Tag Team, a.k.a. "Don't leave us with the babies!"

My sister, her husband and daughter came into town last night. This morning, we head south to pick up our daughter from college. It's funny how much I appreciate this trip now. Of course first there's the fact that we get to see our daughter and bring her home to this craziness. But also this almost feels like a real vacation! 10 hours of me and hubby in the car...alone. Happy sigh.

Anyway, my sister and I spent a few hours last night going over caring information for the "kids." Look, I don't mean to be patronizing, but our two new roomies come with a long list of instructions. They're complicated beings and to liken watching over them to babysitting is not a stretch.

Last night, we were laughing at driving away this morning waving to my sister saying: "See ya, suckers!" So then my hubby came up with the perfect analogy in the form of a commercial. Imagine hubby and me as the young couple, my sister and her hubby as the old couple and my parents as the babies in this commercial. HYSTERICAL. Oh lighten up. You KNOW it's funny.

Field trip!

We took our first field trip today. This was prompted by the fact that my cleaning crew was scheduled to come today. I've always felt guilty having cleaning people - no more. I've got pee issues. I need help.

I always try to leave the house for a while when the cleaning people come but this was going to be trickier with Mom and Dad in tow. Nevertheless, I planned a mini field trip. Right after the cleaning people arrived, I loaded up the car and headed out.

First stop was breakfast. Let me preface this by saying suddenly my Dad isn't using his walker. He went from clinging to it for dear life to shuffling confidently on his own. Bonus! I chose a semi-nearby place with "pancake" in their name. (Leave it to me to attempt to make people happy with food.) The choice was good, except for the fact that each portion could feed a small, third-world country. But, we weren't on this jaunt to earn points for nutrition from Dr. Oz.

Second stop was the library. My parents' library is brand-spanking new and state-of-the-art. I was dearly afraid of disappointing them with our very average library. To quote Gomer Pyle, "SURPRISE, SURPRISE!" They loved it. INSTANTLY my Dad picked out four books. Bonus! Mom couldn't find enough adjectives to describe how great the library was and they had a decent selection of audiobooks for her.

We arrived home, Dad plopped on the couch and said how tired he was. Yes, Dad. That was my plan.

Cutest thing ever

Have I mentioned that my mom is adorable? How did I miss this growing up? Part of it is the fact that she's under 5' tall and about 110 pounds. Pretty sure I could hoist her over my shoulder.

Last night hubby was setting up a new TV, which my Dad will dedicate, no doubt, to NCIS. (Hey! I'm naming the new TV Gibbs! Oh, crap. I actually made an NCIS joke. I'm pathetic.)

Anyway, Dad went to bed and hubby turned the NFL Draft on. I kinda like the draft because I'm a Packers' fanatic, but compared to NCIS, it suddenly seemed riveting...at least to me.

Apparently, Mom enjoyed it too. If you ever needed a TV buddy, Mom's your girl. She will literally watch anything as long as she can sit with you and sometimes interject random questions. It's the cutest thing ever.

(Oh and I forgot to mention that she's nearly blind. Watching TV for her should be maddening. It's all a blur, and yet she enjoys it! An angel, I tell you. An angel.) 

Anyway, as we watched last night and tried to explain how the draft works, she suddenly said: "I'm the worst sports person."

"Why's that?," I asked her.

"Because I just root for the team that I want to win," she explained.

Cute as a button.

Anger management

I'm mad at a person with dementia. It makes no sense. Logically, he can't help it, but today wasn't awesome like yesterday was. I'm starting to think we'll be going one step forward, two steps back every day. Wait, I can't do math. We won't be getting very far ahead will we?

Today, he was unmotivated and sat on the couch ALL DAY. I have no idea how to get him moving or interacting. I need an activities director, stat! Where's Julie McCoy from the Love Boat when you need her?

It's like one small part of his personality is suddenly magnified. For him, it's the selfish part. He wants what he wants when he wants it. It's like an 81 year infant with opinions. Ugh.

Plus, here's what else pissed me off: He wanted to go to bed at 7pm. He doesn't sleep well anyway, so I'm keeping him up later in hopes that he'll sleep better. I told him that he had to stay up until 8pm. He rolled his eyes at me. I told him not to do that. He asked if he could lay on his bed until 8. Sigh.

Truth be told, what's really making me go insane is NCIS. It's endless. He can watch it ALL DAY LONG which he could because apparently, it's on ALL DAY LONG. (USA Network, I officially hate you.)  I have this intense need to never see NCIS again in my life. Pretty sure that's not possible.

He asked my Mom when they were leaving.

Meanwhile, my wonderful hubby is setting up a TV in the library. A room with doors. Perhaps we can segregate NCIS from the rest of the house.

I have nothing funny to say. Then again, I knew this wouldn't always be funny.

Silence is golden...and so is...never mind.

At this moment, Dad is reading a Stephen King novel and Mom is listening to an audiobook. The TV is not on.

Did you hear me? THE TV IS NOT ON!!!!

This is monumental, amazing, spectacular and makes me very, very happy. The people are entertaining themselves and not with mindless crap. (I know this won't last, but just let me live in the moment.)

Plus, (look away if you can't bear to read ickiness), I've figured out a way to eliminate the pee smell. Yeah, sorry, but the pee smell accompanies old people, sort of like crumpled-up Kleenex accompanies nuns. (Only victims of the Catholic school system will understand this.) Anyway, nobody's aim is perfect and, well....I'll leave it at that. So, there is daily, no HOURLY cleaning in my future, but at least it will be effective.

Hot damn!

Negative Nancy goes all Positive Patty

Lest you think I'm all Negative Nancy 24/7...(well, actually, I kind of am, but I do have positive thoughts occasionally), I thought I'd share my current list of the good things that have arisen out of our new living situation:

- I've cut back considerably on picking on my husband. I admit, I was getting really bad. When there are only two of you in a house, you choose to pick on yourself or the other person...or the dog.

- I've cooked...THREE meals. This is close to mind-blowing. I lack that gene that most moms have that make them want to create meals. I just want to talk about pop culture all day.

- Cooking for senior citizens is the most-rewarding thing I've done in the kitchen. Regardless of what you put in front of them, they love it. Right now, I feel that my skills are Paula Deen-esque. (Shhh...I know they're not.)

- I now have TWO more people in my daily life with whom I can share my many opinions! This is pure bliss because before last week, nobody seemed interested.

- Elder care is a little like a Reverse Parenting Do-Over. Basically, you SORT OF treat them like children and so you try and fix the things you let lapse when you were raising your own kids. I'm all over the balanced meal thingy. Oh and limits on TV - that is SO happening around here.

- In my Mom's eyes (poor as they may be), I'm AMAZING. If you listened to her talk about me, you'd think I was a combo of Mother Teresa and Ghandi.

- When things are taken away - i.e., food on a diet or independence in your life - you appreciate EVERYTHING. Suddenly, the chance to drive somewhere alone is nirvana.

- My Dad is a sick and twisted man (sense of humor, not dementia) and I really kind of like that. I'm just like him in so many ways. It's like I've brought the Fathership home and I'm refueling.

- I'm a control freak and the opportunity to control others - ADULTS! - has literally landed on my doorstep. I can order these people around and they don't resent me - THEY'RE GRATEFUL! Yeesh, this rocks.

OK, that's enough. This positive stuff is giving me a headache.

It's not your turn.

Mom just told me she thinks she has dementia.

Her rationale was that she couldn't remember Madonna's name. Seriously.

No, Mom. It's not your turn. You don't get to be crazy today. Get in line.

If I didn't laugh, I'd cry.

The TV has, once again, become a babysitter in our house. Yes, I admit to doing that a bit when my kids were young. This is why I know every line and every song from the Lion King which was played on a continuous loop in our house.

Dad adores TV in a passive kind of way. He sits and stares at it. For him, it seems to be a bit of home in this new place. I allow it.

Yesterday, I was able to leave the house and play tennis - my hobby and now my salvation. I came home and asked if everyone was alive and/or well and were there any issues.

Mom: Well, we had trouble with the remote.

Cut to me glancing at my Dad who is now watching the cable preview channel.

Mom: We couldn't find the mute button.

Cut to me glancing at the coffee table where Kleenex is shredded.

Me: What's up with the Kleenex?

Mom: Dad was stuffing it in his ears so he didn't have to hear the TV.

Cut to me with my face buried in my hands. 

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Hating on Matt and Mark

I HATE Matt Lauer and Mark Harmon with a passion that burns with the intensity of a thousand suns. No, they haven't done anything personally to me, but one of the giant problems is that our house is designed with the entire first floor being one huge room. There's a big ass TV in this room. (Apologies for the language. I don't speak this way normally, but if feels good to do so here.) Anyhoo....the TV is in the living room and Dad has it on non-freaking-stop. ALL. DAY. EVERY. DAY. In my old life, I NEVER watched TV during the day. I find it depressing. That's over.

In the morning, we have the Today Show with Matt Lauer who, apparently in my Dad's eyes, is next to God. To me, he's just...meh.

Then there's NCIS and Mark Harmon. ALL. FREAKING. DAY.

Consequently, I want to punch Matt and Mark in the face. It's displaced rage, but rage, nonetheless.

Kill me now.

The Sauna

Me: How'd you sleep last night, Chief? (New nickname I gave my Dad. We do this in our family. We make up nicknames.)

Dad: Bad.

Me: Why? What happened?

Dad: I froze my ass off.

*facepalm*

Our thermostat is set for 74 degrees. 74 FREAKIN' DEGREES. There are people in deserts with cooler climates. Why is he so cold all of the time? Certainly it could be the fact that his daily movement consists of couch to bathroom and back. But seriously. He's wearing a sweatshirt, sweatpants and is covered in a very thick blanket. Maybe it's time for a Snuggie. Yes, things are getting THAT desperate.

Madness, I tell you. Madness.

That's what I get for praying.

It all started with a prayer. 

My husband and I had gone to mass and my least favorite priest was presiding. I breathed a deep sigh and said: "Please Lord, give me patience." 

What's that cliche? - "Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it..."

The next day, I received a call from my Mom at 7am. (Never a good sign.) "Your Dad has fallen again and the paramedics took him to the hospital." 

Oh crap. 

I live about 75 miles away from my parents. This was about the 6th fall that has happened in the past 6 months. The jig was up. Clearly, my parents were not safe to live on their own. 

This is a day that we all knew was coming but probably didn't want to face. As the child living the furthest away, I was pretty disconnected from my parents. My sister did the lion's share of the work - helping my mom, who has macular degeneration and can barely see, with cleaning and shopping, visiting far more often than I did. I threw my checkbook at a few small problems from time to time and tried to remember to call them once a week. In terms of being a daughter, I wasn't the worst in the world, but I certainly wasn't the best. But I'm not here to do reconciliation. It all seemed fine until that Monday.

To make a long story short, the hospital was going to release Dad but then I mentioned the fact that he can barely walk and/or care for himself. After 4 days of "observation" (during which time a dementia drug was administered and rendered him slightly left of crazy) and pretty intense neurological and psychiatric testing, he was diagnosed as having dementia and not ruling out Alzheimer's. His driver's license was revoked (at least ONE prayer was answered) and orders were written that he should not live unsupervised.

Because I don't work outside the home, our house was the most logical landing spot for my parents. Our guest room with attached bathroom was going to have full-time residents. Literally overnight, my sister and I had to pack up basic essentials for my parents, throw them in my car and move my parents up to my house. 

So here we are. 

Buckle up. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

What the hell is a Manila Sandwich?

My Dad is a creature of habit. Most of his life, he did the same thing, every day, in the same way. Once he found something he liked, he put it on autoloop.

At some point in his senior citizen years, Dad discovered the joys of a simple sandwich. It probably happened innocently enough: One day my Mom probably made him a turkey sandwich and he liked it. For most of us, this would simply be a nice meal. For my Dad, it became a religion.

I discovered this several years ago when my Mom was in the hospital having her hip replaced. I took my Dad down to the cafeteria with an offer to buy lunch. "No thanks," he said. "But Dad, you have to eat," I said. "I will. I brought my lunch," he explained. This made no sense. My Dad wasn't a "lunch bucket" kind of guy. At his prime, he was an expensive-suit-polished-loafers-executive-lunch kind of guy.

We sat down in the cafeteria. I got myself a sandwich and he pulled a manila folder out of the bag that he brought to the hospital. He then pulled a turkey sandwich out of the folder. Yes, he brought a sandwich in a manila folder. Maybe that was his way of making the transition from executive lunch to lunch bucket. I have no idea.

Every week, my Dad would set up a turkey sandwich assembly line. He'd make 7 half-sandwiches. One for each day of the week. He'd put them in the refrigerator and then, before eating,  microwave them for exactly 13 seconds. EVERY. DAY. He loved these sandwiches and offered them to the few of us that stopped by. This was his life. This was my Dad.

Wikipedia defines The Sandwich Generation as "people who care for their aging parents while supporting their own children." With one kid still in college, this perfectly describes us.

Welcome to Manila Sandwich. Part madness, part common sense, part faith.