Presumed Competent

I turned 65 in December.
Today was the first time I've seen my doctor after getting signed up for Medicare and all the shit that goes along with it. 

Just adding here that the process to sign up for Medicare and get straight answers in plain English is a colossal pain in the ass and for about a month I was in a state of just-below-boiling pissoff. I hate talking on the phone, the things I read just made it more confusing, and I wanted to slap someone. Several someones. On multiple occasions.
This epic sign up coincided with my Spring break trip to see my mom, so my mental state was chaotic anyway. Plane trip, car rental, staying in an unfamiliar place while trying to continue figuring out all things medical and endeavor to be polite to my mom and all her caregivers while wiped out and grumpy. 

Seeing my mom just brings up all kinds of shit from my own personal wayback machine. Good times. 

I had been carrying medical insurance through my job, but it was Kaiser. 
So I had it just in case something horrible happened, not because I wanted a Kaiser doctor. 

Nope, I was still seeing my regular doctor who is NOT part of that network and paying out of pocket for the privilege of doing so. Did you know that a simple medication check visit is over $300? Not a typo.

Interesting that now I'm on Medicare, they cut the cost of a visit in half before ever turning it over to my insurance. Our health "care" system in the US is so fucked up.

So I take medication that requires me to see my doctor on occasion for blood work or to pee in a cup to check all my function-y stuff with kidneys etc.
I've been taking it a long time, so the doctor visit thing isn't new, but this is the first post-65 thing.  

So we checked my eyesight etc.
And they gave me a tablet with page after page of questions about falling, about who else lives in my home, do I use a cane or other mobility device blah blah blah.

The medical assistant told me at the beginning to remember three words. "I will ask you the words again later." 
(None of them were person, woman, man, camera, TV.)

I was supposed to remember them until the end of my appointment. 
Haha, then she forgot to ask me. 
Chair, car, banana.
Who comes up with this stuff?

They asked me to draw the face of a clock and set the time at 10:45.

So I get it. 
I know it's a baseline and that screening for dementia isn't actually a bad thing.

(Beats the hell out of me how an asshole with what appears to be dementia can be president, but that's really not part of this story, now is it? Bet that sorry shitbag can't draw a clock, either.)

It was a kick in the pants all the same.

Up until that visit, I was considered a fully functional human. 
The moment I walked into the clinic, I wasn't anymore.

Interesting experience.
I hated it.

Physically it's definitely not as easy for me to get around and do stuff as it once was, but so far at least, my brain still works. I do logic problems and online puzzles and I read constantly. 

And although it's been a few weeks since I wrote here, I write all the time, too. Currently working on some activity plans for my job, writing a how-to for someone who has never done this project or that. Trying to make it clear without being complicated, but with enough detail that it won't make someone crazy to try to do it.

I'm not doing those things as some kind of talisman to ward off dementia, I do all of them because I like it. But my understanding is that it might help my brain all the same.
One of the questions on the endless tablet list was something like, 'has anyone told you that it's time to stop driving or have you received traffic violations or been in a recent auto accident?'

No. Hopefully telling me to stop driving is not a possibility for at least, oh, 10 years? 
I hope I'm smart enough to realize when it's time to stop. I know a lot of 'take the keys away from Grandma' situations happen. 

I'd just as soon never have traffic violations or an accident, that's not new, though. 

I have been in a few close calls, usually someone who decides to change lanes without looking in their blind spot and nearly takes me out or someone who doesn't understand a safe following distance and tries to turn my car into a speed bump.

The last week of school, I was in the center lane on I-5, passing a semi that was in the right lane, when a semi in the left lane decided the absolute best spot to be RIGHT NOW was the center lane and nearly turned me and my little car into a Toyota sandwich. 

I hit the brakes, came within a gnat's ass of being rear ended by some nimrod who was following me too closely and managed to swerve into the left lane behind the lane changer. Pretty sure he never even saw me. I work hard to stay visible (lights on, is the driver visible in their side mirrors... if you can see the driver then the driver can see you) It was just one of those things.

It's really amazing how many stupid things I see on the freeways, though. The big surprise is that I don't see more of it.

So that's the news. I mean, there's more, and I have (checking) 5 posts in various stages of undress in the drafts. They may even get finished sometime this week.

I've been appreciating the time off, trying to get a little cleaning done around the house, keeping up with dishes and laundry, sleeping in, and most days not even getting dressed after my shower.

I put on a clean giant tie dyed t shirt (that's what I sleep in) and that's my uniform for the day.

Every other Wednesday I am going to the office to help with that curriculum planning, but I've been working on it at home, too. Even though we're not supposed to be. They took our laptops away from us at the end of the school year and will re-issue them when we go back to work in the fall. 

That's okay, this computer works just fine.
Hoping my brain keeps functioning, too. 

Huh.

Well, the move has happened. 

My brother and his wife did almost all the actual work of getting Mom packed up and moved out of her house and into assisted living. Matt went last weekend and helped with the process, but most of the work had already been done. My other brother, the one who lives in the same town Mom has spent the last 52 years in, did some of the hauling trash to the dump, too.

So Mom's in assisted living now. She sounded more coherent when I talked to her this week than she has in some time. She has made a friend already, and is participating in some activities offered to the residents of her new place.

I hope she is happy and comfortable there. I don't wish her discomfort or unhappiness. I hope she has a peaceful existence until she passes away. I have a feeling that she isn't going to be around much longer, although I am not basing that on anything concrete, just a feeling.

I know that she would hate the idea of lingering in a confused state.
Her mother had dementia and lived in a care facility for SIXTEEN YEARS. Her body was fine. Her brain? Nope.

One of the things my brother and his wife have done is deal with all the bills and stuff for Mom. I don't believe they're stealing or doing anything they shouldn't, by the way. I'm not the least concerned. The parents never had a lot of money, and there's not a lot of money left at the end of Mom's life, either. Once her house sells (if it does) Steve says he's putting most of the money in a high-yield account of some sort and then using the rest for her care. After she dies, he plans to split whatever's left three ways between the three of us "kids". 

I told him he could keep mine, but he said that he feels strongly that it's the right thing to do. 

Watch. It will be something like 250 bucks 20 years from now. Haha.

But while they were figuring out all the expenses and what Dad owed here and there, they discovered that he'd been using his credit cards for cash advances and gambling the money away. He had over 50 thousand dollars in gambling debt, mostly online poker.

Mom had no idea. She still doesn't, Steve said he saw no reason to tell her. I agree, what purpose would it serve?

He consulted an attorney when the credit card companies suddenly were asking for money, and he told Steve that because they were outside the amount of time in which they could legally demand payment from the estate, they had to just write the debt off.

It was definitely a surprise to find this out.

Fifty grand.
Wow.

Weakened Shenanigans and the Mom Report

Spelled it that way on purpose. 
In case you wondered.

It's been 13 years since my knee got wrecked working for those ungrateful assholes at Champions, a division of KinderCare. 

They don't take care of injured workers, instead they hire attorneys to avoid taking care of the people who work for them. I had to get a lawyer because otherwise, I wouldn't have been helped at all, like a couple of former co-workers I could tell you about. My god. Criminal mistreatment. 

Toxic to work there on almost every level. All they seemed to care about is how much money they could make to keep the shareholders happy and how to crap on their employees. 

They restructure every few years, spending millions. I have been told it's to get out from under the lawsuits filed by people who have been discriminated against. 

PSA: Don't work there. Not for any division. They're monsters. 
I would never leave my child(ren) or grandchildren in any KC facility, either.

So I had the knee surgeries, but by the time I could get someone to listen to me, the damage was done. The ACL graft didn't take and within a year or so, there was nothing but bone inside both knees.

And having been gaslighted (gaslit?) by several doctors by then, and more or less by my own lawyer I resolved to just live with the pain and decided against pursuing a knee replacement later on. I am just not willing to go through any of that again.

But going through the amount of pain I have on a daily basis isn't a great deal of fun. In case you wondered. Add to that my arthritis in my ankles and other stuff going on and I have to assume that my warranty has expired. My back hurts. I take Excedrin, although under the maximum amount. I'm not trying to blow up my liver.

It's exhausting. 
That's worse than the discomfort, really. 
Perpetually wiped out is not a fun way to live.

I have other things going on as well, but that's enough.

Lots of people have it worse. I'm still able to work and do the laundry. Although I need breaks during those things. 

Anyway. This weekend Lyssa and Mason were here to do some dyeing. 
They went out to breakfast with Eric and I stayed home and got ready to mix dyes and found the things I needed for our projects. They were here until around 1, then we had to go do the grocery shopping. By the time we were finished with that, I was finished, too. Then I moaned and groaned and made barky noises every time I had to get up and walk around, lol. It sucks, but it's also humorous. Both of us are barking these days. Amazing how fast 'someday getting old' catches ya!

I had been wanting to try some reverse dye, which is just using bleach to discharge color from a garment and then dye those sections a different color. I have a chemical called Bleach Stop that you're supposed to use after bleaching because otherwise the chlorine in the bleach just keeps breaking down fibers. Your shirt or whatever you're dyeing will end up with holes in it. Not what you want after putting in all that work.

I wasn't happy with the results of the discharge dye. 
An aside here, every couple weeks I see a query on social media asking for information about how to remove bleach stains.

Sorry Charlie, those aren't stains, those are spots where the color died and you'll never get it back. 

So today I tried re-bleaching the black t shirt. It did lose a bit more color, but still not enough that I can over-dye and have the new colors actually show up. A bit disappointing. But since I ordered the long sleeved shirts to wear under my work tees, the way the shirt turns out isn't that important, no one will see it.

I also tried a new design under ice, so it will be tomorrow or the next day before the ice melts and I see how that turns out. I still have dye (A LOT of dye) so I'll be doing a couple more shirts, one gigantic big men's shirt for sleeping, one blue that I don't like so I'm adding a spiral and using black and a different blue on it. 

Eric cooked for me this weekend, so that means I get to do the dishes tomorrow. I have to work a couple different days this week and have an invitation to go out to my school in a couple weeks for setup.

It's amazing how fast summer went by. There are two more weeks of summer camp, I packed the supplies for this week on Wednesday of last week, and will get over to the office this week, not sure which day, and pack the last order for camp.

I've been collecting new ideas for projects and crafty stuff all summer, as well as some things for kids to do with their parents during our open house/family night thing.

I have a small but hopefully sturdy foosball table for Eric to assemble. When I worked for the Y, they purchased one for the school I was unceremoniously dropped into and when he put it together, he put wood glue in every single screw hole. It was holding up beautifully after a full six months of use. I did try to teach them to treat it carefully, but they were used to the ignorant dipstick who'd been in charge there and didn't have the habit of trying to keep stuff nice. They did pretty well, often a few explanations are needed, but the kids start explaining it to other kids and eventually, it works.

I started my October order for work, too.

Meanwhile, the house, while better, isn't great because every thing I do has to be done  a little bit at a time because EVERYDAMNTHING hurts. I get up, work for 10 minutes or so, then my back hurts or my knee or whatever and I go back to sitting.

Haha, I'm fine. Everything is fine.

I called my mom twice this week. (We also text most evenings)
She sounded a bit better tonight, more with it than she has been. 
I hope she continues to improve, I know she's had a big fear of living years after her mind melts, the way her mother did. 

She has an advance directive and has given it a good deal of thought. I'm proud of her for that, my dad never did it and it caused some worry about whether or not she'd done the right thing when he stopped eating and she said no IV nutrition. His brain was basic oatmeal by then, she didn't want him to linger in that state. All of us agreed with her.

But she's been very confused since the fall until we spoke tonight. She definitely sounds better than she has.

I know that general anesthesia is not good for elderly people, that the body doesn't process things the same way and that cognition is affected, sometimes permanently.

The biggest obstacle to our conversations is something I would not have thought about. She's in a nursing home, not assisted living. That means many of the residents there are ill. She said that she hasn't really met anyone to converse with, that most of them are not doing well cognitively.

Her neighbor across the hall has a monitor that goes beeeeeeeeep beeeeeeeep 24/7.

Mom can't hear it. She *is* wearing her hearing aids, but I guess the frequency of the beeeeeeeps is either above or below her hearing range, so she isn't affected by it. I sure as hell wish I weren't.
So our conversations are very short.

Also, even though she says her hearing aids are in and that the staff there charges them every night, she's constantly saying, "Hwut?? Hwut??" to me. I have to (loudly) repeat nearly everything I say. It's annoying but it's funny, too. I could see it being a comedy sketch on some show or another. 

I do a lot of shout/reapeating inane information that would be better via text message.

Tomorrow, one of my last days of summer freedom, I'll finish the dyeing and put alllllll the stuff away again. I enjoy the creative process, and am always happy with the results of my efforts, but it's a gigantic pain in the ass to clean up afterward.

I'm excited to see the shirt that's in the ice, though. It melts slowly, distributing the colors like a watercolor painting. I learn from each new project, so if this one isn't great, the next one will be better.

With that, I'm off to bed. I got up at 4, again at 6 and couldn't get back to sleep. I feel like a lump. A tired one.

Life Alert

Sometimes my mom isn't very smart. 
I know, that's a hell of a thing to say, but she really isn't. 

We wanted her to move to assisted living for her own health/safety, but until my dad died, she had never been on her own. Never been able to make anything but the simplest decisions for herself.

My grandfather was authoritarian, my dad was a tyrant. So she tiptoed around and did whatever she was told to do her whole life, which is really no way to live. 

Now she goes and gets her nails done when she feels like it, goes to church and sees her friends, has hair appointments and visitors and goes to see other old friends. She's able to be a social butterfly, which is really her thing, all perky and cruise-director-y. 

It would drive me nuts being out and about all the time, but that's how she operates when she's allowed to. Which of course now that she's on her own, is great.

So she's been still living at home, although she's not alone all the time. My brother hired a caregiver who's really been wonderful. She goes up every day at least twice, cooks meals at her house and delivers them to Mom on the days that the senior center doesn't deliver, has driven Mom to medical appointments 90 miles away, takes her to community events and to the senior center for BINGO and to visit friends.
She's been included in family celebrations with the caregiver's family, too. 

Caregiver's name is Sheila, but Mom can't seem to consistently spell it. She'll type Shiela, Sheela, Shayla, Shiella... it's funny but I don't correct her, I know who she means.
When we talk amongst ourselves we call her Sloopy and Snoopy and Spiffy and Spinny and Spiky and Slutty. 

We know who we mean, sometimes ya gotta laugh.

Anyway, Mom really should not be living alone. We were concerned that she might fall and not be able to get help. This is what started my grandma's sudden decline. She fell and was on the floor for nine hours before someone found her there. It was a fluke that the person stopped by, he hadn't planned on stopping until the *next* day but happened to be driving by so he made a quick stop.

Grandma ended up with pneumonia after nine hours on the cold floor and she didn't make it.

So we nagged Mom until she got a Life Alert necklace. 

There are also a few buttons at almost-floor level in the areas of the house that she frequents. That's so if she falls and isn't wearing her necklace with the button to call for help, she can hopefully drag herself to the nearest button and push.

There have been a couple occasions where she has fallen and decided for herself that it's not serious enough to call for help, although we harp at her that, "That's what they're there for, Mom. Call for help if you fall."

She doesn't listen very well. She really is like a stubborn child and it's impossible to get her to act in her own self interest at times.

Well, today she had to push that button and call for help.

My phone rang as I was driving home from the office, it was the Life Alert operator letting me know that she'd been transported to the hospital. She has it set so they notify everyone in the immediate family.

I haven't talked to her, I've just gotten the story 2nd hand from conversations with my brothers. 

This afternoon, she stood up from her chair and tripped and fell. She hit her left eye socket on the edge of the table that's next to her chair and hit the floor. She broke her femur.

The hospital in their little town made sure she was stable. Apparently the machine they need to scan her head is not currently working, but they did do x rays.  

She was put into a helicopter and flown to the nearest large medical center, which happens to be Boise, Idaho. She'll be having surgery to repair her leg, not sure if they'll have to do anything with her face. She's going to be 86 in two weeks, so surgery isn't going to be healthy for her, but they can't just leave it, ya know?

So I really don't know much this evening. I'm sure I'll get more bits and pieces of information in the next day or so. 

I guess Skippy packed a bag for her and made sure she has her hearing aids, her glasses and her phone, so she should be able to text and talk. I'll probably catch up with her soon.

Meanwhile, I have to say it. 
She's not going to have to board the damn dog.
Dog should have been put down two years ago.

But.
We told her to get Life Alert and we were right.

Steve sent me a photo of her that Scrappy had taken. I won't share it, she really got beat to hell in the face. I feel sorry for her, but I'm glad she isn't lying on the floor and unable to get help.

Do I know what I'm doing yet?

When I worked for the evil empire, (Champions, a division of KinderCare where children aren't even part of the equation) one of my co-workers was one of those idiots who self-righteously said, "Well I wouldn't hurt anyone!" when someone talked with her about her lack of brains when it came to boundaries with kids.

For example, our license said only one child allowed in the restroom at a time.
Every license says that for school age.

It seems to be common sense to me, but not everyone figures that out.
During a combined program when school was out, she allowed three girls in the restroom at the same time more than once during the morning.

She knew or at least had been informed of the rules, but she didn't care.
Then, around lunch time, she went into the bathroom at the same time as the kids and peed with them.

When Karen told her, "Oh no, we can't go into the bathroom with children!" she held her hand up in Karen's face and said, "You don't get to tell ME what to do. I was a classroom teacher for six years. I have done nothing wrong!"

Then she got out her phone and texted Sherri Burks, who was being paid to be a manager but was really just an asshole.

This dumb cow Mykele was Sherri's friend, you see, and therefore she was right. She had done nothing wrong. When Karen went to Sherri, Sherri told her that Mykele 'did foster care so she knows how to handle kids' and dismissed her concerns.

On brand, really, that's all that bitch did. Dismiss valid concerns and not give a shit about kids. Coincidentally, that was my impression of the entire company. I think the ONLY thing they cared about was money. Lots of it. I know people who still work there. They have said nothing has changed. I don't know, I don't work there. But I'd be really surprised if the company suddenly gave a shit about kids or the staff.

It was a wrenching decision to leave, and I still hate that shitbag Sherri for ruining my joy in my job. She couldn't take away my enjoyment of the work, though. I still have that and she can kiss my ass. I'd like to run into her sometime, but I'm driving such a small car now that it probably wouldn't be all that satisfying. Still, I'm willing to try.

One of the things required in my state is proof of continuing education. We have to have I think 16 hours per year in certain subject categories combined. Stuff like admin at sites, paperwork, medication policies, child development... you get the idea.

We are paid for the time we spend in training.
When it's a most of the day session, they feed us lunch.
This week we had Panda Express and the next day, pizza.

I can't say that going to these sessions is a waste of time although I hate getting up early and sitting in a crowd for hours.

It was really cold in the office, too. Didn't find out until Friday that there was a reason for it... the heat had been turned off during the break and hadn't been reset. Oops.

So we have to show up for trainings to keep licensing current.
The presenters endeavor to be entertaining, informative and to cover important topics.

At our training session on Thursday, we talked about different scenarios regarding physical contact with children. I have sent emails to upper staff regarding what I know about things that have gone on and the idea that we need to set our kids up to be safe from adults who may not have good intentions. I noticed that quite a bit of the input I sent them was incorporated into the training.

We ended up by saying that  we must set them up for safety.
When they leave our care, we don't know where they go. Who they may encounter. So how nice we are or how we take care of issues like personal space and physical contact makes a difference. We can't be setting them up for anything but safety.

Sadly, some people don't have a clue and they're still going to say to themselves 'well I'm not going to hurt anyone' and just go on doing what they do. You can't fix stupid, as my husband is fond of saying.

Friday's session included activities to do with bored kids during the wet and cold afternoons when we're not able to go outside or to the gym, some conversation about different theories of psychology and child development. Ideas about not expecting more from a five year old than a five year old is able to give.

At the end of the day, they post a QR code so we can give feedback and get whatever credit hours are ours. We have to upload our certificates to an Oregon website so that when our licensing person visits everything is up to date and they can look it up. Not a bunch of paperwork that way, or at least not physical copies.

But you know, it's aggravating that life experience or work experience in the same field is looked down upon. A person can walk out of college with a degree in pretty much anything and will be placed higher in 'the Oregon registry' than someone like me.

I have 20 years of experience. And more than 400 hours of training. In case you wondered, that's a lot when you consider most training sessions last an hour to three hours.

Once in awhile I've lobbied a bit. The Oregon registry sends out questionnaires on occasion and while most of them are check box surveys, sometimes there is an opportunity to leave some comments. I do leave comments. 

They'll probably start counting experience and expertise about the time I retire.

Hope I am trained by then.

The Memory of Ice

I'm still sifting through piles and piles of memories.
For now at least, my memory still works fairly well. Not so much for my mom, apparently.


I suppose it's helpful when your ancestry has ostriches. She has elevated the whole head-in-the-sand thing to an art form. It's not recent, she's always been that way. Anything awkward and she wants to know how the weather is or wants to share the latest gossip.

It has its humorous moments, that head-burying thing. And sometimes it's just frustrating. Being deliberately obtuse is her default setting.

Photo of Mom (not recent)

I was having my evening chat with Mom via messenger last night. She was telling me about how difficult it is to pick up a bag of ice from the grocery store and get it home without it melting, as it's really hot where she lives and a bag of ice is a bit heavy for her to bring into the house.

I said, "Well, now that no one's going to yell at you for using the ice maker, why don't you just use that?"

She was confused. "I don't have an ice maker!"

"Yes, you do. Dad wouldn't let you use it because he thought it was making the refrigerator work too hard,  Mom. Don't you remember how mad he was when your brand new refrigerator didn't work right and blamed you for it?"

Of course she 'doesn't remember that'. She doesn't remember a lot of things when it's convenient for her.

That post is from 2019. It gives some insight into my dad's character. It includes the story of how I accidentally recorded a monologue from my dad.

He was wishing my mom would die because she had the NERVE to ask me to stop for a cup of coffee. Control freak asshole.

Scroll down for the refrigerator story, but really, the whole thing is worth reading.
He was really a mean person.

So anyway, she completely forgot that she has an ice maker in her refrigerator.

She expressed concern that she wouldn't know how to turn it on anyway. I told her that she could get the person who helps her clean house try turning it on.

"But Mom, discard the first couple tubs of ice, the water line needs to flush out, it's been sitting there a long time unused."

I hope that when she gets it running she will remember to dump the first ice.

I talked to her this evening and she hasn't been able to figure out how to turn the ice maker on. Hoping my aunt and uncle can help her when they visit later this month if she doesn't get it turned on before then.

I can't imagine losing a partner after 64 years. I know she's sad and that she misses him. And I'm sure she feels guilt when she has any thoughts of relief from the abusive person. She was raised to feel guilt over pretty much everything in the universe.

She's 85 years old. She spent her whole life with this person. And she'll never use the word abusive.

I'm not sure that matters at this point, as long as the poor woman gets some ice.

Primal SCREAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMM

LOTS of profanity ahead.

Don't read it if you are easily offended.

Some goddamn fucking vulture has already tried to hurt my mom.
She processes things by being sort of a town crier, she loves to gossip and will tell anything to anyone.

She sent at least a hundred FB messages over the last few days, one to a guy my dad used to know. They proselytized together several years ago.

Important: Mom's FB page was hacked at least four times that we know of. So people on her page may not even be the real people she thinks they are. Definitely not in this instance.

This fucking pond scum piece of shit told her that when HIS dad died he ended up with over a hundred thousand dollars in grants, all he had to do was send 'a small percentage processing fee'.

How much are these processing fees, you ask?

My mom was told that she needed to give this 'government grant' place 8 thousand dollars. She was on her way to the store to buy FUCKING iTunes cards for the scammer and called my brother to find out where her debit card was.

He canceled her card last week. (She has some cash, we're not starving her or anything).

She was going to use her debit to send money to her 'friend' to help her get the grants.

I'm so fucking pissed.

My mom has a trusted person staying with her right now until we can get things figured out. She needs to be in assisted living, she's obviously not competent. (Not just because she's gullible). Lots of things happened while she was staying at my brother's house. Messy things that involve my sister in law going through a gallon of bleach to clean things up. She can't care for herself.

Not sure when all the memorial stuff will be happening, but until then, she won't be alone. So even if someone else tries to scam her, they can't.

Dad

In the tiny town my parents live in, hospice care was recently taken over by the hospital.

So if you're in hospice care and a holiday is coming, they move you to the hospital over the holiday because they don't want to pay their hospice workers to come to your home during that time.

I could write a thousand words about the new hospital administrator, I've been hearing about all the fuckery he's gotten up to since arriving about a year ago. It's hard to get doctors in that town and quite a few of them have left because of working conditions under this guy.

So they let Mom know that Dad would still be getting care, but transported him to the hospital on Wednesday. He was in a more or less comatose state, they'd been giving him two different medications to help with the agitated dementia and pain medication for the physical pain he was in. He was not able to communicate or interact by then. He just... slept.

I believe keeping him comfortable or end of life care are the terms.

They offered to move a hospital bed into his room at the hospital for Mom. My brother and his wife invited her to their house for Thanksgiving, too. She called me at work on Tuesday afternoon to ask me to help her make a decision.

I told her to go to Steve's if she wanted, because there was not anything she could do to help Dad but that if she chose to stay in town, that she should stay at home rather than the hospital, as it would probably take her about 10 minutes to go to the hospital if needed.

"Why suffer through sleeping on a hospital bed the way you did when Dad was in Boise?"

She stayed with him  nearly a week there, did not have a change of clothing or toiletries.

Understandable to forget those things or not consider them in the frantic rush to get him out the door and into the air ambulance. But it took a toll on her physically to sleep on a hospital bed for a week.
She's not in great shape anyway.
So she was physically beat up when she finally got home after a week. She spent the next two weeks in her comfortable bed, was able to bathe and take care of herself, something she hasn't been able to do for a long time because she was taking care of all Dad's needs.

By the time he got out of the hospital, spent a little over a week in a rehab place and finally came home, she was feeling pretty good. Her voice sounded strong, she wasn't foggy and confused the way she had been, and she was better off in every way.

Then he came home and the really hard parts started. Because of the dementia, he was very agitated and combative at night, keeping her awake at all hours and yelling at her and berating her and screaming unintelligibly. While he still had motor function, he'd get pissed and throw things at her. Everything he could reach from the bed would fly at her if she crossed him. Fortunately his aim was terrible.

She was kept running back and forth getting him stuff or calling the ambulance to come get him off the floor. She was exhausted, physically depleted and in a great deal of pain. She's 84 years old and has a lot of her own health issues.

She called me one night in a panic because he was being so mean to her. Saying awful things and screaming himself into deep coughing fits and then being angry with her because 'she made him mad'.

As a family we agreed that if it were Mom in such dire straits and Dad was tasked with taking care of her, he wouldn't. He's have had her in a nursing home as soon as possible. He wouldn't have ignored her there or anything, he would have been there visiting her all the time, but there was no way in hell that he'd be taking care of changing diapers and all the other stuff she was doing for him.

I don't fault him for that, by the way. I would not want to provide full time care for an adult for a myriad of reasons, which is why care homes and traveling nurses and home health care are all things. Mom just felt that it was her duty to do what she was doing and would not have wanted it any other way. But it was too much for her and we were worried.

Steve and Jim stepped in, got some home health care going and dealt with getting POA and other things in order. They did call and keep me informed, and I assured and reassured them that A: I trusted them to do whatever was right and B: I wanted nothing.  If they needed to sell the house to pay for my parents' care, then sell the house. Sell everything. Whatever.

I was also hopeful that would keep us from future conflict over 'stuff'. I told Steve, who really took the lead in all of it, that I knew he would handle things and that if there was something I could do, I would.

So Mom decided to go to Steve's house. It's almost two hours away from where she lives, though.

Jim and his family left town, too. They rented a house on the Oregon coast and their son and his family were going to stay there with them.

So Dad was left in the hospital alone. And while everyone was still asleep at 7:30 on Thanksgiving morning, he died.

I find myself feeling sorry for that. I don't think he knew he was alone, he was on some pretty heavy medication and what was left of his intellect departed about 16 days ago.

It's a lonely end for someone all the same.

I have been sad about it mostly for Mom's sake. Spending 64 years with someone really is a full lifetime, and for all the mental health issues and co-dependency and bumps and potholes and volcanoes and meteor strikes, they did love each other.

Way back when...

Lots of my kids and their families were heading out of town for Spring Break.

Fun conversations in the couple weeks or so leading up to it.

Trent, one of my littles, left for Palm Springs the week before break. He ended up missing a week and a half of school and will be there through the break.

The plan is for him to return on Monday the 3rd of April.

Anya, another of the smalls, (she's five)  and her family were heading for Palm Springs on Saturday. We talked about the possibility that she might run into Trent with his family while visiting down there.

She was hoping the flight would take longer than 45 minutes because if it did, she would be allowed screen time.

"I wish we would go in the car," she said wistfully. "Because then we can have our screens for a long time."

I commented that long car rides were not my favorite thing anymore, and that I wished for some kind of science fiction portal so I could step in here in Oregon and show up at my destination anywhere else a few moments later.

She said, "Oh yeah! Like a transporter from Star Trek!"
Funny. As I mentioned, she's five, but she knew exactly what I meant.

The conversation about screens continued. I asked her (and the other kids, by now we had six or seven at our table) if they got motion sickness when they used screens in their cars. I said that I used to get motion sickness when I was a kid no matter what I did.

Anya said, "Did you try taking your car trips without screen time?"

Hahaha.

"Anya, every single car trip I took until I was 55 years old was completely without screen time."

She blinked. The other kids at the table looked at each other. One said, "Did your mom and dad let you have your tablet at home?"

I had to tell them that none of those things had been invented when I was still a kid.

"But you could still use your phone, couldn't you?"

I laughed a bit. "Um, our phone was connected to the wall. We had one for the whole family. And it didn't have a screen at all."

"Why?"

"They hadn't been invented yet."

We didn't have a lot of time before we went outside to play, but I gave them a short list of things that hadn't been around when I was a kid. Microwave ovens. Any kind of mobile communication device. Home computers, printers, e-readers, the ability to watch movies at home that weren't on network tv... it was funny to try to explain VCRs and Blockbuster to them, although most of them know what a DVD is. None of them were confused by CDs, but there was only one kid who still has a CD player, the rest of them have streaming services.

A couple were stunned that there were no video games to be played at home, either. That until the late 70s, they weren't even around. And when they did start being popular, you had to go somewhere and put quarters in a machine to play them.

I told them that when Eric and I first got married, that was our Friday night entertainment. We bought a 10 dollar roll of quarters, drove or walked to 7-11 and played video games all evening. They can relate to playing video games, but not the rest of it. Most of them have a Nintendo Switch at home.

I can't send them a link to my blog, but I wrote this post in 2006. Since then, a lot more tech stuff has changed and improved. And some things have mostly disappeared, like cassette tapes. Isn't it amazing that your music, your movies, your camera... all that... can fit in your purse or back pocket now?

I brought a camera in to take some photos of the stuff we're doing and at least half the kids had NO IDEA what it was!

Hold the phone....

Another holiday has come and gone... there was no Christmas tree at our house again this year. Actually there was no Christmas. No baking, no wrapping of presents, no holiday season.

Oh, no one is a grumpy old 'I hate the holidaze' person, it's just very different when the kids are all grown up and no one gets excited for Christmas anymore. Eric and I haven't exchanged gifts for any occasion for years and years. And the children who live here aren't children at all. There's no magic.

Of course I get my kid fix and see a lot of magic in the eyes (and the really loud voices and huge amounts of enthusiasm) of my work kids. We made a ton of crafty things for the season, would have made four or five more projects if I hadn't gotten sick at a crucial time. Dammit. The kids love making things. I love watching them make things. It's messy, but it's fun.

I actually forgot to call my parents, hadn't really considered that it was Christmas and even though *I* don't care about the holiday, they do. (I talk to my mom nearly every evening via messenger or text, by the way. And my brothers keep me updated with whatever's going on, too. So we don't just communicate on Christmas. In case you were wondering.)

So Mom called me about 9 on Christmas night.
We chatted for a few minutes. A voice conversation with either one of them is humorous in a 'my family is really odd' kind of way.

It's usually Mom on the phone while Dad bugs her from the background. He talks over her (ha, does that in person, too) and has something to say about all our conversational topics. She listens to him at the same time, but of course can't focus on what we're saying to each other, so there's a lot of, 'What? What??' from her. I start to get aggravated after a few minutes of it and I'm ashamed to say, impatient, too. Our communication isn't helped by the fact that she's usually not wearing her hearing aids. She doesn't use them around Dad, it's easier to ignore his grumpy rambling if she can't hear him do it.

So we talked about fifteen minutes, then her voice changed and she adopted this weird, diffident tone that sort of slides off into the land of baby talk (she can't just ask me in a regular voice) "Wudjoo like tuhtalktoyer day-ad?"

She doesn't speak that way in regular conversation, and most of the time it just sort of makes me laugh. It has its funny side. She does this every damn time.

I did want to talk to him, although it's sometimes difficult.
He's always been, um, grumpy and adversarial.

But now his mind wanders and he doesn't make a lot of sense sometimes.

He had surgery almost three years ago and the not necessarily competent medical staff and doctors put my 80 year old father under general anesthesia not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES in less than a month. First they did surgery to remove his gall bladder, but when they got him all sliced open, the doctor said, "Oh gee, this is too complicated for me, close things up, we're going to have to bring in a different doctor tomorrow."

That's what they did. And the next day, they filled him full of the same drugs, cut him open again and took out his gall bladder and some other stuff that was all entwined with ducts and other tissue.

For the next 8 days he was in the hospital and nothing like himself. Combative and confused. He was so angry, too. At everyone.

He told me on the phone that the two story rural hospital had 'an entire floor' for their legal staff. "Up on the 10th floor," he said, "A bunch of goddamn lawyers who won't let me out." He insisted to his caregivers that "President Trump had personally assured him," that he could go home. He swore at them and called them names and in at least one case, told them he hated them. And although it's not like my dad to behave badly in public or to be mean to people who are trying to help, he told at least one of them to fuck off. It was stressful for him and because it was during the height of the pandemic, he was alone in the hospital. Mom wasn't even allowed to see him.

Two weeks later, they had to take out some drain or something and did the anesthesia AGAIN. This did not improve his mental condition.

I'm actually surprised that he recovered as well as he has. He's still not back to the same person, I doubt he will ever be. But he acknowledges that all that stuff really wrecked him for a time. Hasn't improved his impression of the medical profession, either.

So my mom gave him the phone.

Things started out okay, we discussed the gift cards he sent us from Amazon. I had told him several times over the last couple months that there was no need to send anything for me or for Eric, as we have everything we could possibly want or need.

He sent us gift cards anyway. I thanked him. He sent a card for Lyssa and Mason, too. And one went to Matt and Amy. He sent actual plastic cards via Amazon. They came in cute little gift boxes the day before Christmas. I don't think he quite understands the idea of online gift cards, but that's okay.

It was a very sweet gesture, and my thanks were sincere.

He was doing fine during our talk, then he suddenly commented on Bill Stevens. "That son of a bitch!" he pronounced. "I can't stand that bastard!"

Bill made a comment that pissed Dad off back in 1971, the year we moved to the town where my parents still live. I don't know what he said, but Dad is still angry about it 50 years later.

That's a trait I share with my dad, by the way.

Show me you're an asshole just one time and no matter what happens after that, I will continue to carry a grudge. Oh, I can be civil, but I will never trust you again or believe anything you say. And if someone brings up your name, I will be pissed off at you all over again.

Bill died in 2003, I think. Possibly 2004.
But Dad's mad at him now.

He went on to talk about a more recent grievance, his dentist made him angry about eight years ago. He ran into my parents downtown,  made some kind of smart remark, which some other guy laughed at and my dad decided it was the dentist 'making fun of him because he's old' and has never gotten over it.

I asked him, "Dad, wasn't that several years ago?" and he said no. "It was just last week," he told me. "They pick on old people here. They make fun of us."

He rambled from topic to topic, none of them related, none of them very coherent, until at last he handed the phone back to Mom. Then he hollered addendums and additions to everything else we had to say until I was finally able to get off the phone.

I know they're getting old.
I know I will be sad when they're gone.
It will be my turn to be the curmudgeon before I know it. I'm already heading down that path, if I had to be honest.

Someone should probably take my phone away before I reach the actual state.

More on Site Management

 I'm making an effort to get my thoughts in order for my employer.

If they actually implement some of my ideas it will improve programming. From what I've seen over the last five years, fixing programs is actually low on their list of priorities, but I can't be quiet about the stuff I'm seeing anymore.

Last week when my current afternoon gig was closed due to covid, they sent me to a school up the road a bit. Closer than my other two sites, but again, no one asked me what I wanted when school started up again.

So the site I went to has program located in a portable classroom on the edge of the parking lot. There are two portables in that area, which is important to the story. And even if it weren't, you just read it so you'd know it even if you didn't need to know it.

Funny how words are like that... before you learned to read you wouldn't have known there are two portable classrooms at the end of the parking lot, now you can't NOT read it. Ain't literacy grand?

Now where was I?

Oh yeah. I was approaching the site they sent me to last week.

The girl running the site isn't technically qualified to do so, (not enough supervised contact hours with children) but state regulations have been temporarily changed due to covid and its effects on staffing. She is a nice person, and the site didn't look too bad, but she doesn't understand all the rules and regulations that a person needs to know. A lot of those important things are learned by osmosis, really. The more time you spend with someone competent, the more you learn. Sunshine was utterly amazing at A, knowing all that stuff and B, making sure I understood the reasons behind the rules. I am forever grateful for her tutelage.

When I arrived, there were five children on site, all girls. One was sitting in the corner with the site phone watching a video on YouTube.

"Oh it's from Encanto," Anna (acting site director) told me. I didn't say anything to her regarding the phone use, and probably should have. But I'm not her (or anyone's) supervisor. Remember, I turned down the 'promotion'.

What's wrong with a kid watching videos on a phone?

1. We can't regulate internet content. There is more than one reason we don't have computers on site. We don't want inappropriate content being shown to kids. We don't want the responsibility of kids seeing something they should not see while under our care.

2. It was the site phone. So if a parent called, the child may or may not know to hand the phone off to the adult in time to have it answered. I have been to sites where they actually allowed children to answer the phone, something they're ABSOLUTELY not allowed to do.

3. Since it was the site phone and the kids are allowed to use it, it's not being kept clean, either. I've seen where some of their hands go... I wouldn't let any of 'my' kids handle my personal phone. Why would I want  their hands on a phone I have to use?
Short answer, I wouldn't. Geez.

4. What if the kids are using it so much they run down the battery, there is a power outage and emergency and no phone?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So as I mentioned, the adult on site had five kids when I showed up.

Three of them were K age.

One of them asked Anna if she could go to the bathroom. Anna said yes, and walked to the exit door with the child. Anna stood in the door and watched the child walk down the ramp, across a small path, and up another ramp to the door of the bathroom portable. The child went into the bathroom. I said, "Excuse me," and went outside and up the ramp to the other unit. I opened the door a crack and said, "Is everything fine in here?"

The little girl answered yes in a teeny little voice (I'm sure she isn't used to people opening the door while she pees, but I did not look inside,) and I waited next to the door until she came out.

When I got back, I told Anna that, "You can't send her into a bathroom like that."

She was confused. "But I'm standing here at the door watching the door of the restroom!"

"You are. That's a good thing. But how did you know there wasn't anyone in there when you sent her over?"

She looked mystified. "What?"

"In the restroom. We're right next to a wooded area, the general public uses the field and there's a way to get into the restroom from the other side over there," and I pointed. "You have to go into the restroom and make sure it's safe and empty before a child goes in there."

"But... how do I do that? I have kids here!"

"You take them with you. Bring them outside and go check the bathroom. Then you can wait in the door here and watch after you've made sure it's safe. The other kids can go back into the room and play and you can keep an eye on the door and on the kids."

"I didn't know!" she told me.
She didn't. She hasn't spent years and years learning all this stuff.
I fervently hope she is now checking that restroom before sending kids.

I did pass that one on, that's a huge safety issue. We are experiencing a very large homeless population, and there are several camps near that school. I know, 'cause I drove past 'em.

No, I don't think homeless people are all criminals or would hurt kids, either. But there are people who are without homes due to mental illness. There are also horrible humans who would molest a child and then go home to their nice warm house. Neither one is okay, obviously, and a warm, dry place where one has access to children would be very attractive to some.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are seriously a million little things.

At my current placement, kids have been allowed to go into the back room to get things at will. They seemed confused when I stopped allowing them to just go in there unsupervised.

I will allow them to get certain supplies, as they know where things are and I really don't. But I stand at the door of the room where everyone can see me, I keep my eyes on the child (ONE child at a time in there, they were aggravated with me when I told them only one at a time, because, say it with me, "Axel lets us do it.") and when s/he has found what they were looking for, they're right back out.

Our site aide, Mike, was actually IN THAT ROOM with a child. I have no reason to believe there was any danger to the kid, as I was observing the room at the time, but there's a definite danger to MIKE.

As an adult, and sorry to say, particularly an adult male, you just can't do anything that might look suspicious with a child. It was for Mike's protection that I told him he could not be in that room with a kid.

I've also had to tell Maureen that we can't both be in that room at the same time. If  we're having a conversation (my goodness that woman loves to talk) she just follows me. I had to tell her why it wasn't okay, that she needed to be outside the room to observe our kids.

I also had to explain to both Maureen and Mike that they needed to be seated where they were facing the children rather than choosing seats with their backs to the action.

It's fine to sit and color a picture  with a kid, or do a puzzle or play a game, but you have to see the other kids while that is happening. Neither one of them seemed aware of that.

Something that would help immensely with these issues (and a ton of other ones) would be an at least bi-monthly visit from a manager person.

That person would have a checklist with a basic site inventory and inspect the site to make sure those items were there. The person would also sit and observe how the adult(s) on site interact with the children. I think part of the reason people end up being so overbearing and disrespectful to children is that they get away with it for so long they just think it's fine.

Sadly, kids are accustomed to being talked to rudely, power tripping adults who do demoralizing things like gathering them all on a rug and then standing over them to tell them what to do.

They go where they're told, they do what they're told and even when the adult is really awful to them like Candice and her minions, nothing is done.

I mentioned the whole carrot/stick thing the other day. That is a reference to something done with donkeys waaaay back when, to get them to walk where you want  them to.

Rewards (stickers, tickets etc) are based on that same principal.

Why are we making jackasses of our kids? Anyone?

We can do so much better, and we should.

Cleaning and Transient Synovitis

When Matt was just a little guy, probably about a 15 months old, he had a cold.
Stuffy nose, little fever, bit of a rash.

He was never terribly ill, and after three or four days, seemed to be recovering fine.

But as we were hanging out about 7 one evening after he seemed all better and Matt was chugging around holding a stuffed bunny in one hand and a plastic hammer in the other, he suddenly started crying and, hm, lurching across the room, very obviously limping on one leg.

I freaked out, of course. It was a Wednesday night, which was the night of extended hours at the clinic, so I called them immediately. They asked about fever and other symptoms, and told me that if he didn't get worse or have something else happen, to bring him in the morning.

I took him to see Dr. Eastman (still one of my favorite doctors EVER) the next morning. Matt was walking better by then, although he had a little pain when his little leg was manipulated it was much improved.

We discussed his recent illness and the doctor explained that often, after a viral infection the hip joint could become inflamed and that it usually worked itself out in a day or two. He called it Toxic Synovitis, but it seems the preferred term is Transient according to my exhaustive research here at the computer. 

He was correct.

So when it happened to me a few years later, I didn't worry a lot, and in a couple days it worked itself out.

I've had it happen twice more over the 29 years or so since I first learned about it, although a cursory consultation with Teh Google tells me it's probably not transient synovitis but possibly septic arthritis since the former isn't usually found in adults.

Don't know, either way it hurts.

I have some anti-inflammatory pills that I've never taken before, I finally got sick of limping and lurching around this afternoon and took one. It didn't seem to help my hip much but it sure did a number on my stomach. Been burping up acid for 7 hours or so now. Blech.

But I'm proud to say that I managed to do some cleaning today even though I'm limping around like a granny. I even broke out the cane from the 2010 knee surgery. 

About a month into the whole lockdown/shutdown of the entire damn universe, I read "I always used to say that if I had uninterrupted time, I'd get ____ and ____ done. Turns out, that wasn't the problem."

Yep.

I've been mostly home since March 13th and although I have accomplished some things, there are many more crying out for my attention.

I never get caught up on the laundry, I guess no one really does if we have to be honest.

So I have this list of things that need to be done. It's not a physical list, it's all in my head as so many interesting things have been and always will be, sometimes for my own protection.

I read a couple weeks ago that one should either type or write up a list of things that need to be done and then the person should cut the list into tasks and toss them in a container and pull one out as needed. A task might take two hours or four hours or eleven days... doesn't matter, just pull one out when you get one done.

The idea has its attractions, but I find that making a list is just another task  I really don't want to bother with.
::sigh:::

But I do have plans for tomorrow. I have to run to the grocery store and to the craft store for three paint colors.

I found two more paintings I really want to do and who knew one would need so much yellow ochre?

One more pitch here... try it.
It's easy and fun and don't you need a new hobby?
I mean, go watch this video. Looks easy, doesn't it?

So I'm going to bed. It's after eleven here, and I'm usually asleep or close to it by now. I'm hoping not to whine every time I turn over tonight and that tomorrow I won't be doing the whole limping and ouch-ing thing.

How are YOU doing? It's been a week since I checked in.

"Worry"

I love my parents, and I'm glad they're still around.

I guess they're happy to still be around, too, although that old 'quality of life' thing can't be very good. Both of them are falling apart, have been for a LONG time. Like 30 years. No, I'm not exaggerating. I wish I were.

One of the first things that started them down their current path was Dad being diagnosed with high blood pressure, a thing he refused to take medication for. It didn't get better. (Duh).

During that time, Mom had a fall.

Several falls, I guess, in quick succession. She  started having issues with her balance and lack of physical condition at the same time.

But she had a particularly damaging fall over the railing of their deck. The deck was only 2 feet off the ground, but the railing was 5 feet above dirt level. She was deadheading the flowers that grew along the railing, but instead of standing on the ground, she was leaning over the railing from the deck and reaching out. She over-extended and flipped over the railing and landed with her upper half in the grass and lower half on the flagstones. I suppose she was fortunate, had her head landed on the rocks, the outcome would probably have been worse.

She was proud of that fall, telling me during the next few phone conversations in an enthusiastic tone that she was, "Bruised from head to toe! I'm just black and blue all over!"

We (my brothers and I) tried to get her to go see a doctor. Maybe get an xray.
She wasn't willing to listen. Brushed us off.
It took a couple months for all the bruises to fade and for her to feel better.
 
She got a lot of mileage out of that story around town, I'm sure. In John Day, exciting things like that make a person the story of the day... everyone calls everyone else to share under the guise of the 'prayer chain' and the story gets more lurid with every telling.

I could wander away from the topic here and tell you stories about the things I heard while I was growing up. The phone would ring, my mom would be really, really amped up while she wrung every detail out of the caller and even more animated as she rang the next person in the gossip machine and passed the story on.

So Mom fell. And fell and fell and fell. She fell while getting into the shower. She fell while getting out of the shower, although not necessarily on the same day. She fell while gardening.  While doing the laundry, vacuuming the floor, getting out of her car.

But the original big fall she'd had apparently broke or cracked three vertebrae. How do we know? About five years after that big fall she (FINALLY) got some xrays. They pinpointed THE fall as the event that caused it.

She started having some issues with pain. Her hips and back (gee, wonder why??) hurt quite often. Her doctor prescribed pain medication for her so she could sleep at night and she refused to take it because she didn't want to be a drug addict. I attempted to reason with her, "Mom, even if you develop a chemical dependence, so what? If it helps you and you are able to feel better and rest, why is that an issue?"

With a little more discussion, the real reason surfaced, "Oh your dad is a worrier.  He doesn't want me to be like your grandma was."

Worrier is a euphemism for asshole, I am sorry to say. Whenever he is mean to Mom, which is quite often, that's what she uses.

"Oh, he's such a worrier."

There have been scores of incidents over the years. One of the more recent was the refrigerator debacle. For whatever reason(s) a LOT of people have read that post, not sure why. It explains a bit about my dad and his meanness, mostly directed at my mom now that it's just the two of them.

He's always been mean. I know it's mental illness. I know he can't help it. But I also know that he's been enabled and allowed to be that way, that Mom was never willing or able to stand up to him. One of the results of that kind of thinking was the lack of protection/buffer between him and us when we were kids.

I never doubted he loved us, but it was very obvious he didn't like me once I had the nerve to grow from a child into a woman. There's more about our relationship here on my blog, actually. I'm not going to link any more, it just makes me weary to read it.

I've tried to mend our relationship before. Even though I WAS A CHILD and it wasn't my fault, I still tried. I left home because I couldn't stand it anymore. I'm glad I did, it saved my sanity. It was the right thing for me to do. But he's just gotten meaner and more out of control through the years.

Once he retired, he no longer had to maintain a sane facade for the general public. And he really let it go.

So tonight I was doing the usual online chat session via messenger with Mom. And she told me Dad has a medical appointment in Bend tomorrow at 11 AM. It's a little over two hours for them to drive there. But Dad insisted they be ON THE ROAD at 6 AM. When I asked Mom why so early, she repeated the same phrase, "Oh your dad is a worrier."

He hasn't recovered from the anesthesia's effects, although he was already starting to lose it a bit, and they're getting ready to anesthetize him again. I asked Mom why they can't find another way to remove the stent, and she said, "Well the doctor says they have to do it this way."

Here's the thing, though. If he had a medical condition that precluded general anesthesia, they would find another way. But because my parents ALWAYS do the medical equivalent of 'yes dear' with every doctor they encounter, my dad's going to come out of the surgery an even bigger worrier than he is now. My mom will bear the brunt of it, half the time I don't think she even notices. She turns off her hearing aids or buries her face in her phone and ignores him.

But the downside of her tuning him out is this. The last time he got really sick and needed to be hospitalized, Mom didn't even notice how much his condition had deteriorated, their house keeper was the one who suggested that he might need to be seen as he was, 'sort of gray'.

Meanwhile, he will be a worrier.

You might think that it's not my problem, and you'd be right, it really isn't. He can be shitty and mean all day long (and usually is) and it won't affect me. I just feel really bad that the effect of his meanness/anger is all dumped on Mom.

Whisker Glasses and the usual Sunday afternoon mess

DISASTER HAS FALLEN!!!

I. broke. my. goddamn. whisker. glasses.

The super, heavy duty ugly-assed industrial brown pair I kept on the bathroom counter for those elusive stray eyebrows that keep growing outa my chin.

This is important, people. Don't scoff. Without them, I will be driven to distraction. I'll find a little pokey thing in my chin, I'll know it's there, and I won't be able to stop messing with it, but I won't be able to see it to yank it out without my glasses.

Eric isn't home right now, he's off watching the Stupid Bowl with some guys he knows, so I can't ask him for the electrical tape.

The man who always has my back... and sometimes my front?
NOT HERE WHEN I NEED HIM.

My GOD what's next?


My new assistant, Michelle*, goes for electrolysis. She said the chickie who pulls her eyebrows etc told her that pulling whiskers out is a bad idea, that it "releases hormones" which only make more hairs grow.


Sorry, but that doesn't pass the common sense test for me. I think that if you pull them out yourself, it means you're not paying someone else to do it. And that someone else would rather have your money than tell you the truth.

And if that's all it takes to make hair grow, why is Rogaine still around? Why is the Hair Club still making money?


I think we can certainly find parallels to that idea in other aspects of our lives, yes?


Doesn't matter, since if I find one I won't be able to yank it out.
:-D


I had grand plans for the day on Sunday, but kept getting derailed.

First, I made myself get out of bed about 9, even though my usual operating mode on a day that I don't have to go somewhere is to sleep or at least try to until about 10. I get so tired during the week that it's like a little gift I give myself.


Got up and sat owlishly in front of my computer for awhile, catching up with everyone's blogs and my emails.


Occasional hugs were given as people wandered past or I got up and drifted into the living room. We're a huggy family. Kids are all growed up but still affectionate. One more point of pride for me, actually.


Eric hadn't decided yet if he was going to the stupid bowl party, and was weighing pros and cons. Lyssa and I had salmon for dinner on Saturday evening, so that was my breakfast and lunch for the day. I ate that around 11, I think.

Managed a shower, a couple or three loads of laundry and to sweep up some unknown spooge from in front of the refrigerator. I hate that, having a clean spot on the floor.

Eric made some salsa, planned to stop at the local grocery store and grab some tortilla chips and a couple plastic bowls for it, and took off about 2:45.


I conducted the science experiment I'm planning this week  Elephant's Toothpaste and decided that the kid-friendly version isn't nearly as much fun as the adults only one.

I messed with it a bit, and have decided to get a large pan from my oven drawer and use four small bottles at once, each one colored with a different color of food coloring. Hopefully it will be a fun thing for the kids. Messy but safe.

The adult version of the experiment looks like a blast... literally.
But potassium iodide isn't a non-toxic ingredient, and when you're working with kids in a school especially, that's a requirement. Also, I want them to be able to touch the resulting foam we make, and using yeast as the catalyst will ensure that they can touch it, find out that it's warm (giving me the opportunity to talk about chemical reactions that cause heat and teach them a huge word for an elementary kid, exothermic.)

I'm considering getting potassium iodide and doing the experiment again at home just because I never really grew up and I like things that sort of blow up/expand/foam/make a scene.

I didn't get all the things found that I need to haul into work before Wednesday. Hell, I didn't even get all the things I needed for Monday. And that's gonna have to happen before bedtime, because otherwise, I won't have time to pee between shifts. A recipe for disaster.

There is still laundry going around in the dryer.
Still a load in the washer waiting for the dryer to finish.
I'm glad I don't have to go down to the river and bash my clothes on the rocks to get them clean. I'm also glad I didn't live during the days when people bathed once a week or once a month whether they needed it or not. Ick. A shower is actually my substitute for coffee, since I don't do coffee. I get up, stagger into the bathroom, and lean helplessly against the wall in the shower while hot water pours in my face until I can stand upright.

Takes me about 25 minutes to get from shower to dried, dressed and tying my shoes at the kitchen table. So I have that cushion of about 20 minutes to finish getting my eyeballs in and manage to be awake on the road rather than going on autopilot.

Last Wednesday morning on my way to work was coon day. I saw three of them crossing the road (against the light, of course) near a busy intersection, and two more crossing about a mile later. It always makes me sad when I see one lying next to the road. Those little guys and possums, too. I hate it that little critters like that get hit by cars. :)

So I am going to get the things ready for Monday. We talked last week about disguises and everyone is supposed to bring his or her own. They're going to make an ID card, complete with fingerprint and photo. Lyssa and I went to the dollar store and found the things I'd need for that.

I have bunches of activities planned, but I haven't finished writing the actual lesson plan we're doing, so I need to manage that in my spare time on Monday morning, too.

So I will TRY to take some photos that I can show you with my camera. I don't photograph the kids, obviously, but some of the things we do.

I'm looking forward to all of it, but apprehensive because when I plan a big thing like this week, I want everything to be perfect. My lists have lists.

Okay. Off.

Stuff I'm thinking about

Stream of consciousness. Or in my case, sludgy semi-consciousness. I tired.

Knee hurts.

I see the surgeon today. When I saw him a month ago, he said I should get a month of PT, that he saw 'no reason to do surgery at this time' and to come back in a month.

In that month, I have attended eight? sessions of PT, religiously done my exercises at home (religiously=saying OH MY GOD THAT HURTS every time I do them) and tried to spend as much time off the crutches as I can. I do my mornings at work without them, but by the time my afternoon shift rolls around, I have a really sore knee. Moving it makes me say 'ow' and so does walking around. So I crutch.

There has been improvement. I am not driving the old lady cart at the grocery store anymore, but I can't do the shopping trip without my crutches. NO friggin' way.

And I am taking pain medication so I can work. And so I can sleep. If you're paying attention, that means I am basically taking pain medication three times a day.

I tried doing without it on Thursday. Took Excedrin all day instead. It helped, but didn't do much, really. Took the edge off for about an hour?

Finally got up during the night on Thursday and got one, I could not sleep because every time I moved the knee woke me up. So I'm stuck with the meds for now.

Although going without it didn't upset my system or make me have a deep craving or anything like that, so that's on the good side.

I know people have all kinds of shit going on. And that a little knee pain, in the general scheme of things isn't all that big. And really, I don't want to whine all the time. But I am so very tired of having something hurt constantly. It's really been two years of it, and it's getting old.

No wonder I'm tired.
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Got a phone call on Monday from the mother of one of my drop in kids. Our company does care on a drop in basis from time to time, but it's really not a money saver for the struggling family.. it's twenty bucks every time it happens. Paris* will be with us Wednesday, Thursday and Friday this week, and Monday of next week. She's an adorable child, but has a hard time with our routine. She always draws me at least one picture while she's there, and never fails to say hello to me if I encounter her in the hallway on my way in or out.

Mom was very complimentary about my program, and said that Paris would like to attend more often, so wanted to know what the weekly rate was. I provided her with the information, so who knows? Maybe I'll have another full time student. She also mentioned that she's been recommending my program to other people. Which I thanked her for. The more the merrier and all that.
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I bought communion cups from Amazon to make a craft project with my kids. (miniature ice cream sundae magnets for the fridge)

100 of those little cups in the package. So now I'm pondering other things we could make. There are 27 kids in my program on the busiest day, so we could make at least three different things from them.

Any ideas?
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We played Switchball in the gym on Monday. I think it has to be my favorite game that we've invented. I divide the kids into two teams. We put six soft balls on the center line in the gym, and each team lines up against opposite walls.

When I say go, they run to the middle and grab a ball and try to hit someone on the opposing team.

When you're hit with the ball, you sit down where you are and count to 15. Slowly-ish. It's funny to see them try to go slow when what they want is to just get up and go. Once they've sat down for that 15 seconds, they switch teams. So no one is permanently out, and no one loses. If the teams are unbalanced, it doesn't matter. Everyone ends up switching teams at least three times during the course of the game.

The kids love it. I love it. Very rare to have arguments in the game, except of course, for Reese. To hear him tell it, he's never out, the ball never hit him, even though it bounced off his leg and flew in the opposite direction after it hit him. He also spends a lot of time trying to call other people out. I remind him many times that he is not the referee.
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I had 25 kids on Monday. Will have 27 on Wednesday if everyone shows. I already know two of my regulars will be gone all week, so Wednesday would have been 29. One away from capacity. I really, really want my program to grow. But I'm glad that 30 is our cutoff, I don't think there's enough space for more. They'd all be in each other's space. Not helpful or harmonious.

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I have started putting my name in all the books I buy at Goodwill for the kids. I am not planning to go anywhere, but if I ever do, I want to make sure to take my things with me. It would take care of the space problem in the back room immediately... I have brought a lot of stuff in. I really could open my own before/after school care if I had the right sort of space to do it. And didn't mind the headaches of collection, insurance crap, staffing...

Hm. Don't see it happening any time soon.

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The only thing I actually see happening soon is bedtime. I woke up every hour Sunday night. Ugh. Don't know why. Hope I don't do it tonight.
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One last teeny, itty-bitty little thing.
WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH ALL THESE GODDAMNED WHISKERS????? 

Old dog

I went to pat Maggie on Friday and got a good look in her face. Her eyes are awfully cloudy. It's not a wonder she can get a little lost and confused when she's wandering around the house.

A couple weeks ago she got stuck under the kitchen table and I had to pull chairs out and physically guide her out from under there. She was confused and embarrassed. Fortunately, she's really old and forgets her embarrassment. :)

She's going to be 15 on her next birthday. Best guess is sometime in June.

We've said NO MORE DOGS when she is gone, and although my resolve is strong (hurts too much to lose them) I don't know if we'll be able to stick to it. Because having a dog to love is a good thing, too.

When we got her, she was about six months old. Still a puppy, all clumsy big feet and energetic, bumbling and silly.

Visited the local animal shelter on a Saturday morning and were home by noon with a new dog. Lyssa was three and a half years old, Matt nine and a half. Maggie and Lyssa were the same height when standing face to face, and we had two incidents of the dog nipping her. Both were handled by taking her down to the floor and letting her know who was dominant, and that her behavior wouldn't be tolerated. After the 2nd nip, I planned to take her back to the shelter on Monday. Obviously we didn't want a dog that was going to bite the kids.

The thing was, it wasn't an attack, it was a nip. Just a way for her to see who was the top dog. And after we showed her twice, we didn't have to show her again. So she stayed.

She was a strange dog, really. Not doggish at all. Didn't know how to play, as in chasing a ball or tugging on a sock or rope. She hadn't bonded with people at all. Did not pay attention when we talked to her. Didn't come when we called her. Didn't know how to sit or lie down on command. Unless her first language wasn't English, who knows?

It didn't take long for her to become attached and doglike, though. We took her in after about 18 days to be spayed, and she cried all the way back into the veterinary office as they pulled her by the leash. She was completely devastated that we were leaving her there. Poor baby. And even with the effects of the anesthesia and other drugs, she was ecstatic when we came to get her.

Then, she puked bright yellow stuff all over the house until the medications wore off. Payback.

She never peed in the house, though. She was housebroken. So whoever had her before us at least managed that. We figured out a few things about where she had come from, too.

There were other animals that she had to compete with for food. She would go to eat, and see one of her legs out of the corner of her eye and whip her head around and bite at herself, thinking it was another dog. Or cat. I dunno. So we taught her gradually to relax by taking her food while she was eating. Can't have a dog that will attack you over food, ya know? Now you can take something out of her mouth and she will let you without protest.

When our doorbell or a doorbell on television rang, she started barking like a maniac, but she quit doing it in a couple months, not sure why.

Before we got the sectional sofa, her view of the glass on the sliding door in the back was unobstructed, and when she saw her reflection, she barked in a challenging way, hackles up, stiff-legged.

She'd also been allowed to sleep on a bed, because she stood next to ours and whined, wagging her tail hopefully every time we got into it. We didn't allow her on the bed, and she finally settled on sleeping right next to Eric's side of the bed. She still sleeps there on a big rug, and has her own pillow. She puts her head on it. Sort of cute, really.

We have a theory that she was taken out somewhere by car and kicked out/abandoned. It's just a theory, but every time we've taken her in the car, she has become agitated and sets up this high-pitched keening that makes holes in the glass. It's horrendous. And she will do it up to five hours. That's the longest we've ever taken her on a journey, so heck, who knows, maybe she'd do it for nine or ten hours if we were crazy enough to take her anywhere.

She doesn't go with us anymore. She hurts all over (arthritis) and can't get into the car. If we lift her, it hurts her. And she struggles to get away, too.

So she hangs out here at home. When any member of the family comes home, she gets up from wherever she is and walks to the door, wagging her tail like crazy. She still hollers when Eric comes home (he is GOD to her) and until he's greeted her properly, she won't settle down. It's aggravating and endearing at the same time.

Like the annual portrait of dog butt at Christmas.
Okay, I will write more about her tomorrow. Or later. Or something. I have been sick for two damn weeks and have the opportunity to go to bed now. It would be stupid to waste that extra sleep.