had to wash his, I washed hers, too, and she didn't run out. But, now that I've bought him more underwear... you guessed it, now Mom sometimes runs out. And she's not yet trained to let me know when that happens!

Today, I bought her a package of underwear. Ten pairs. That oughta last awhile.

Of course, by then Dad will have forgotten to let me know when he's nearly out, so I'll have to buy him some more. And then Mom will forget to let me know when she's nearly out, so I'll have to buy her some more. And so on. And so on. And so on.

I can see it now: we have a large capacity HE washing machine that holds four times as many clothes as the old washer did. And there's going to come a time when I fill it to capacity with nothing but underwear.

Turning Into My Parents

Wow! It's been a long time since I posted!

I've picked up some hobbies in the past few months. I had tried others--they didn't stick, but boy, have these two! In June, I began researching my family tree. Dad likes to quip that since I started, I've only found one pirate and two horse thieves. ha ha

Then, the beginning of August, I rediscovered knitting. Ahh... knitting. My new comment on life in general is, "I have yarn; I'm happy!" (We won't go into the idolotry contained in that statement at the moment. I'm working on it.)

Anyway, there have been a lot of projects keeping me busy the past few months, but today, my Husband commented that he misses my posts. Aww... it's nice to be missed!

I discovered today that he and I are turning into my parents. I suppose after living here for 18 months, it's bound to happen. lol

All summer, Mom and Dad enjoyed watching Their Favorite Baseball Team. One would say, "Go First Name" and the other would say, "Get a hit, Last Name". It was so cute to see them!

We've been watching the World Series together. My Husband grew up in the city of one of the teams, so we're rooting hard for them! And here we go, saying, "Go First Name" and "Get a hit, Last Name."

Just like Mom and Dad. :)

Mom and Dad's team didn't do very well this year, so my Husband was ribbing Dad at dinner the other night, asking him to root for the opposing team so his hometown team will win. They've been having a lot of fun with that one!

Hoping not to be so long between posts again!

The Eldersitter

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.

More On Dad's Pain

ver the past few weeks, Dad has been doing a lot better, both emotionally and physically. Actually, more emotionally than physically, but doing better emotionally seems to be helping him at least want to improve his physical situation. Of course, he's gone to doctor after doctor over the years, seeking relief from his pain, but he was only interested in what they could do for him, but he would never do things they suggested he could do for himself.

For example, the physical therapist wanted him to do some exercises. Even when reminded, he wouldn't do them very often. He always sleeps on his right side, with his right arm under his head. The doctors think that his lack of variation in sleeping positions caused the soft tissues in the right side of his neck to shorten, and those in the left side of his neck to lengthen, which causes pain in a particular muscle that attaches above his left eye--exactly where his pain is. He can't lie on his back or stomach for very long at a time because of breathing issues, and he wouldn't try sleeping on his left side because he's completely deaf in his right ear and didn't like not being able to hear anything while he's in bed.

In October, I talked to his doctor about how every time we make plans to do something, Dad would end up sick, and asked him if he thought it could be caused by anxiety. Dad said, "But I wanted to go." The doctor said that didn't matter. Even good stresses can cause anxiety. He prescribed Buspirone, a medication that would boost the effects of the Cymbalta antidepressant he was already taking, help with anxiety, and even help relieve his belly pain.

Only a couple of weeks later, the belly pain was gone. His mood improved. He not only told jokes, but started laughing while telling them, to the point his face turned red. For years, he didn't want to talk to anyone on the phone. If he answered my calls, he quickly asked if I wanted to talk to Mom. Now, suddenly, he was calling people just to see how things were going with their farms and families. For years, he practically ignored Mom. Now, he calles her sweetheart, hugs her every chance he gets, talks to her, watches TV shows she wants to watch, and generally seems more interested in her. I've got my dad back!

It took a little longer, but in the last week, he's started sleeping on his left side! With the help of his doctors, I think we'll make some progress on his headaches.

Doorbells

've mentioned before that Mom is a hoarder.

When I moved back in last spring, the front door (which we rarely use) was completely blocked with boxes of stuff. Papers from two years ago, unmatched socks by the bag, boxes and bags from previously started and unfinished sorting attempts, and an empty video cabinet--while all the DVDs and VHS tapes are scattered around the room.

Once, the screen door locked as Mom and I were going outside to look at something, and we couldn't get back in. Dad was sleeping in the back, and my husband was sleeping in the basement. I went around to the front door and tried to open it. Push. Push. Push. Not enough movement to even get my head through the door.

I had my cell phone, so I tried calling my husband. He didn't answer. So, I called the house phone. Dad didn't answer. I rang the doorbell. Still no knight came to our rescue.

Finally, I pushed hard enough I could get my head through the door, and I hollered, "Dad!!!" He answered, and I told him we needed help. And at the same time, my husband came up the stairs. Finally, we were back in!

So, a few months later, I spent a lot of time emptying that corner, along with the rest of the room. Wow, did that feel nice! Being able to walk through the room and into the hallway rather than walking around through the kitchen. Not having boxes tumble down when their precarious position was perturbed.

Shortly after that, Mom wanted to move furniture around. I'm not sure why, but she decided she wanted the table moved from the dining area side of the kitchen into the back half of the living room. It's no further from the stove to the table, and I figured it would, if nothing else, keep Dad's oxygen hose from tripping us while we're cooking. So, I strapped on my weight belt and got cracking.

As we were trying to figure out where to place all the furniture, I mentioned that since we never use the front door, maybe we could put a piece of furniture in front of it.

"Heavens no! We use that door sometimes," Mom replied, indignantly.

I didn't mention the years the door was blocked before I cleared it out a few weeks prior.

"Oh really? When?" I asked, innocently.

"Well, sometimes people come up to that door and ring the doorbell."

"Huh. I don't know why they would, when the sidewalk comes up to the back door."

"Well, one time the {former, long-retired} newspaper editor's daughter and her boyfriend ran off the road, and they came up to our house to get help. She rang that doorbell."

"She did," Dad interjected. "And I pulled their car out with the old Chevy truck, and she always was real nice to me after that."

I did some mental processing of that information. The year the Chevy truck was traded for the Ford truck flashed through my mind. Then I processed the name of the woman who rang the bell.

She graduated when I was six.

And that was the last time the front doorbell was rung. Well, until I tried to get in when I was locked out the back door.

The Things You Learn

hen Eldersitting your parents, you sometimes learn some interesting things.

My parents' relationship has not been very good in recent years. They are of the generation that wouldn't consider divorce, otherwise I sometimes wonder if they'd still be together. When I moved up here, I was disturbed to find out Mom wanted me to be her confidante and counselor. I wouldn't have thought I'd mind, but the things she was telling me! One day, she told me that Dad never even wanted to have children. That was the worst. Honestly, I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing that one.

She told me that when I was up prepping their house for us to move in, but I hadn't yet packed at home. I called my husband, crying, and told him what she'd said, and that I wasn't sure if I could do this. He reassured me that it would be OK, that even if Dad hadn't wanted to have children, he obviously loved us once he had us.

After that, I told Mom that I couldn't be her counselor and confidante. After all, I'm living with Dad, too, and I don't want reasons to not love him. She's been pretty good about remembering not to complain to me about him.

When I was a little kid, I loved the song, "Funny Face" by Donna Fargo. I would listen to it over and over on the 8-track player, at the age of 4 pushing the button repeatedly to skip the other songs on the tape. Dad started calling me "Funny Face". I never took it as an insult, even when I grew older, because of the next line in the song, "Funny face... I love you."

I love you too, Dad.

Going to Church

ow that I'm (almost) my sister's guardian, I'm making changes with her visits home. For instance, she can't be here for long periods of time (i.e., more than 30 minutes!) unless I am. That means each time she comes home for the weekend, she comes to church with us on Sunday. Twice.

At first, Sis was so opposed to going to church with us that she refused to come home for weekends when she was told she'd have to go. But then, at Uncle's funeral a few weeks ago, my husband got to spend a couple of hours with her, just the two of them, and he told her all about the Gospel. When she found out that's what our church is about, she suddenly was happy to go.

We were raised in an ELCA Lutheran Church; now, we go to a Reformed Church. Many Reformed churches come from a Dutch background, while the Lutheran heritage is more German and Norwegian, so the hymns Sis and I grew up on are different than the ones we're singing now. The first service this week, I noticed Sis quietly tried to sing along with the hymns, but they were all unfamiliar, and she can't read music. (Her I.Q. is 42--I'm pleased as punch she can read words!) Then, the last hymn was one she knew: O Come, O Come Emmanuel. And she let the whole congregation know she knew it! What a joyful noise to the Lord that was! It was beautiful! She hugged me after the service and told me she loves our church.

Mornings are the toughest time of day for Dad. His head generally hurts worst upon waking, or sometimes it is what wakes him. So, they haven't gone to church with us in the morning. But this week was the second time they came with us to the evening service. I think they had an idea that our religion was a cult or something, because they really avoided going with us for a long time. Mom finds it strange that my husband doesn't like crosses or pictures and statues of Jesus; he finds it strange that she seems to think the Second Commandment doesn't apply. But, they know now that our church is a good one, and this week, I think they were truly blessed by the service.

I know I was. There is nothing like hearing the Law and Gospel preached by a man of God. Amazing!

Low-Sodium Cooking

ad had a new problem a few weeks ago: his feet and ankles were swollen like elephant legs. He went to the doctor, got a 2-week supply of a diuretic, and was told to lower his salt intake and not to eat ham or canned soup.

What had I been serving for lunch every day the previous two weeks? Canned soup and lunch meat sandwiches. Oops.

What did I cook almost every evening meal with? Either canned cream of mushroom soup, dry onion soup mix, or chicken or beef broth/bouillon. I was appalled when I looked at the sodium count on those items! I've been killing Dad!!

So, I went to the store, determined to find some ingredients that I could cook with that wouldn't be horribly high in sodium. Low-sodium cream of mushroom soup: still too much sodium. Low-sodium dry onion soup mix: yeah, um, that one doesn't exist, at least not in the grocery stores in Big Town.

That meant it was time to find new recipes. Google, here I come!

So many recipes call for the canned and boxed items I'd been using that the first step was to find substitutes for those. And I found a wonderful site that has been very helpful in teaching me how to make homemade cream soup, chicken stock, and beef stock, for which I can monitor and control the amount of sodium that goes in. The site is Home Ec 101: Real skill for real people with real lives (what you wish your mama taught you).

From this site, I've learned to make:

• Bechamel sauce--a creamy white sauce that is made from butter, flour, and cream/half and half/milk. You can vary the recipe by adding chicken stock, vegetable stock, or fish stock and adding things like mushrooms to mimic cream of mushroom, cream of celery, cream of shrimp, or cream of chicken soup. I've learned that if you're careful with the re-heating process (heat it on low on the stove from frozen), it doesn't separate, and so it can be made in large batches and frozen.
• Chicken stock--chicken stock takes a lot of cooking time, but not a lot of effort, to make, so I made large batches of it and freeze it in 1 or 2 cup portions.
• Chicken soup--her homemade soup is delicious, and once you've made the chicken stock, very easy and quick to prepare.
• Dumplings--my husband loves chicken and dumplings. He prefers the firmer, almost pasta-like dumplings, and I always made the fluffy, biscuit-like dumplings. I found on the Home Ec 101 site that adding egg is what changes the consistency.

So now, I will be able to post some things about cooking from scratch.

Oh, and Dad's feet and ankles are back to normal! Yay!

Adventures in Eldersitting--Overnight Travel, Part 2

o, if you read Part 1, you know how things are going. We went 2 hours from home for a funeral, with the plan to stay overnight--and I forgot Mom and Dad's meds. My Husband, the doll that he is, drove all the way home to get them. While he was gone, my cousin ferried us all to her house. When we got there, I asked my son and my cousin's husband to bring in Dad's oxygen machine, because Dad had used all the oxygen in his two portable tanks.

Big mistake.

When Hubby and I loaded the machine into the van, we hoisted it in without removing the tubing that connects the main machine to the secondary machine that fills tanks. When the guys removed it from the SUV at my cousin's house, the tubing got bumped just right, so that the fitting that connected the tubing to the machine broke.

None of the kings horses and none of the kings men (nor any amount of super glue or gorilla glue) could put Humpty together again.

The main oxygen machine still worked, but required that Dad be sitting within 40 feet or so of a plug-in. The cemetery was right behind the church, but not that close. So, now what?

My cousin and I called some friends of theirs who own a welding shop. They thought they might be able to help, so we went over. Unfortunately, the oxygen tanks used in welding don't have the same type of fittings that medical oxygen tanks do; nor did they have any means to fill a tank.

So, I called the hospital in that town. Yes, they had an oxygen tank we could borrow, but they suggested I call his home medical supplier, because Medicare only allows one company to bill for oxygen supplies. When I called the supplier, I was told they couldn't do that, and we'd have to pay for it ourselves. But, we could go to their sister company an hour away to get a replacement part.

We left a little early for the funeral so we could stop at the hospital to get the tank. We paid a $25 rental fee, and left a $100 deposit to ensure we'd bring it back. We all cried through the funeral and the interment. Then, after we ate with the family, I said goodbye to my Husband again as he drove the hour to the sister home medical supply company. They lent him a tank to get Dad home, we returned the rented tank to the hospital, and all was well.

Interestingly, the hospital sent back Mom and Dad's $25 check. That was pretty sweet of them.

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!

Adventures in Eldersitting--Overnight Travel, Part 1

o, we went to Uncle's funeral. This is the first time we've gone anywhere overnight. Dad really wanted to drive two hours up on Thursday for the visitation (3-8 p.m.), drive two hours back, and then get up Friday morning and drive two hours again and get there in time for the family service at 10 a.m.

I have said it before, and I don't mind admitting it again--I am so not Superwoman.

Dad didn't want to stay overnight because he is on oxygen full time, and between his two portable tanks, he can get about 8 hours of oxygen. We assured him that we could load his oxygen machine into the van and that it would be much better to stay up there overnight.

Ya know, if I'd listened to him, I would have been tired, but I would have avoided two other "adventures" that I could have done without.

First--I have never packed for Mom and Dad before. That was quite an experience in its own right. Get the Depends pads for Mom. Don't forget denture cleaner for Dad. (Dad has full dentures, but only wears the top plate, so the bottom one needed to be left at home in its bowl of water. As I've been cleaning, I keep running across yet another blue plastic denture bowl Dad got from a hospital stay. There were a ton of them, and I've been recycling them rather than allowing them to continue to be collected. Do you suppose I could find an extra one when it was time to go?)

Anyway, next is medications. We were planning to stay at a hotel, and the last thing I wanted was to have their meds packed in a suitcase at the hotel and need some of them while we were at a restaurant. So, I put them in Mom's purse. But, she had just switched to a smaller bag, and objected to having them in there. I put them in my purse.

Mom wanted to take a bag of letters with her, in case she had time to work on them. No, I'm not talking about letters she wanted to write to family or friends. I'm talking about Publisher's Clearing House letters.

As I was walking out the door, I was so concerned that I not forget any of their stuff that I managed to leave without my own purse! Yes, the very same purse that I'd put their meds in!

We didn't have Mom and Dad's meds, but I did have those PCH entries. (She never once looked at them while we were gone.)

When I realized we didn't have the meds, I called the pharmacy. The tech I talked to figured it was pretty important they not miss their meds for a day. I told my husband that I was going to drive back home and get them. He said, "No you're not. I am going to go get them." What a doll. :)

With a 4+ hour trip ahead of him, Hubby couldn't make it back before we'd have to leave the funeral home, so we discussed going to a hotel and getting rooms, and finding someone to bring us there after the visitation was done. When my cousin heard that, she insisted we could stay at their house. Alan thought about stopping there to drop off our stuff on the med run, but my cousin said we could just transfer everything into her SUV, and she'd get us there.

That was a mistake. But, you'll read more about that in Part 2.

Dad's Pain

Dad has a lot of pain. And I'm not talking about myself.

He has had chronic headaches, for decades. He's got irritable bowel syndrome and lymphocytic colitis, so he has a lot of belly pain. He has acid reflux, so he often has chest pain that is hard to distinguish from heart problems (he had a heart attack and bypass surgery in the 90's). And it seems he's developed arthritis in his upper back and sternum.

One of the doctors that treated him for his chronic headaches gave him prescriptions for morphine. Stupid doctor. Reminds me of the joke, "What do you call the person who graduates last in the class in medical school? Doctor!"

Dad became addicted to the morphine, his personality changed, he started threatening Mom, talked about killing himself, and isolated himself (and because of his suicide threats, isolated Mom, because she wouldn't go anywhere without him). We did a family intervention, put him through drug rehab, and hoped for the best. He has a new doctor, one who knows about the morphine problem and who won't give it to him again!

Well, a few weeks ago, Dad's belly pain got so bad, he couldn't eat dinner or breakfast the next day. So, we took him to the ER.

While I was in the restroom, the doctor gave Dad morphine.

Ever since then, Dad has had one pain after another. It moves from place to place and escalates. And he keeps asking for more morphine. We keep refusing to give it to him. From what I understand, once the brain has experienced an addictive drug like morphine, it can "create" the trigger that used to get it. So, Dad's brain had a taste of morphine, and now it wants more. I don't know how long it will take for the desire to go away. It's been more than a month already.

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

I did my part. I got the entrance to the living room cleared out. Now, I just have to teach him to go that way every time.

Wish me luck.

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A Little Success

One of the things that is irritating here is Dad's oxygen. It seems like there should be a better way than having the machine sitting in the middle of the house and having hose stretched throughout the rooms. Not to mention that the hose is constantly getting caught on the corner of the fridge or on Stuff in this full-to-the-gills house. "Watch out for Dad's hose!"

The way the house is set up, you can walk in a circle through the kitchen into the living room and back into the kitchen. In the middle are the stairs to the basement. At each junction of the two rooms is a hallway; one leads to the mud room, the other to the bedrooms and bathroom. The oxygen machine sits in that junction.

Well, the past few days, I have been working hard on cleaning out the living room, and I finally got to the Stuff blocking the opening from the hallway to the living room! Yay!

This morning after breakfast, he was getting up to go sit in his recliner, and I posed a question:

"So, Dad. I cleaned out the living room. How would you feel about going into the living from the other end so your hose doesn't lay across the kitchen floor?"

I was prepared for him to say no. Seriously. He doesn't do any more walking than he has to. His recliner is a straight shot from the dining room table. Going the other way would require him to walk at least 18-20 feet farther.

He surprised me by saying yes!

It's little moments of reason like this that really make my day.

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Shoes

I've raised three children. Two are on their own, and the youngest is in high school. I remember when they were little and I put their shoes on, I would always blow in their socks to warm them up before I put them on their feet, especially in the winter.

It's been many years since I've had to put someone else's shoes on, but now I find myself being called upon to do just that every time Dad leaves the house because he can no longer bend over to put them on himself.

I wonder what he would think if I blew in his socks? It's getting chilly enough, he would probably enjoy it. But, I'm going to do it with clean socks, not the pair he's been wearing for the past several days!

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