Crabby pants

OK, this post is going to make the boys really uncomfortable. Too bad. That's the thing about caring for your parents. Often, it's uncomfortable. Here goes...

You know what doesn't mix well? Elder care and PMS. Yep, I said it. Yesterday was just that kind of day.

See, here's the problem: Although my parents have been rather flexible, in general, there is a tendency, especially for Dad, to be a bit cranky. That's partially because he's 81 and often feels like crap, but I think some of it is just simply being a crabby old man. He's used to getting what he wants when he wants it. Mom operated under the philosophy of keeping him happy made her happy.

Not me. I've got another agenda. I intend to keep my parents healthy and safe. If they happen to be happy, that's excellent, but it's not my primary goal. (Although I spend a great deal of time worrying about their happiness, as you know.)

Yesterday, nothing was working. Dad wasn't eating his breakfast fruit. I spent an hour or so on the phone making medical appointments and something new developed that Dad will see the doctor about today. (No, I'm not going to make you THAT uncomfortable. I do have standards. Suffice it to say that there are some things that needed to be seen that I cannot unsee.)

All of this, plus PMS made me Crabby McCrabster. It was awful. I had a bit of a meltdown. I yelled a little. I cried a little. I stomped around a lot. And then I did what my husband hates: I gave everyone the silent treatment. Yep, I went there. I just needed to be in my little bubble and not speak to anyone. My poor Mom. She tried about 10 different ways to talk to me, but I just literally had no energy to chat with her. I felt like I was kicking a puppy. I just couldn't do it. She finally went to bed at 8:30 because nobody wanted to talk to her. The poor thing.

Thankfully, my sister and I had a great text chat last night. I could tell her what was going on and she completely understood my need to vent and my need to do it passively. She's the best. Seriously.

Today, I feel better. There's a good chance I won't kill anyone.

Then again, it's still early.

Training Day

"Let me get this straight: You feel accountable not only for your own actions but also for other people's actions? Be careful Karen, you may have a little bit of liberal in you."

This was a snippet of a conversation between me and my personal trainer, a.k.a. "Therapist," yesterday. 

(Of course, he also said, during a particularly tough portion of the workout: "Apparently, I'm a d*ck today so you're just going to have to deal with it.")

But that's why I really like my trainer. He gives it to me straight. While I'm walking the floor of the gym doing some ridiculous lunge combo (the secret to my amazing thighs - KIDDING), he and I chat about life. More often than not, we end up on topics about which I'm obsessing. Yesterday, it was all about how I feel responsible for my parents' happiness. Again, more wisdom from James:

"Look, if your Dad wants to be a crabby ass old man, that's his fault, not yours."

Truth, but hard to accept. Because this is MY house and I've sort of imposed my will and at least SOME of my rules (not that they follow them) on my parents, I feel like it's completely my responsibility to make them happy. And I don't feel like they are happy.

That's it. I feel like I'm the cause of two people's unhappiness and it's killing me, just a little bit...every day.

Yesterday, I needed to get my parents out of the house so the cleaners could do their work. Just a couple hours. I decided to take them to lunch down on the lakefront. Milwaukee has a really pretty lakefront and I was proud to show it off. We dawdled a bit, had a great burger lunch at a beachside snack shop and then I took them home the long way and gave them an impromptu tour of some of the neighborhoods in Milwaukee. I had absolutely no hidden agenda. I was simply killing time. They seemed to enjoy it, although who knows. My Mom can't see and Dad doesn't really talk. I literally babbled for about two hours while driving through town. I have no doubt I sounded like an idiot.

Later in the afternoon, Hubby asked Mom and Dad to get on the phone so that they could apply for some Medicare supplement insurance that Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Illnois was SUPPOSED to help with but didn't. I relayed that tiny fact to Mom in an attempt to explain why she needed to speak to some stranger on the phone.

About an hour later, Mom walked up to me and said:  "Please don't say any more negative things about Illinois."

W. T. F?!

That's right, Mom took my comment about an Illinois insurance company as my complete disrespect of the entire state of Illinois.

*Facepalm*

I talked her down off of that ledge and reassured her that I have no interest in slamming Illinois. Yes, I love Wisconsin and yes, it seems clear that the health care system is going to work more in their favor here, but I am truly not out to convert them to the Church of the Cheesehead.

This morning, before I woke up, I was daydreaming about an assisted living facility. I was imagining Mom and Dad there with lots of people to check in on them and coax them out of their apartment to exercise or socialize or eat a well-balanced meal. Almost as if Mom and Dad had their own personal trainer with whom to talk and vent and get a good workout. I have no idea if this will become a reality, but I can dream a little, can't I?

Bored

As I said in my last post, it's the little things that'll do me in. Lately, it's entertainment, or lack thereof.

My sister and I are pretty sure that when they were in their home, my parents did almost nothing, all day long. Dad might get in his car and drive to the library or take Mom to a doctor's appointment, but other than that, they did almost nothing. (And yes, the idea of my dementia-diagnosed Dad with wonky legs driving strikes fear in my heart, but we've fixed that, so let's move on.)

Here in my house, my parents are doing almost nothing....and it's driving me crazy.

I think Mom and Dad have earned the right to do almost nothing, but honestly, they look so BORED. It bores me to look at them. I know they're bored because they fall asleep...a lot.

If they're not watching TV, they're reading, which is nice. Reading is good. (Technically, Mom is listening, not reading, but that's not her fault. She can't see, dammit.)

But if they're not watching TV or reading, they're staring...at nothing. It bores me to watch them. I try feebly to engage them in conversation, but honestly, I hate making small talk. I'm terrible at it. I try to suggest we go for a walk, but more often than not, Dad turns me down. And, really, there's nothing worse than begging a person to take the slowest walk ever.

Maybe it's the dog days of summer. It is terribly hot, which is ironic because suddenly, these two people who are always cold won't go outside! Don't they get it? God has turned on a giant space heater! Go bask in it!!! No, they'd rather sit inside wearing blankets.

But anyway, the idea that the oldsters are bored makes me very uneasy. I know, I know, it's not my job to keep them entertained. So then why do I feel so guilty?

This is when I think, no, when I KNOW that my parents would be better off in an assisted living facility.

Little things

On a daily basis, it's the little things that'll do me in.

Our situation - the Senior Sauna - is challenging. It's challenging for my parents, it's challenging for me, my Hubby and our daughter. It's also challenging for my sister and brother who try to stay connected as best they can.

When I face challenging situations, I try to control them in some little way. Here in my home, that way is to clean and put things away. I have no control over the aging bodies that are under my care, but I can keep washing dishes...and boy are there a LOT of dishes.

This is where the little things come in.

I've been trying to make Mom and Dad feel completely at home here. One way to do that is to help Mom navigate in the kitchen and feel like she knows where things are...and where to put them away...including the dishes. For the first couple of weeks, she kept saying: "I want to put things away, like the dirty dishes, but I'm never sure whether the dishes in the dishwasher are clean or dirty." I completely understood and made a giant pink note that said: DISHES IN DISHWASHER ARE CLEAN. The idea being - she shouldn't put dirty dishes in there when the note is out. I reviewed it several times. SEVERAL.

Every day, dirty dishes are put on the counter next to the sink. Sigh.

Dad is up and down in terms of helping pick up after himself. Most of the time, he pushes himself away from the table and leaves his dishes sitting there for Mom or me to pick up. I'm actually OK with that because he's not very stable and I'm afraid he'll drop or spill something. But when he does bring his dishes to the sink, I've told him time and time and time again that the right side of the sink is for clean dishes. Every freaking day he puts dirty dishes in the right side of the sink. EVERY. DAY. And sometimes it's not dishes. Sometimes it's garbage. Sigh.

And then there are the days when he pours himself a cup of coffee to carry back to the library. I specifically bought him a cup with a cover to prevent spills. He doesn't like that cup. He likes a different cup. So one day, I watched him carry a full cup of coffee. Then I followed him with paper towels and wiped up the trail of spilled coffee. I now understand why my parents' living room carpet was always filthy.

But I have to keep it all in perspective. I truly believe that as long as people are happy, then I'm happy. It won't kill me to clean up after these two people.

Heck, at least I'm burning calories, right?

Reflections on Dad

My Dad has never been a very preachy guy. He was never one to offer sage words of advice. Literally the only thing I remember him saying to me was "Quit your bellyaching," which is something I repeated to him the other day when he complained about what "torture" one of his daily walks was.

I'm sure part of it was the fact that his own father passed away when he was only five years old. In terms of father figures that Dad had, it was probably my uncle who was nearly a lifelong bachelor (until a moderately pushy lady married him) and Cubs fan. Dad really had nobody to teach him how to be a father and/or a husband. He did both imperfectly and yet, as well as he could.

No, Dad's way of teaching lessons was usually by example. The only lesson my Dad actually demonstrated was why you shouldn't address an envelope with a felt tip pen. He did so and then ran said envelope under the faucet so I could see the ink run. I'm not sure why he felt that was important to know but it has left an impression on me.

In his daily life, he demonstrated a work ethic unmatched by most. I NEVER remember Dad staying home sick from work. He worked harder than everyone and tried like hell to prove that an art school education was just as good as a college degree.

He loved learning things and he loved organizing. Oh and when he loved something, he did it repeatedly. He enjoyed things that most would consider best left to youth. Sometimes I would call him and he'd want to talk about the MTV Awards or the Grammys. He'd ask my opinion about pop stars. Some days, he acted younger than me.

Dad never was very demonstrative but you knew that he loved you. To this day, my favorite birthday card was one that he designed when I turned 16 that said: "I'm so proud of the way that you have conducted yourself as a young lady." To think I had impressed him made me happy beyond words.

What truly defined Dad was his career as an amateur race car driver. It was Dad's hobby that sucked all of us in. It made my Dad different than every other kid's dad. It became our vacation plan every summer. It made him feel young and daring. In many ways, it became the most interesting thing about him. It also created a poignant moment when I realized that I had to take his car keys away. Today Dad is a mere shadow of the man that he used to be. I know that it bothers him immensely to feel that he has no strength or that he's just like every other old guy.  To me, he's not.

Miraculously, I managed to marry a guy that not only makes Dad proud because of his intelligence and strength, but also has taken such great care of our kids, me and my parents. I have no doubt that our son has such incredible role models when he becomes a husband and father.

Some days are diamonds

If you've been reading this blog for more than a day or two, you've learned several things:

1. I have no idea what I'm doing.
2. I'm making everything up as I go along.
3. Domesticity is NOT my strong suit.
4. My primary success in this adventure is that I have not (yet) killed anyone.

The best thing about going into the care of your elderly parents is that other people don't expect much of you. They say nice things like: "Oh, you're doing the nicest thing ever." Or: "You'll treasure these days as you look back." Or, my favorite: "Oh boy."

The worst thing about caring for your parents is that you expect a lot out of yourself. You want so bad to do a good job, but so often logistics get in the way...and you fail...on a daily basis.

Yesterday, somehow, the fates aligned and it all, kinda, worked. The primary part in the daily puzzle of elderly care is food. If I've provided three decent "squares" plus snacks, I feel pretty good about myself.

Breakfast and lunch were the standard issue - food on repeat, if you will. Keep in mind, for these two, repeat is good. Remember the reason why I titled this blog Manila Sandwich? Read that here.

Then I had an idea for dinner. A recipe shared by a friend. Homemade Chicken Pot Pie. I said to myself what I say a lot lately: "What the hell."

Somehow, miraculously, it worked. Look:

But the best part of the day was before dinner we went for a walk. Rather than forcing Dad to walk UP our street and our stairs to get back to the house, I drove them to our nearby parkway and walked over a very picturesque bridge and over to the local community pool. On the way back, I had the crazy idea to take a photo of them. (It, of course, blew my Mom's mind that I could take a photo if I hadn't brought my camera. Mom, meet my cell phone.)

So I took a photo. Here were my instructions to them:

"Turn around."
"OK, Smile."
"Wait, stand NEXT to each other."
"OK, now pretend you like each other."

This is the result. As my sister says, THIS is what almost 60 years of marriage looks like. Priceless.

Can I just take a nap?

Spending a lot of time with two elderly people, I've learned many things:

• It's possible to be cold even when it's 85 degrees outside or in a room.
• If there is a way to screw up a television remote control, a senior citizen will find it in less than 3 minutes.
• Napping is ALWAYS an option.

I've noticed that when I leave my parents alone to watch TV or read/listen to a book, at some point, one or both of them will fall asleep. My Dad will do it beginning as early as 9am. He will continue to do it throughout the day if somebody doesn't wake him up.

I'm always torn in these instances. On the one hand, I feel like it's my responsibility to make sure my parents are somewhat socially engaged and, at least a tiny bit, physically active.

On the other hand, after 81 years, haven't they really, truly EARNED a nap? I mean seriously. My Dad worked his butt off for YEARS so that we could have a nice life and go to college. My Mom worked equally as hard making sure there were clean clothes and meals on the table. And even after we moved out, they spent a bit of time worrying about us kids and sometimes babysitting OUR kids or pets.

Sometimes when I wake my Dad up to do something, he opens one eye and glares at me as if to say: "Really? You need me to wake up? Because I can't think of anything you have to offer that's better than watching the inside of my eyelids."

I can't blame him...and most of the time, I want to join him.

I don't know who this Ron Rauss guy is who wrote this book that I found in the box of Cheerios this morning but he's got one thing wrong: There should be an old person on the cover of the book.