All of the Bells, But Not All at Once

One thing you don’t get in a skilled nursing facility is a lot of space. My mom’s shared room reminds me of my dorm in college, including the bathroom that’s also used by the residents in the next bedroom over. Mom has the bottom half of a two-tiered wardrobe for hanging clothes plus whatever can sit on the shelf below them. She also has three dresser drawers, some counter space, her bed, of course, a recliner, a two-drawer nightstand and a high shelf attached to the wall. We provided her a footstool that doubles as a storage bin.

Mom has very few of her possessions actually with her. Many are at my house, and others are with my oldest sister. Since I’m nearest geographically now, I got custody of Mom’s cherished bells.

She’s collected bells for years. You never had to think too hard on gift-giving occasions. If you couldn’t come up with anything else, she’d always love another bell. Some are glass, some porcelain, some pewter. Some commemorate places or events. I think she owns around 100 altogether. She and I decided she had room for three on her shelf. This is not only an issue of space; it’s also an issue of keeping track of things in a setting where all sorts of people are coming and going and the door to her room remains unlocked. I’ve used permanent marker to put her name inside each bell. If one does wander away somehow and then turn up later, we’ll know it’s hers because it’s labeled.

When we were first getting Mom settled and discussing what she could/should have with her in the room, my sister was the one who pointed out to us that Mom could still have all of her bells, just not all at once. It could be a rotating collection. Brilliant! I work in a library. I’m familiar with this concept.

Every couple of weeks I dig into the boxes in my spare bedroom and bring Mom a different bell, then take one from her room back to my house. This gives us something to talk about, too. She can tell me what she remembers about where she got each one, or who gave it to her. We’ve taken some nice strolls down memory lane, prompted by a starting bell.

The Price Remains the Same, the Size However…

Some days I go to the store and walk away with the suspicion that eventually I’ll be handing them my entire paycheck for a handful of molecules. Has anyone else noticed the phenomenon of decreasing package size? The price on an item stays the same, but the amount in the package is smaller. Pretty soon, there will be nothing but sample size left.

If you have noticed, here’s evidence that you’re not imagining it. If you haven’t noticed, you might start paying attention. Same shelf, same time:

Click on the photos to enlarge and see if you can spot the difference.

Challenging Week

It’s been a challenging week. Events included having composed an entire 878 word blog post on Wednesday only to delete the whole thing accidentally before publishing it. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! There’s a reason Munch’s “Scream” painting goes for so much money.

On Monday, our van went into the shop for an investigation of the “service engine soon” message on the dash. It could have been worse. Any time I think the words “engine” and “auto shop” in the same sentence, I brace myself for $1,000 or more on the next credit card bill. But we got away with $330 this time.

Tuesday, I took leave from work to accompany my mom to an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Her primary care physician comes to the nursing home, but this appointment required transportation. As I’ve written before, I can’t take my mom on my own without help. Fortunately enough, the nursing home provides van transport for doctor’s appointments, and allows a family member to ride along. Highlights of Tuesday included a nurse forgetting my mom was about to leave and putting a laxative in her morning juice, the van driver taking us to the wrong clinic and leaving us there, requiring frantic phone calls and resulting in us showing up late at the correct place, filling out an intake form that was the equivalent of writing a 400-page biography, and (harking back to the laxative) three different visits to the clinic bathroom – an approximately ten-minute ordeal each time. I arrived at the nursing home at 8:20 a.m., and by the time I got back home after everything, it was right around 1:00. Here’s the lesson I took away from it. If you’re accompanying an elderly relative to a doctor’s appointment, clear your calendar for the entire day.

On Wednesday I was informed I did not receive the adjustment in my work hours I had requested. I had misinterpreted something my supervisor said to mean that it was likely to happen, so this was a disappointment. It’s not a huge tragedy, but the change would have made my life a little easier. Still, I’m glad to have a job.

On Thursday, I discovered my son is on the verge of flunking one of his classes, after the teacher finally posted weeks’ worth of scores, including many assignments that were never handed in. Six of his seven teachers are pretty organized and communicate in a timely manner. This one? Not so much. My kid has an auditory processing disorder, which means he spends his days trying to figure out how much of the conversation he missed. He can learn all of the material, no problem. But he often misses instructions, so doesn’t know what the assignment was. He also can’t listen and do something else at the same time – e.g. take notes. Plus, the inability to filter sounds is highly distracting, the practical effect being that he’s interrupted in his work about 10 times as often as I would be. He learns quickly, but works slowly. He has a 504 plan in place to address these issues, but I suspect this particular teacher is one who forgets to follow it. I check his grades on-line frequently, and in most classes I can pretty well help him catch up because I’ll know if he missed an assignment. But when nothing is posted forever, then suddenly 20 assignments, there’s no sorting it out.

Yesterday featured many emails and phone calls with the school, after I started out asking for a time he could meet with the teacher to make a plan for catching up. I offered to bring him in early, have him stay late, have him come to her class during his Study Hall time, whatever time would work for her. I know it’s dangerous to try to judge someone’s tone in email communication, but there was no mistaking the absolute anger in her response, which boiled down to her telling me he’s had all the time he needed and she didn’t have extra to spend on him. This is the part that’s hardest for me as a mom – seeing adults who become furious with my kid, convinced he’s being difficult on purpose, when he’s just really struggling. It strikes to the center of my heart and sends my mind to dark places of worry about his future. How will his bosses see him? Will his heart be broken by some girl who can’t understand? Yet, I have to do my best to maintain my composure and try to defuse the teacher bomb. In the end, I involved the counselor who is my son’s 504 case manager. Thank goodness for her. My kid’s going to stay late two days next week, making up work.

Meanwhile, I had the epiphany that this same teacher is the one he would have for the architecture class he requested next year, and maybe it wouldn’t be a good thing. He loves architecture, but…Today is the last day to change course requests for next school year. So add in a search through other course options and a long discussion with my son – who is now set to take “Introduction to Business” – and associated request change paperwork.

Six of his seven teachers this year have been okay, and that’s a good ratio. A couple I would even rate as stellar. One in particular seems to have a very good relationship with my son. I tell myself to remember this, it keeps my mind wide of the dark places.

And we have ants. But I’m dealing.

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. Tomorrow’s another day. I’ve met this week’s challenges. I can meet next week’s. Ohm.

When the Sandwiching is Helpful

Were my kids completely grown and gone, I don’t know how I would have managed things last Friday. Sometimes, being in the sandwich generation means juggling priorities and trying to do too many things for too many people at the same time. Other times, it means you have a helpful teen on hand when you need one.

My daughter is 16, almost 17. She’s homeschooling this year, so her schedule is flexible. Good thing for all of us, as this meant she could go with me when I took my mom to get her new non-driver’s state ID. She moved here from another state, thus the need for a new photo ID. I both emailed and called the Missouri Department of Motor Vehicles in advance, desperate to find someone who would tell me of a way I could get my mother’s non-driver’s license without having to bring her in. There is no way.

So off we went, my daughter and I, to fetch my mom and take her to the driver’s license office. It took two people to help Mom into and out of the car. Then one person had to walk with her and her walker to make sure she didn’t lose her balance or her way, while the other carried everything. I accompanied, my daughter filled the role of pack-horse. She also ran ahead to open doors for us, and parked the car in a legitimate space after my mom was out right next to the door (our disability hang tag is in the works, but not here yet.)

So, yeah, having the teens still at home can ease the workload on occasion. The kids are all right.