Mom called…

…again.

The first call was this morning. It’s our daily just-checking-in-to-let-you-know-I-woke-up-today call. It usually involves Mom grilling me on my schedule for the day. Sometimes I feel like she’s checking for chinks in it to see if she can insert herself.

So I carried on with my (boring) day. Laundry…always laundry…cleaning, scrubbing, dishes, blah blah blah. Sometimes I feel I could spend every waking moment doing that stuff and still never catch up.

The phone rings. I’m scrubbing the toilet. It’s Mom. I ignore it.

She HATES that. But I do it in the interest of maintaining my sanity.

If she’s having an emergency, she’ll tell me.

“Where ARE you?” she crows cheerfully (thanks, Lexapro!) into my answering machine. “In the basement? Doing laundry? Give me a call back.”

Ummmm…WHY? So you can parrot the Fox News headlines to me? No, thanks.

Fast forward an hour and a half and two loads of laundry later. Phone rings. Mom.

Ugh. I roll my eyes and pick it up. “Hello?”

“You never called me back. What were you doing?”

“Ummm…laundry, dishes, sweeping, cleaning the bathroom…”

“So you just didn’t want to call me back.”

Yeah. Pretty much.

“You have to admit, Mom, we spend a lot of time on the phone with you watching Fox News,” (and me on Twitter, but that’s neither here nor there) I said in my defense.

“Well, I’m not watching it NOW,” she huffs.

Eventually she gets to the point of her phone call. She needs some tax documents sent to her tax guy. Apparently she was hoping I could drive them over.

I plug the address into Google maps. It’s an hour’s drive. Each way.

“Can’t you just mail them?” I plead.

“Well, they would all need to be photocopied first,” she replies.

You mean I’LL need to photocopy them and mail them. Like I don’t have enough to do.

Actually, Mom hasn’t been too bad lately. She’s been staying healthy (-ish) and I really don’t have anything to complain about. I know I’m lucky to have her. I’m just crabby.

*sigh* At least I’m not driving to the opposite side of the city.

UPDATE: Got some interesting responses on Twitter:

Monday, Monday…

Ugh. The beginning of Daylight Savings Time SUCKS. We all (especially Big Sis!) have been dragging since Sunday morning. The girls are off at school (which is a minor achievement in itself), and I am stuck at home with too much to do and no plan to get it done.

Big Sis needs a new spring jacket. Somewhere in this black hole of a house, we have a gift card from Christmas with which to buy her one. Think I can find it? No. Been looking for an hour. On the upside, though, I’ll get 20% off if I charge it.

Our week was so busy last week that not enough housework got done, and now I’m wallowing in the results. Plus laundry is (still) way behind because I’m washing a load or two of Little Sis’ bedding almost every morning.

Plus, we missed Mom yesterday because of a prior social engagement, so I owe her a visit today. Little Sis wants to spend the afternoon; I might just let her.

I’m drowning in piles…kitchen table, counters, coffee table. Everything needs a good once-over. Where’s Flylady when I need her?

Also, I joined SparkPeople a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been trying to exercise 15 minutes a day. I started out great…30, 40, even 50 minutes (thanks, Emergency! on Netflix instant), but have been slacking this past week. Now it’s time to pick up Little Sis from preschool, and I’m out of time to exercise this morning.

I have a book club meeting on Thursday, and two books to read for it. It’s not looking good.

Plus my usual assignment for the online class I’m taking.

Everywhere I look, there’s something else for me to do! And chances are, it should’ve been done already. It’s enough to ruin a girl’s day before it even starts.

Ugh.

Somebody poke me when Monday is over.

I’m so Fried-day

Crazy week this week. Today was the culmination. Here’s the rundown:

Up at 7 am to preside over a new, improved morning routine (we used to stumble out of bed at 7:30 and wonder why we couldn’t get out of the house by 8:00 am). The routine thing (I’ve posted about my difficulties with routines before) was an assignment from Big Sis’ counselor, so it’s like a prescription I’ve had to fill. It’s working well so far though.We started on Tuesday and are still going strong. The key is showering at night (I know, duh…but Big Sis, who hates showering seems to hate it a little less in the morning) and letting the kids have screen time if they complete their morning routines in a timely manner. We’ve been ready to go at about 7:40 am almost every morning.

If only I had the time and energy to pull together after-school and bedtime routines. Maybe next week.

We left the house to go to the bus stop only to be greeted by the sight and smell of hazy white smoke. None of the neighbors seemed to know where it was coming from, so since danger was not imminent, we moved on with our day.

Back in the house to wash Little Sis’ wet sheets. Of course, the washer and dryer were full, so I had to clear them out first. Then, I promised myself I’d exercise at least 15 minutes, but I was already running late to pick up Mom for her doctor’s appointment. I worked out anyway, considering it a deposit toward not having my kids drive ME to the kidney doctor when I’m Mom’s age.

By the time I’m showered, it’s 10 am. I call Mom to tell her I’m on my way. She reports that the smoke I smelled earlier was from a fire in a nearby apartment building; she saw a news report. Apparently some guy on the third floor was making eggs, and some grease caught fire. He threw water on it. Two hundred firefighters and 15 road construction crew-turned-rescuers later, the building was lost, but everyone got out safely. Also, I’ll have to wash my coat to get the smell of smoke out of it.

I picked up Mom. The intention was to go out to eat before her 11:30 am appointment (because Lord knows I have plenty to do without taking Mom out to eat afterward), but we didn’t have enough time for a sit-down restaurant. Activate Plan B: I ran into Panera and picked up bagels and coffee (organic chocolate milk for Little Sis) to hold us over until afterward. Twelve dollars later (!!), we were off.

We made it to the kidney clinic 20 minutes early. Fortunately, there’s a TV in the waiting room that Little Sis usually watches. Unfortunately, the volume no longer works (and hasn’t for two months).

It was a long wait.

Forty minutes later, we went next door to the kidney doc’s office. Mom was called back. I read 5 Disney princess books and played more rounds than I care to remember of “Can You Find A Picture of THIS in the Waiting Room Magazines?” Plus, the kidney doc complimented Little Sis’ boots.

Finally, Mom was done. A good visit; Mom was expecting the doc to start prepping her for dialysis, but her labs have looked good lately, so not yet. Whew! But now I have 3 new appointments to run Mom to: More dialysis clinic, another kidney doctor appointment, and a new rheumatologist (even though I REALLY like Mom’s old one. Don’t ask. I don’t get it either).

We let Little Sis pick the restaurant for lunch (she wanted the one with “the big chicken“). She ate spaghetti and Mom & I split a salad. By now it was 2:00 pm. I still had to stop at 2 stores, drive mom 20 minutes home, and get to the bus stop by 3:45 pm. Panic starts to set in.

Boom. Off to the pet store. Cat food, cat litter, and dog food (did I mention that we were so low on dog food this morning that the dog ate cat food for breakfast?).

Boom. Off to Sam’s Club. I had a LONG list of things WE needed from the store, but all I had time to get was Mom’s stuff. Grrrrr.

Boom. Back in the minivan to fight rush hour traffic (at 3 pm already?!?) back to Mom’s.

“You know,” said Mom, “I think YOU were the reason we’re running late today. You didn’t take a shower until after nine o’clock.”

I turned to stare at her.

“You mean after spending the entire day doing things for everybody else, I made an error in judgment spending 15 minutes on my elliptical machine this morning?!?”

I huffed, “Feel free to look for another ride next time. I guess you get what you pay for.”

I tried not to let it bug me, but obviously, it did.

Didn’t bug Mom, though. She’s hopped up on so much Lexapro that she’ll giggle like a schoolgirl at almost anything.

I dropkicked dropped Mom off, cramming the basket of her walker full of her purchases. She has a history of calling me and insisting she’s out of something and NEEDSITRIGHTNOW. Hopefully it’ll save me an emergency trip within 48 hours.

Back across town, fighting school bus traffic now. We made it and picked up Big Sis.

Now for the fun. Big Sis has her regular daily homework (which usually manages to fill up two hours on a good night), her science project (optional, been working on it for three weeks, and due Friday morning), an optional homework assignment (something about inventing a musical instrument out of household materials; she’s been harassing us to borrow pieces of my $2000 trombone and Mr. Hoagie’s flute and recorder), AND a Girl Scout Brownie meeting.

Somehow, she managed to pull it all off.

But it was a hell of a day. Capping off a hell of a week.

In comparison, tomorrow’s gonna be easy. Drop off Big Sis’ science fair project, volunteer at her school, pick up Little Sis, take my midterm exam for my online class, bake brownies for the science fair, pull a homemade meatless dinner out of my @ss, go to the science fair, and spend the rest of the night consoling Big Sis and rocking her to sleep when she doesn’t win (she has issues with competition).

Piece of cake.

I’m so fried.

There’s something about potassium…

It’s been a busy couple of days. Let me see if I can get you caught up:

Friday: Seven swans a-swimming

Mom insists on Christmas shopping for the kids. usually my sister and I do her shopping, but I took her to Target once last spring to shop for their birthdays, and she remembered it.

However, I’ve learned (the hard way) that anytime I take her out into the world, it increases her chances of an “incident” that may result in another hospitalization. The woman is just so fragile…it could be any ONE of her ailments that causes it.

So I put my foot down: I’d take her, but ONLY if she was prepared to shop at 8:00 am. That way, the store would be much less likely to be packed, and it’d make my job easier. Mr. Hoagie was off from work, so he handled getting the kids to school (thanks, honey!).

I picked Mom up at her place at about 8:30 am. We headed to Target–in the POURING RAIN. I pulled up front, unloaded Mom (thank heaven for the golf umbrella), got her a motorized cart (thank heaven for the Target guy who showed us how to use it), and sent her off to shop while I parked the car (I have GOT to get me a handicapped placard).

Mom worked her way through girls’ clothes (thanks for the Christmas dresses!), the toy department, and swung back to pick up new dance leotards. Almost two hours and $200 later, we were done.

I pulled the car up (it was still POURING). I came back inside the store, collected Mom and our packages, and headed back out. As I took out the packages, a gentleman appeared from nowhere with an umbrella. He shielded me just long enough to throw the bags in the trunk and grab my own umbrella. I looked behind me, thanking the nice man profusely, and saw Mom hobbling toward the car with her walker, shielded by a lovely woman with another umbrella. I swooped up with my golf umbrella (thanking HER profusely now) and got Mom settled into the car.

Usually when strangers offer to help me, I’m uncomfortable with letting them. I can do it MYSELF, I think. But this time, it didn’t bother me. I was just plain GRATEFUL, and I really felt that someone upstairs was watching out for us.

So leaving Mom in the car with the hazards flashing, I darted back inside Target to the Starbucks nestled within. I ordered a couple of light peppermint mocha Frappuccinos and a couple of soft pretzels. Back out to the car…where Mom reminded me that she’s not supposed to have chocolate on her kidney diet. Or dairy. Something about high potassium.

CRAP.

She drank it anyway. We headed to her 11 am hair appointment. Then to the post office, to pick up my Amazon.com package full of Christmas presents (couldn’t pick that up with kids in the car), then off to lunch at a new pizza place. Mom’s dietician had said that she could have tomatoes and cheese in moderation, due to their high potassium level, so we ordered a white pizza with a few tomato slices.

So we’re sitting there at lunch when my cell phone rings. It’s the nurse at the kidney clinic. They just got her labs back from two days earlier, and her potassium is a little high.

“Really?” I asked, as I grabbed the last bite of potassium-rich slice number three out of Chiquita’s hand and threw it down on the table.

“Do you know if it could be because of her diet?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t eat with her at EVERY meal….” I’m terrified that she’ll somehow be able to peer though my cell phone and see what’s laid out on the table in front of us.

“We’ll need to test her potassium again…do you think you might be able to get her to a lab?”

So I made arrangements to take her to the local Vampires R Us–I mean, lab. We paid our check and I loaded her up into the car, grumbling about potassium the whole way.

“So what did you eat before that test, Mom?”

“Wasn’t that the day you brought me that bagel with cream cheese?”

CRAP!

AGAIN.

We go to the lab, and Mom bets that it has to be a fasting blood test. So I hike up the stairs to see if they’d gotten the faxed order and to see if Mom could have it done that day.

Yes, and yes.

So back down the stairs, collect Mom and her walker, back up the elevator and into the lab’s waiting room.

Cue the Muzak. Pierced occasionally by the screams of a 13-year-old boy who’s CLEARLY terrified of needles.

*sigh*

He comes out after being successfully and painlessly stabbed in the arm. Chiquita’s turn.

Twenty minutes later, she returns. Apparently they only got about 3 drops out of her, and they don’t expect them to be able to test such a small quantity. We’ll probably have to come back next week.

Ugh.

We leave the lab, and I call home. Big Sis has a doctor’s appointment that day after school, and I was planning to leave Little Sis with Chiquita. It’s already after 2 pm, and I calculate that I’ll save at least half an hour in travel time if I just pick up Little Sis now and drop both of them at Chiquita’s.

As you can imagine, I’m getting tired. We pick up Big Sis from the bus, have an after-school snack consisting of a blueberry muffin, and have to leave. She’s still hungry, so I grab a cup of milk and a couple of peeled oranges and bring them to the car.

Upon discovering that the milk and oranges are her only options, Big Sis begins to pout.

Wail.

Cry.

Scream.

Plead to be taken to McDonald’s.

Folks, that half-hour drive was HELL. By the time we get her in and out of the doctor’s office, Mr. Hoagie and I have HAD. IT.

And we still have to go collect Little Sis from Chiquita’s.

By the time we get home, it’s after 7:30 pm, and only 25% of us have had dinner.

Did I mention I had a party to host the next day?

The One-Year Mark: Part 5

Let’s recap, shall we? My sister arranges to move out of town, leaving my 68-year-old aging mom stranded in Chicago area.

Dutiful daughter that I am, my family and I decide to move Mom closer to us. We go to Chicago for a visit for Thanksgiving 2007, and on the drive home to Pittsburgh, we prop my diabetic, obese, cardiac-patient Mom (aka Chiquita or Grandma Chiquita) in the front seat of the minivan. Here goes nothin’.

Cue the chest pains. There’s a stop in the ER in Sandusky, Ohio; some vomiting by my 6-year-old; and then we arrive home. Where we wait nearly three weeks for her moving truck to arrive. My walker-and-wheelchair-using mom now has to climb 2 flights of stairs each day to her bedroom.

Here’s what a typical day looked like over those few weeks:

7:00 am: Kids and I wake up, get dressed and ready for school. Look in on Mom (or just check to make sure I can hear her snore)

7:30 am: Breakfast for kids & Chiquita. Kids eat at kitchen table, Mom gets a tray in her room. She’s so weak and diabetic, I don’t want her attempting the stairs before breakfast.

8:15 am: Leave for bus stop; stop in to let Mom know we’re going. Chances are, she’s still asleep.

8:30 am: Breakfast for me; make coffee for Mom and me. Park Little Sis in front of the TV so I can…

8:45 am to ?: Head upstairs to give Mom a shower and “treatment.” Of course, she’s still asleep. Once she wakes, I’ll help her with breakfast (not that she really needs the help so much as she’s so co-dependent she’ll take any help anyone’s dumb enough to give her…that’d be me). She takes her pills (13 at the time). Then a shower, and her “treatment.” I’ll spare you the details except to say that it involves washing & powdering her delicate skin condition.

Late morning: Help Chiquita down the stairs and get her settled in front of Fox News (*gag*), where she’ll repeat the day’s headlines to me almost incessantly.

Sometime before lunch (hopefully): Cleanup duty begins; head back up to her room, strip the bed and wash the sheets (wet from incontinence), her towels (one from shower plus 2-3 more for her treatment), her pajamas and the previous day’s clothes (she only packed enough for a few days). Bring down her breakfast tray and do kitchen cleanup. Start lunch; must be healthy because I’m feeding a diabetic cardiac patient.

After lunch: take care of my 3 year old (hey, remember her?), alternating with fielding “What are you DOING?” from Mom and losing my mind because I SO did not sign up for this howamIsupposedtocookandcleananddolaundryand groceryshopand handlemykidsandmyhusbandandnowmymomtoo!

3:45 pm: Pick up Big Sis from school bus. Great, now I have three people to take care of!

4:30 pm Start dinner; must be healthy because I’m feeding a diabetic cardiac patient. Must also be something that picky Big Sis will eat unless we want a battle at the dinner table. Allow extra time for incessant interruptions. As 6 pm nears and am interrupted for the 34th time, shout “DO YOU PEOPLE WANT TO EAT DINNER TONIGHT OR NOT?!?”

6:15 pm Mr. Hoagie gets home from work. Inwardly rejoice because the cavalry has arrived.

6:16 pm Heart sinks as he trudges upstairs for a “quick nap” before dinner. Inwardly seethe, slamming pots and pans, until I…

6:20 pm …remember that he’s epileptic so his neurologist has given him carte blanche on sleep. Say a quick prayer of thanks that he didn’t have a seizure driving home from work and kill himself and six other people and commence to feeling guilty that I inwardly seethed at all.

6:45 pm Start dinner for five. Repeatedly get up to get stuff for people. Listen to regurgitated Fox News headlines. Mediate kids’ arguments. Count bites for whiny, perpetually hunger-striking Big Sis. Eat cold food and start clearing table.

7:30 pm Encourage everyone to head up to bed, knowing that that’s the only way I’ll get any peace. Chiquita needs to go up before she’s too tired; we had several instances of wobbliness and near-falls over those weeks.

7:31 pm Chiquita turns Fox News back on.

8:15 pm Kids head upstairs; Mr. Hoagie puts them to bed.

8:20 pm Chiquita (reluctantly) heads upstairs, supported by me.

8:26 pm Arrive at top of stairs. Assist Chiquita in getting ready for bed, including (whoo hoo) another treatment.

9:15 pm Chiquita is tucked in and watching prime time TV in the dark. She invites me to stay and watch with her, but I weasel out of it (feeling guilty) because I. AM. BEYOND.DONE.

9:20 pm Curl up on the couch with Mr. Hoagie to watch The Daily Show.

9:30 pm Fall asleep on the couch.

10:15 pm Mr. Hoagie wakes me up so I can drag my sorry butt to bed. I get to do it all over again tomorrow.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6

The One-Year Mark: Part 4

The rest of the drive from Sandusky to Pittsburgh passed uneventfully. Chiquita had no further chest pains, and Big Sis was extra tired that day, but had no more episodes of vomiting.

The next part of the story lasted nearly three weeks. We thought that Mom’s moving truck would arrive by the end of the week.

It didn’t.

It didn’t arrive the following week, either.

To make a ridiculously long story short (okay, I know it’s WAY too late for that), my sister’s friend’s dad ran a moving company. We went with them because they were family friends, yadda yadda. Mom’s stuff was now on a truck with other people’s stuff, and they were all due to be delivered first. Now, granted, Mom’s stuff was by far the smallest shipment on that truck (it was just a one-bedroom apartment), but by week two, we were tearing our hair out (mostly me).

Where was Mom staying, you ask? Oh, right. With us. In a guest bedroom on the second floor.

Did I mention there’s two flights of stairs between the garage and the second floor? Or that she’s not so good with stairs?

And at that time, we began to notice Mom’s fatigue increase. Understandable under all the stress, sure, but mostly because her anemia returned. She was due for a Procrit shot.

And did I mention that she didn’t yet have a new doctor? (Though the old one was good enough to tell us that Chiquita was in bad enough shape that the trip alone might kill her.)

So let’s recap: two flights of stairs a day (for an undetermined amount of time) for a weak, anemic, stressed cardiac diabetic who was not, at that moment, under a doctor’s care?

This was gonna be rough. I didn’t want her to kick the bucket the first week on my watch!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6

Days with my Father

Okay, guys. You have to check out this amazing website: Days with my Father.  This blogger photographically captures what it’s like to care for an aging parent. In his case, his 98-year-old father has virtually no short term memory. So when his wife dies, even though he’s been to the funeral, he can’t remember it. So he has to break the news to his father over and over again…until he gets a better idea.

Go check it out. The photos are stunningly beautiful.

Thanks to Ashlee Allen at Mama’s Nest for tweeting the link.

Feeling Utterly Smooshed

I saw this post at Sometimes I Feel Like a Piece of Bologna, and it got me thinking.

The topic is this:

An anonymous commenter to my last post says, “It would be interesting to see what your blog readers thinks that would help them manage multi-generational care giving responsibilities – a) flex hours at work, b) an understanding spouse, c) help from an outside source, d) technology advances.”

What do you think? What would help you the most to keep from feeling utterly smooshed?

I think I’d go with outside help, too. My husband is great…while my mom isn’t his favorite person, he’s great with helping with the kids (7 & 4) while I tend to Mom, and very supportive of me. I try to minimize their contact when I can in the interest of family harmony, but even when he has to interact with her, he’s a good sport.

I’m a stay-at-home mom, so I have a lot of flexibility, although I’m finding that I need to arrange for childcare a lot more. Which means that I either need to pay for it, or call in favors (which I haven’t had the time, energy or inclination to return lately).

For instance, when she was last hospitalized, I arranged to be at the hospital 8 of the 10 days. I called in every favor I could to arrange free playdates, paid for a sitter twice, and had my husband take half a day (a last resort; I couldn’t find anyone else on the day of her surgery). When she got out, I spent days at her apartment, and ran her to tons of follow-up appointments.

I’m burning out…and who knows how much longer I’ll be in for. And at what point do I move my kids higher up on the list?

My mom has some outside help, which I am SOOOOO grateful for. She gets help with showers and laundry three days a week, and at the moment, she’s getting checked on by a home healthcare nurse twice a week.

I feel so selfish, though…I know a lot of people have it much worse than I do, but after doing for my mom, my kids, my husband, the house and pets, I’m ready to have a couple of days to myself. I’ve tried to pace myself, but it’s tough.

I’m not even sure what kind of outside help I’d want. Maybe not so much for Mom, but me. If I could have someone in to clean MY house, say, once a month, it’d alleviate SO much of my stress. But when I mentioned it to my husband, I got a lecture about the rising costs and our dwindling savings and cutting expenses and getting a (paying) job.

Today I took my kids out to play. For the first time in weeks. Nowhere fancy, just a neighbor’s house. It felt so…normal. But I felt a little guilty. Shouldn’t I be rescheduling that doctor’s appointment for Mom? We haven’t seen her in a couple of days…don’t we owe her a visit?

And then I felt indignant. No, she can make it without seeing us today. My kids and I need a little fresh air and sunshine once in a while. My kids haven’t seen very many friends this summer. How could they, when they’ve been visiting Grandma and taking her to the doctor or being babysat?

Sure enough, when I got home, Mom called. Harassing me about rescheduling that appointment. I did it, but NOT cheerfully.

What do you think? Are any of you in the same boat, or have you been? Will you be?