Poppy Fell Over!

I’m not the only sandwich generation mom on my block. On one side of us is an apartment building. On the other side lives a couple in their early forties, plus their 4-year-old son and the man’s elderly father, who uses a wheelchair.

The 4-year-old loves to come over any time he sees anyone from my family out in the yard. He and my 14-year-old son have had a couple of adorable sword fights with harmless play swords. The “fights” consist of the little one swinging away, while my big guy blocks his blows for several minutes until he decides to end it by letting one land and conceding defeat. The neighbor boy also loves to follow my husband around while he’s doing yard work and attempts to help him. When my husband finishes one task, the kid will ask “What are we working on next?”

This morning, I decided to go all domestic and make blueberry pancakes for the fam, since I had a pint of fresh blueberries in the fridge. As I was flipping the last one from the electric skillet, I heard a knock on the door. I still needed to unplug the skillet and attend to a couple of other details, so I hollered for someone else to answer the door please. My daughter went.

As soon as she opened the door, I heard the 4-year-old’s voice saying “We need help! Poppy fell over.” That got my attention.

I ran to the door and saw him standing there, barefoot and still in his PJs. I said, “Tell me what happened.”

“Poppy fell over and he’s laying on the deck and he can’t get up, and my mom’s hurt, too,” he told me. That really got my attention. I couldn’t imagine what might have happened that his mom and his grandfather would both be hurt. Or, I should say, I could imagine too many different things. I checked my pocket to make sure my cell phone was there, grabbed his hand and said, “Show me.”

The poor kid had run across the gravel part of their drive barefoot, but I carried him over the that stretch on the way back. They have a deck on the back of their house, with a ramp leading up to it. They also have a large privacy fence, and it prevented me from seeing anything until we got through the gate and came around to the back yard. Relieved doesn’t cover what I felt when I saw his mom standing on the deck, looking…okay. His grandfather, however, was lying there next to his wheelchair.

My neighbor (the mom) quickly told me what happened. Her husband was gone. Her father-in-law had been out on the deck and decided to try to get back inside by himself, rather than calling her for help. But there’s a threshold between the deck and the inside floor. When his wheelchair hit the threshold, it tipped over and he fell out. She said she took off at a run as soon as she realized he fell, and something pulled in her leg. Thus her son telling me she was hurt, too. Her father-in-law did not hit his head, and he could move all of his limbs. Nothing appeared broken. Mostly, she needed another adult to help her lift him back up into the wheelchair. With the two of us, we managed it, one under each armpit.

We got him back into the house, and her settled with some ice on her leg before I went home. She was calling her father-in-law’s doctor as I left to see if there were any symptoms she should look out for that would indicate a more serious injury than we could see. I checked on them later in the day, and they all appeared to be doing okay.

I suppose it takes a village not only to raise our children, but to care for the older generation, too.

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.

Soft Foods

No, not soft foods for my 87-year-old mother. She’s still able to enjoy a pretty varied diet, with some restrictions. The soft foods prompting this post are the ones I’m feeding my 14-year-old son. He had a tooth removed a couple of days ago.

His top left front tooth has been a problem for years. When the permanent tooth came in, the baby tooth never came out until we took him to the dentist to have it pulled. Then he fell on the jungle gym on the school playground when he was in third grade, chipping and traumatizing the same tooth. It’s been crooked and severely out of place, a problem we hoped would be fixed by his braces. Nope. That tooth stayed in place, and all of the other top teeth moved up. As it turns out, the thing was ankylosed (it had fused to the bone.) And when they looked at it with the super duper fancy 3-D looker atter, it was crumbling beneath the surface of the gums. So off to the oral surgeon we went, and now the tooth is gone. He’ll get a placeholder until he stops growing, after which he can have an implant put in.

Meanwhile I’m trying to figure out how to keep this kid fed on soft foods for a week. For those who have never lived with a 14-year-old boy, they eat A LOT. His typical bedtime snack would be an entire meal for me – a whole apple, a large bowl of ice cream, and add in a plate of cheese and crackers. This is a kid who can’t afford to lose weight; he already looks as if he’s made from clothes hangers. I’ve been shoveling oatmeal and applesauce his way. I made a huge batch of mashed potatoes. Despite the heat wave, he seems okay with soup, so whew! We’re stocked up on pudding cups, ice cream and frozen fruit bars. He likes yogurt.

Oh and I’ve been doing this over and over:

I Sent Forth My Minions

I find myself incapacitated by a summer cold this week, and thus unable to visit my mother at the nursing home. Nobody there needs to catch what I have.

Yet she needed some things. For instance cough drops. So I sent forth my minions to perform the labor. Or perhaps I should say proxies. Proxy is a nicer word than minion, isn’t i? The thing is, I discovered other people will step up when I’m sick. My husband and daughter went out to see my mom on Sunday since I couldn’t.

My husband came back telling me what an interesting visit it was. My mother told him all sorts of stories about her past. I called Mom yesterday and she, likewise, told me what a great time they had. I’ve never thought about it, but the two of them have never visited together without me there before. Maybe they should do it more often. They had a blast.

I guess the world can go on without me if it has to.

Things Don’t Go As Planned

This happened on Saturday:

Yep, that’s my family’s van. Nobody was seriously injured, a fact for which I’m still uttering a little silent thanks every hour or so. My husband and kids were about three hours away from home, on the verge of a planned float trip, when they were hit by a bus.

The plan was for them to have a fabulous time on the river (I’m not much of a water person) while I had an entire glorious day to myself. I had my agenda in front of me – a morning of catching up on housework with my own selected music playing at my own selected volume, followed by a visit to my mom, some exercise, a block of writing time, and an evening outing with friends from work. I got some housework done before the phone call.

It was one of those Murphy’s Law days where you have to choose whether to laugh or cry as you wonder what else could possibly happen, and then something does. I choose to laugh, because the things that happened were really small compared to the fact that nobody was seriously injured. My crew even decided to go ahead and do the river float while waiting for me to arrive.

Saturday afternoon I set out in our other vehicle – a 16-year-old Honda Civic with 178,000 miles – to find the middle-of-nowhere place where my family was stranded. The bank time and temperature signs I passed along the way displayed temps anywhere from 95 to 99 degrees Fahrenheit. To make the day extra special, my Civic decided to spring a freon leak, so I had to say goodbye to the air conditioning. The white mist pouring out from the vents made for an exciting special effect, however.

I got lost, but that’s not unusual for me. I build getting lost time into my travel plans, because it happens so often. I wasn’t overly lost, only a little bit. I probably added 15 minutes total onto the trip by missing a turn.

I arrived to discover my family had managed to lose the sunscreen, so sunburns all around.

Believe it or not, we managed to get the van back home. We decided to have my husband drive it, while I followed behind with the kids. Two windows in the van were shattered on impact, filling the interior with broken glass (which is the second time we’ve experienced this with a minivan; the first time was the result of an F1 tornado.)

By the time they were all done floating and we left the place, it was nearly 7:00. We stopped along the way for gas and food. Then we drove into…Severe Thunderstorms! So severe, we had to stop and pull off the road twice because it was impossible to see. This was on narrow, two-lane, unlit, rural Missouri highways with no shoulders, only ditches to each side. The first time, we found a private driveway to wait it out. The second, we lucked onto a side road that led to a commuter parking lot. (Commute to where?) And did I mention, the van is missing two windows? It got pretty wet. My poor hubster. Plus, the lack of a working compressor in the other car meant it was nearly impossible to defog the Civic’s windshield without turning up the temp on the blower to hot. The kids and I were *very* warm for a while. Trapped in a hot, little car, with teens who have already been sweating all day is its own kind of special. I have to give them credit, however, for being remarkably unwhiney through the whole ordeal.

The rain finally abated enough we could drive again. And my daughter remembered she had her iPod with her, plus a device to let it play through the car radio. She and her brother decided they’d feel better with music, specifically songs she had from “My Little Pony, Friendship is Magic.” So there was that for 45 minutes.

But we all made it home safe and well. As long as a tree doesn’t fall on our house or something. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

A Latte Experience

I love the activities director at my mom’s nursing home for the variety of ways she finds to expand the lives of the residents, from bringing in musicians to having a banana split social, to loading up those who are able to go for a country drive. One of the things I find depressing about the idea of nursing home residency is what I see as the shrinkage of a life. I compare my life – my ability to get in a car and run around town, shop for food I want at the grocery store (within my budget), go for a walk, have pets – to my mom’s situation of spending most of her time within the same building, her choices curtailed.

I see it as part of my job description to help her keep connections to the outside world and to help grow her life experiences into something bigger than the walls of one building. This doesn’t have to be a major undertaking on my part. Little things can go a long way.

Mom has her own phone, with large numbers, but she can’t seem to manage making a phone call on her own any more. She gets flustered by the need to dial “9” for an outside line, and then loses her place while dialing, forgetting which numbers she’s pressed already. It’s easy enough, when I’m visiting, for me to ask her whom she’d like to call today, and then put the call through for her.

Since she was unable to go to my son’s piano recital, I got permission to let him come play his pieces on the piano at the nursing home, so she could see him perform. As a bonus, several residents heard the music and managed to get into the piano area, so he ended up with an audience.

Most recently, I decided my mom should have the opportunity to try a latte at least once in her life. She’s never had much in the way of spare cash lying around, and spending on a frou-frou coffee drink was far outside the realm of anything she’d consider. But I thought she’d like it, so I drove through Starbucks on my way to see her and picked up one for each of us. See what I did there? That way it was us doing something together, rather than her feeling I was getting her something extra or expensive. She verified what I expected – she’d never had one before. But she liked it. She kept saying, “That’s so good.”

Finally, she admitted that maybe she wouldn’t feel too bad about the money spent if I wanted to bring her another one some time, though she insisted I should take it out of her bank account. I’m not going to take it from her money, and I won’t tell her how expensive it is. But I will be happy knowing you can still have new experiences at the age of 87.

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.

Talking About Death

The other day, I was emptying crumbs from our toaster, when it occurred to me I’d never shown either of my kids how to do this simple chore. My 17-year-old daughter was in the dining room at the time, so I carried the toaster in there to demonstrate, while it was fresh on my mind.

“I have something I need to show you,” I told her. “In case I die, you need to know how to do this.” I then gave a brief lesson on sliding in and out the crumb tray, with emphasis on the importance of replacing it as soon as it’s emptied. My son was in the living room, and I gave a repeat performance for him.

When I was finished, my daughter said, “That’s it? If you die, that’s what we need to know?”

I considered for a minute and answered, “I should probably show you how to check the oil level in the car, too. And the tire pressure. Also, there’s a drip pan under the refrigerator.”

I don’t expect to die any time soon, but you never can tell. I have a friend who has stage IV cancer. She has a son not much older than my daughter. This brings home to me that parents aren’t always around to see their children move on all the way to adulthood. Her son seems incredibly responsible for his age. But every parent I know questions whether she/he has done enough to prepare their offspring for the realities of life. Every so often, a detail comes to my attention – the crumb tray in the toaster – and I think, “What else have I forgotten to teach them?”Of course, they’ll need to know about house and car maintenance even if I live to be 120. But I have death on my mind lately.

So does my mom, it seems. She’s starting to talk about it. I try my best to listen and let her say whatever she feels the need to say. Ever practical, she speaks of it the same way I do – “I want to make sure So-and-So gets the turquoise necklace…Do you have the paperwork on my pre-paid funeral?…” as if she wants to make sure she’s going to die in a responsible manner. She doesn’t usually go on at length.

I find it tempting to say something dismissive, like “Who knows, you might outlive me!” But what mother wants to think about that. She’s already lost two children. She doesn’t want to outlive any more of us. Or I could say, “But I’m planning your 100th birthday party!” But I don’t, because we both know she won’t live to 100. I want her to. I wish I could believe she’d live for another decade or more. It’s not beyond reason to hope she has three or four more years. But it could be shorter. Her heart is not in good shape, and she has lupus. I remember my grandmother speaking of her own death as she become older and more feeble. I believe it’s a need people have as they see their time approaching; they need the acknowledgment of their reality. I don’t know if I understand it, but I do believe this, because I’ve seen it enough times now – people who can see the end in sight need to be able to say so.

Five years ago, at my dad’s funeral, I had a terrible moment. My parents both come from large families, so I had several aunts and uncles present. As I looked at them all gathered together in the pews, I saw my future flash before me, and it was line of funerals. Indeed, it is coming to pass. I attend more funerals than I used to. The youngest of my dad’s siblings is the only one left of her original birth family. One of my mom’s sisters passed away last year. Their generation is going. Approximately once a week, I dream that my mother dies while I’m with her. Then I wake up and check my phone for messages, and lie awake for a while waiting, until it doesn’t ring for long enough that I can say to myself, “Okay, not ESP, only anxiety.”

I’m having to make a place in my life for death. But what I’ve come to see, since my terrible revelation at my dad’s funeral, is the balance. There are more funerals. Death is happening all around all of the time. But it is part of life. The rest of life still happens. I’m still planting petunias in my yard. My kids are still creating groan-worthy puns, strawberries in season still taste wonderful, my friend is still living, my mom is still living. All of us here on Earth are both living and dying. Some are just getting to the dying part sooner than others. I get to speak with my mom every day. She finds things to enjoy each day – a bird magazine, her dessert, my son showing up at the nursing home to play the piano for her, the flowers people send on occasion.

Maybe there’s something she’s teaching me right now, something she wants to make sure I know. Maybe it’s this: death is going to happen in its own time. Face this truth and then keep living until you die. Maybe that’s it.

Another Driver in the House

My daughter turned 17 earlier this week, and obtained her driver’s license today. I hope this will be more of a relief than a worry to me. She’s not a wild kid. My worry would be more how she’d handle other stupid acts by others. But you have to let them out into the world at some point.

In fact, I pushed her a little. I’ve always tried to think of myself as a mom who didn’t try to rush my kids. Though I have had to give nudges now and then. But I figured forward progress was forward progress; they didn’t have to be fastest or first. At times it’s seemed as if I were pulling one or the other of the kids along by baby steps. But now that I’ve taken on a lot of responsibility for my mom, I feel more as if I’ve abandoned baby steps and I’m giving them each a big shove on the back toward independence, because I need to.

I need my daughter to drive to take over some errands from me, or at least to get herself where she needs to go on occasion without pulling me away from something else. I hate to admit it, but my entire plan for getting my son home each day from summer school has been this: my daughter gets her driver’s license. I’m not sure what I would have done otherwise. His classes will let out during a time my husband and I are both at work.

I remember how nerve-wracking it was the first few times I rode shotgun after my daughter got her learner’s permit. At the time, I thought nothing could be much scarier. But now I know seeing her drive off by herself will cause me every bit as much anxiety.

It’ll be fine, I’m sure. After a while it will start to seem routine, her driving. And I’ll start to relax. Then it will be time for my son to get his permit…

Happy Everything

Today, we went to my Mom’s nursing home for a combined celebration of Mother’s Day (my mom and me) and two birthdays (my two kids.) My son is 14 years old today. My daughter will be 17 in two days. Looking for words that would fit on a cake, I settled for “Happy Everything.” And it’s how I feel right now.

Despite the pressures, stress, too-long to-do list, I want to celebrate this time while I have them all here. I see this as a transitional time in my life. Realistically, five years from now, my kids will likely be gone from home and my mom will no longer be living. I hope she will be, but it’s doubtful. Maybe I feel overwhelmed at times with all of their needs, but soon enough I’ll be empty nesting in a big way.

This is the first year in a long time – I can’t remember how long – I’ve been able to spend Mother’s Day with my own mom. And I get to celebrate the presence in my life of two other people I love more than the world.

Happy Everything!