This post has been in development since Grandma’s first weekend with us … which also marked my first experience helping her bathe. With each shower, I’ve honed my skills and perfected our process. We have achieved a level of efficiency to the degree of being willing to document. Today, in the spirit of the Olympics, I had DH time our performance.
We are fortunate to have put in a five foot walk in shower a couple years ago. With a rubber bath mat and a plastic shower bench put in place… the stage is set and the clock starts. I turn the water on as Grandma removes her clothing, glasses and lifeline necklace. I help her into the shower and give her a nylon mesh wash cloth. For the next few minutes, Grandma scrubs herself while I stand outside the shower holding the bath gel. Every few minutes she wants more “soap” and this is my cue to open the door a crack and squeeze more bath gel onto her wash cloth. Squirt, wash, rinse, repeat…. By the time she is squeaky clean… it’s time to wash her hair and this is when I become a major participant in the event.
My uniform for shower duty is whatever I’ve worn to bed the night before. I’ve managed to stay fairly dry in spite of the fact I’m standing in a full blast shower… who’d have ever guessed? Grandma sits on her little bench and I suds her up… rinse, condition, rinse and turn off the water. Just like that! I exit out of the shower and grab the towels (we utilize a two-towel method… one for her and one for me) and back in the shower I go. Grandma towel dries her front side (still seated) and I dry her hair and back. She stands to finish drying and I get out (again) and get her robe. I help her out of the shower, into the gown… and as she snaps up, I take the little shower bench and place it over in the sink area, which has now become NanaMama’s Glamourama. Grandma takes her seat and I morph into her personal hair stylist.
My earliest recollection of playing beauty operator involved cutting my dolls’ hair with round edged scissors. Mom was none too happy with me, for that at the time … but she has obviously forgotten the incident by now. I barely remember it myself except for the memories of stubby headed baby dolls. Now, armed with a 1875 watt hair dryer and an electric curling brush… I transform Grandma into a silver haired version of herself from 20 years ago (the only style I can manage with my limited creativity and skill). She looks in the mirror and gives her approval.
Grandma dresses herself while I finish picking up the bathroom. As we open the door and thus, cross the finish line, I call down to DH.
“We’re done! What’s our time?”
“Twenty-five minutes!”
Seriously? Oh yeah… A new personal best and I’m confident that if there was a “Grandma Bath and Coiffing” event in the Olympics (please note I resisted any reference to Curling…) Grandma and I would have taken the Gold.
So ends Episode 7.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Episode 6 - Ship Shape
I realize that few of those reading actually know my mother. So here is a brief glimpse, through the eyes of her only child… Nana Mama.
Grandma is a ‘doer’ – she’s task oriented and a task master. I would put her work ethic up against anyone’s I know. My mother used to drive a school bus route morning and night, ran her own insurance agency six days a week and was a Sunday School Superintendent. She was involved with a dozen committees and organizations on the city, county and state level.
Her life growing up had been difficult. She was validated only for the things she did, never for who she was. Mom started working at age 14 and finally put herself out to pasture at the age of 82, after several years of being site manager of the senior complex in which she lived.
Her work ethic spilled over into her home life. I recall one Christmas morning when my youngest son was about 12. Grandma called to see if he could come over and help her clean the basement.
Me: Mom?! It’s Christmas. I’m not sending him over to help you clean the basement on Christmas.
G: I know it’s Christmas.,. but you're not going to open presents until tonight are you?
Me: AAAAAUUUUGHHH!
Mother could be intimidating. When she chaired a committee, she could get grown men to jump at her command, like young school boys kowtowing to their school master. She spoke with an air of authority that few challenged and if they did, she never backed down. Rules were paramount. No grayscale in her book… rules were there for a reason and everyone follows them.
Now, although I was raised by this highly energized, rule oriented, sometimes aggressive (at least in her day) woman, I am not a clone. I like a clean house, but I’m usually too easily distracted to get it that way … I have my Mom’s work ethic… but I enjoy slacking at times too (Thanks for those genes, Dad). I don’t like conflict or confrontation. Although I admitedly nag family members to pick up after themselves and help keep the house clean – I’ve come to realize some things are more important (to me) than an immaculate house. We clean when company is coming and abide by the motto: “Our house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy”. (And we may be stretching the healthy part).
When Grandma came to live with us, I realized it would be important to give her small tasks (daily) to do. Folding a load of clothes, dusting the living room… just something to make her feel needed and helpful. She’s risen to the occasion and then some. Every day I come home to a clean kitchen… her newspapers reassembled and neatly arranged by day on an end table. She struggles to readjust the knit sheets we use as throws over our still new furniture, making it taut like a slipcover. It’s good to see her feeling at home in the household. We thank her for her help but constantly remind her she isn’t here to earn her keep.
Having been immersed in the senior housing system for over 30 years, Grandma refers to our house as ‘this building.’ “This is such a nice building… are there any other people like me living here?” I assure her she’s the only ‘tenant’ and we did not foresee any additional occupants.
One day she asked us, “Who’s in charge of that room?” DH asks what room she’s referring to. “In there…” she motions toward our home office, which has recently gained some additional items as we made ready the basement for Grandma…. on top of the grandkids’ toys and DH’s computer and media editing equipment. “That’s just our office” DH replies… Grandma informs him that “whoever” is in charge isn’t doing a very good job.
A few nights ago, CeCe was babysitting next door. One of her regular chores is to empty the dishwasher. She hadn’t taken the time to do it before leaving, but I knew she would do it when she got home or in the morning. The supper dishes were stacked. There were pans in the sink I had failed to wash. I was tired and had gone upstairs to watch TV in bed. DH was due home shortly. CeCe arrived home and came upstairs. We said goodnight and she retreated to her room.
A few minutes later, the hall light went on (was DH home? No.) And then…. I heard a familiar voice calling my name…
G: Where are you? Are you home?
Me: Uh…Yes, I'm in bed…
She opened my door (while I wondered how I missed hearing her get up on the baby monitor… must have been when I'd gotten up to get a snack…)
G: I heard someone knocking… didn’t you hear someone knocking?
Me: No, CeCe just got home. You probably just heard her.
G: I’m pretty sure someone was knocking. I didn’t know why you weren’t doing something about it so I came to see… and that kitchen is a mess! Who left it like that?
Me: I guess I did. I’ll get it… tomorrow
G: Well I can't believe what a terrible mess it is.
She turns and descends the two flights of stairs back to her room (which required her to pass again through the war zone known as my kitchen.)
The next morning, CeCe emptied the dishwasher and I reloaded it. DH wiped off the counters while Grandma ate her breakfast. We had become the school boys under the school master’s rule. She’d likely forgotten how upset she’d been the night before. She hadn’t mentioned the messy kitchen... she didn’t need to. Life goes on… and in this case, greater effort will be made to keep things at a higher standard, maybe adopting the motto: Cleanliness is next to godliness...
So ends Episode 6
Grandma is a ‘doer’ – she’s task oriented and a task master. I would put her work ethic up against anyone’s I know. My mother used to drive a school bus route morning and night, ran her own insurance agency six days a week and was a Sunday School Superintendent. She was involved with a dozen committees and organizations on the city, county and state level.
Her life growing up had been difficult. She was validated only for the things she did, never for who she was. Mom started working at age 14 and finally put herself out to pasture at the age of 82, after several years of being site manager of the senior complex in which she lived.
Her work ethic spilled over into her home life. I recall one Christmas morning when my youngest son was about 12. Grandma called to see if he could come over and help her clean the basement.
Me: Mom?! It’s Christmas. I’m not sending him over to help you clean the basement on Christmas.
G: I know it’s Christmas.,. but you're not going to open presents until tonight are you?
Me: AAAAAUUUUGHHH!
Mother could be intimidating. When she chaired a committee, she could get grown men to jump at her command, like young school boys kowtowing to their school master. She spoke with an air of authority that few challenged and if they did, she never backed down. Rules were paramount. No grayscale in her book… rules were there for a reason and everyone follows them.
Now, although I was raised by this highly energized, rule oriented, sometimes aggressive (at least in her day) woman, I am not a clone. I like a clean house, but I’m usually too easily distracted to get it that way … I have my Mom’s work ethic… but I enjoy slacking at times too (Thanks for those genes, Dad). I don’t like conflict or confrontation. Although I admitedly nag family members to pick up after themselves and help keep the house clean – I’ve come to realize some things are more important (to me) than an immaculate house. We clean when company is coming and abide by the motto: “Our house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy”. (And we may be stretching the healthy part).
When Grandma came to live with us, I realized it would be important to give her small tasks (daily) to do. Folding a load of clothes, dusting the living room… just something to make her feel needed and helpful. She’s risen to the occasion and then some. Every day I come home to a clean kitchen… her newspapers reassembled and neatly arranged by day on an end table. She struggles to readjust the knit sheets we use as throws over our still new furniture, making it taut like a slipcover. It’s good to see her feeling at home in the household. We thank her for her help but constantly remind her she isn’t here to earn her keep.
Having been immersed in the senior housing system for over 30 years, Grandma refers to our house as ‘this building.’ “This is such a nice building… are there any other people like me living here?” I assure her she’s the only ‘tenant’ and we did not foresee any additional occupants.
One day she asked us, “Who’s in charge of that room?” DH asks what room she’s referring to. “In there…” she motions toward our home office, which has recently gained some additional items as we made ready the basement for Grandma…. on top of the grandkids’ toys and DH’s computer and media editing equipment. “That’s just our office” DH replies… Grandma informs him that “whoever” is in charge isn’t doing a very good job.
A few nights ago, CeCe was babysitting next door. One of her regular chores is to empty the dishwasher. She hadn’t taken the time to do it before leaving, but I knew she would do it when she got home or in the morning. The supper dishes were stacked. There were pans in the sink I had failed to wash. I was tired and had gone upstairs to watch TV in bed. DH was due home shortly. CeCe arrived home and came upstairs. We said goodnight and she retreated to her room.
A few minutes later, the hall light went on (was DH home? No.) And then…. I heard a familiar voice calling my name…
G: Where are you? Are you home?
Me: Uh…Yes, I'm in bed…
She opened my door (while I wondered how I missed hearing her get up on the baby monitor… must have been when I'd gotten up to get a snack…)
G: I heard someone knocking… didn’t you hear someone knocking?
Me: No, CeCe just got home. You probably just heard her.
G: I’m pretty sure someone was knocking. I didn’t know why you weren’t doing something about it so I came to see… and that kitchen is a mess! Who left it like that?
Me: I guess I did. I’ll get it… tomorrow
G: Well I can't believe what a terrible mess it is.
She turns and descends the two flights of stairs back to her room (which required her to pass again through the war zone known as my kitchen.)
The next morning, CeCe emptied the dishwasher and I reloaded it. DH wiped off the counters while Grandma ate her breakfast. We had become the school boys under the school master’s rule. She’d likely forgotten how upset she’d been the night before. She hadn’t mentioned the messy kitchen... she didn’t need to. Life goes on… and in this case, greater effort will be made to keep things at a higher standard, maybe adopting the motto: Cleanliness is next to godliness...
So ends Episode 6
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Episode 5 – Tele-Troubles
My DH is technically savvy. We have ten telephones (not counting cells) and two dual DVR’s…. a home theater system, media hard drive and motion activated security lights… We have more remote controls than we have dinner plates.
Before moving here, Grandma had difficulty getting messages off of her phone’s built in answering machine (all she needed to do was press PLAY). She frequently had problems with her TV sets and abandoned the VCR and CD player years ago.
Visualize Granny Clampett moving in with George Jetson. It’s been a challenge for them both (technically speaking). Grandma struggles just to get the TV set on and DH has programmed a personal guide for her TVs with only the channels she watches listed. He’s even auto-tuned Wheel of Fortune to come on six nights a week at 6:30 p.m. Recently, Grandma hollered for help … the TV would not come on. DH went to her aid.
DH: What’s the problem?
G: I can’t get this TV to come on….
DH: Well, that’s because you’re trying to use the telephone instead of the TV remote control.
G: Oh.
It’s an honest mistake.
We’ve written on the back of each remote, in Sharpie marker, the room it belongs in (she only has two). Somehow they manage to get switched around (bedroom/living room) or one gets carried upstairs. This leads to more frustration when the errant remote fails to yield expected results. On the occasion when she does have the right remote, she presses the wrong button. DH suggests we place tape over the 3 dozen buttons she should NOT press. He’s been searching the internet for a universal “5 –key” remote. (Power, Channel up/down, Volume up/down). I suggested we make a photocopy of the remote and label the necessary buttons and have it laminated.
Then there is the matter of the telephone. We have caller ID which appears on our television screen when we have an incoming call. Our phone base also announces who is calling (in a little mechanical voice). Grandma has never had the luxury of knowing who is going to be on the other end of the line before she answers. It’s all new to her. We have told her several times that she needn’t answer the phone (when we are away) unless it is from someone she knows, but that is obviously not in her nature. CeCe informs us Grandma has been talking to the “Toll-Free” calls (that we always ignore.) Now with all due respect to the thousands of employees of the countless call centers around the world… the fact is, they have annoyed me so many times over the years, I have no sympathy for the telemarketers now at Grandma’s mercy. I’m sure she does not hang up on them (and instead, perhaps they, on her). CeCe says Grandma even talks to them for “a long time”. (Not a surprise and one of the reasons Grandma has no credit card.)
One day, when checking the telephone company’s voicemail on our telephone, DH discovered Grandma had called our home phone number FROM our home phone (and left messages) three times. We have since removed that number from her personal (paper) phone list.
I write this episode with empathy, for I too have occasional difficulty with our electronic household. My philosophy is: somewhere in the house HAS to be a TV I can find something I want to watch and if I can’t get the sound to work, there’s always closed captioning. Either DH or CeCe is usually around to help me with most things and now they help Grandma too. Yup, we’re all in this together.
So ends Episode 5.
Before moving here, Grandma had difficulty getting messages off of her phone’s built in answering machine (all she needed to do was press PLAY). She frequently had problems with her TV sets and abandoned the VCR and CD player years ago.
Visualize Granny Clampett moving in with George Jetson. It’s been a challenge for them both (technically speaking). Grandma struggles just to get the TV set on and DH has programmed a personal guide for her TVs with only the channels she watches listed. He’s even auto-tuned Wheel of Fortune to come on six nights a week at 6:30 p.m. Recently, Grandma hollered for help … the TV would not come on. DH went to her aid.
DH: What’s the problem?
G: I can’t get this TV to come on….
DH: Well, that’s because you’re trying to use the telephone instead of the TV remote control.
G: Oh.
It’s an honest mistake.
We’ve written on the back of each remote, in Sharpie marker, the room it belongs in (she only has two). Somehow they manage to get switched around (bedroom/living room) or one gets carried upstairs. This leads to more frustration when the errant remote fails to yield expected results. On the occasion when she does have the right remote, she presses the wrong button. DH suggests we place tape over the 3 dozen buttons she should NOT press. He’s been searching the internet for a universal “5 –key” remote. (Power, Channel up/down, Volume up/down). I suggested we make a photocopy of the remote and label the necessary buttons and have it laminated.
Then there is the matter of the telephone. We have caller ID which appears on our television screen when we have an incoming call. Our phone base also announces who is calling (in a little mechanical voice). Grandma has never had the luxury of knowing who is going to be on the other end of the line before she answers. It’s all new to her. We have told her several times that she needn’t answer the phone (when we are away) unless it is from someone she knows, but that is obviously not in her nature. CeCe informs us Grandma has been talking to the “Toll-Free” calls (that we always ignore.) Now with all due respect to the thousands of employees of the countless call centers around the world… the fact is, they have annoyed me so many times over the years, I have no sympathy for the telemarketers now at Grandma’s mercy. I’m sure she does not hang up on them (and instead, perhaps they, on her). CeCe says Grandma even talks to them for “a long time”. (Not a surprise and one of the reasons Grandma has no credit card.)
One day, when checking the telephone company’s voicemail on our telephone, DH discovered Grandma had called our home phone number FROM our home phone (and left messages) three times. We have since removed that number from her personal (paper) phone list.
I write this episode with empathy, for I too have occasional difficulty with our electronic household. My philosophy is: somewhere in the house HAS to be a TV I can find something I want to watch and if I can’t get the sound to work, there’s always closed captioning. Either DH or CeCe is usually around to help me with most things and now they help Grandma too. Yup, we’re all in this together.
So ends Episode 5.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Episode 4 - Sweat or Sweater?
It’s been almost two weeks since Grandma moved in with us. She seems to be adjusting fairly well and I think we are too. As we sit here in the living room, she is looking out the window doing play by play commentary of the cars driving past our house. “One, two, three, four… and here comes two more going the other way….” She’s fascinated by the traffic tonight on the usually quiet side street on which we live. I’m guessing there was an Ash Wednesday service at the church a few blocks from here.
Grandma is wearing both a long sleeved top and Old Faithful, (her ‘very good’ brown sweater). One point of contention the past couple weeks has been the thermostat setting in the house. We knew from how warm she kept her apartment at the senior complex that our house would be several degrees cooler than what she was used to. Although we’d turned the heat up a couple degrees, she mentioned several times in the first few days that she was cold. She called me at work and asked if our house had a furnace. “Of course we have a furnace Mom, it’s just not set as high as what you are used to. I’ve turned it up, but I told you that you need to put on a sweater if you’re cold.”
I came home from work that day to find her sitting in a short sleeved shirt. “Mom, no wonder you’re cold … why didn’t you put on a sweater?!” (She has a wide assortment of long sleeved apparel) I then remind her we also have various throws, blankets and Snuggies (in a choice of colors I might add!).
“So this house doesn’t have a furnace then?”
“Yes … (*sigh*) the house has a furnace, but it would cost a fortune to keep it as warm as you’re used to… not to mention, at my age, I’d have to strip to my underwear and I’d still sweat to death.” (Nana Mama is a Hottie in the menopausal sense of the word and rarely has need for fleece, flannel or fuzzy fabric of any kind.)
To make an effort to keep her comfortable, we bought two space heaters – one for her bedroom and another for her living room (both in the basement which is typically warmer anyway). I’ve explained we can’t keep the entire house as warm as she’d like it, but we can keep her “apartment” warm (75 degrees). Of course, she still gravitates to the areas of the house that are not “climate controlled”.
Saturday night DH and I went to church, leaving Grandma and CeCe here alone. We had turned on the space heater in her bedroom before leaving so it’d be warm when she was ready to go to bed. A short time after leaving, DH’s cell phone rang. It was CeCe. The lights had gone out. DH talks CeCe through resetting the breaker (after talking her “to” a flashlight and the breaker box). Note to self: Only turn one space heater on at a time. Before coming home that night, we stopped and picked up some flannel sheets. Along with the four blankets on her bed, they should keep her warm.
“Boy oh boy, there sure is a lot of traffic. Here comes some more. I wonder how many cars have gone by. I should have started counting when I noticed the first one ….”
So ends Episode 4.
Grandma is wearing both a long sleeved top and Old Faithful, (her ‘very good’ brown sweater). One point of contention the past couple weeks has been the thermostat setting in the house. We knew from how warm she kept her apartment at the senior complex that our house would be several degrees cooler than what she was used to. Although we’d turned the heat up a couple degrees, she mentioned several times in the first few days that she was cold. She called me at work and asked if our house had a furnace. “Of course we have a furnace Mom, it’s just not set as high as what you are used to. I’ve turned it up, but I told you that you need to put on a sweater if you’re cold.”
I came home from work that day to find her sitting in a short sleeved shirt. “Mom, no wonder you’re cold … why didn’t you put on a sweater?!” (She has a wide assortment of long sleeved apparel) I then remind her we also have various throws, blankets and Snuggies (in a choice of colors I might add!).
“So this house doesn’t have a furnace then?”
“Yes … (*sigh*) the house has a furnace, but it would cost a fortune to keep it as warm as you’re used to… not to mention, at my age, I’d have to strip to my underwear and I’d still sweat to death.” (Nana Mama is a Hottie in the menopausal sense of the word and rarely has need for fleece, flannel or fuzzy fabric of any kind.)
To make an effort to keep her comfortable, we bought two space heaters – one for her bedroom and another for her living room (both in the basement which is typically warmer anyway). I’ve explained we can’t keep the entire house as warm as she’d like it, but we can keep her “apartment” warm (75 degrees). Of course, she still gravitates to the areas of the house that are not “climate controlled”.
Saturday night DH and I went to church, leaving Grandma and CeCe here alone. We had turned on the space heater in her bedroom before leaving so it’d be warm when she was ready to go to bed. A short time after leaving, DH’s cell phone rang. It was CeCe. The lights had gone out. DH talks CeCe through resetting the breaker (after talking her “to” a flashlight and the breaker box). Note to self: Only turn one space heater on at a time. Before coming home that night, we stopped and picked up some flannel sheets. Along with the four blankets on her bed, they should keep her warm.
“Boy oh boy, there sure is a lot of traffic. Here comes some more. I wonder how many cars have gone by. I should have started counting when I noticed the first one ….”
So ends Episode 4.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Episode 3 - Stuff
Saturday, we made our first trip back to D1, Grandma’s apartment in the senior complex. With work and trying to get situated with the new additions to the household, we felt it best to wait until the weekend to move more stuff.
We came with totes, containers and garbage bags. My goal for this trip was to get more clothing, empty the refrigerator and the two dressers in the bedroom. Grandma accompanied us of course, but lost interest soon into the mission. Our first order of business was her closet. I thumbed through some hangers. I chose a tan sweater to take with us. On the very next hanger was another sweater – a light shade of brown. “That’s a good sweater,” she said, “that’s a very good sweater.” Ah yes, a very good sweater indeed. I recall borrowing it a dozen years ago to wear when I played a poor widow in a Sunday School skit. It has long been a mainstay in Grandma’s wardrobe.
“OK, I said… we can take that one too.” I could see this was going to be a painful process. “Why don’t you call Harriet? I can get along here” I suggested. Harriet is a 90-something year old friend of hers… “You haven’t seen her for a while; maybe you can go down and visit her.”
“I’m not sure where she lives…” (You know those apartment complexes all look alike). I grabbed the phone and called Harriet. She was pleased and anxious to have a visit. I told her to stand in her doorway and I’d send her down. Grandma was off in a flash, using one of the canes she had at the apartment.
I moved quickly, utilizing a three pile system: 1. Take home immediately 2. Store for warmer weather 3. Donate to the local crisis pregnancy center’s thrift shop. The thrift shop was winning. Grandma no longer needs the plethora of blazers she used to wear regularly. Also in that pile went anything is the size she ‘used’ to wear, clothing with buttons (arthritis unfriendly) and the myriad of cast offs she’d acquired from others in the complex cleaning out their closets. DH bagged quickly and carried to the cars.
She’s back. “Have they brought my lunch? I forgot all about my lunch.”
“No Mom… they don’t bring lunch on Saturdays… and they wouldn’t bring it here anyway. You don’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. What should I do then? “
“Were you done visiting with Harriet? Do you want to go back there?”
“Well I could… I just didn’t want to miss my lunch.”
“Go ahead. We have some more to do here. We’ll call when we’re ready. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” Again she heads to Harriet’s.
I move on to the dresser drawers. We had brought some long under the bed type storage containers and the plan was to empty the dresser contents into them (to be dealt with another day). I buzzed through them at record speed, throwing an occasional knick knack into the thrift shop pile. Mostly she had photos, rubber banded boxes (with my name on them) and various mementos from more than three quarter centuries of life. I visualize in the months ahead, pulling out one of these containers and providing her a trip down (hopefully) Memory Lane.
I hear the door. “When are we going to eat?” Back again. “I’m getting hungry.” Evidently the pancakes DH had made her this morning have worn off. “I told Harriet I was getting hungry. She asked me if I wanted a beer. I told her I don’t drink beer. How much longer till we have lunch?”
“We’re just about done for today” I tell her, “We only need to get stuff out of the fridge.” She takes a seat at the kitchen table as I pull a clothes basket over toward the refrigerator.
“This is a pretty nice table, where are we going to do put it?” she asks.
“We’ll sell it.” DH responds.
“Sell it? Why? This is a really nice table. I don’t think we should sell it.”
“We don’t have any place to put it. We’ll probably sell most of the furniture that’s still here. We’ve already moved everything you need.” Probably not the answer she was hoping for but she resigns herself (for now).
I zoom through the shelves, pitching as I go and depositing food within its expiration period in the “to go” basket. The freezer held many treasures in cardboard boxes and I realize the Schwan man will no doubt miss Grandma’s business… It all makes the salvage cut. DH pulls the unit away from the wall and unplugs it. I prop the doors open.
“What should we do with the refrigerator?” she asks, “do you want to sell it?”
“Probably not,” DH tells her, “it belongs to the complex. They wouldn’t like it if we sold it.” He takes the basket of food and heads to a car, telling Grandma it’s time for lunch.
“Are they going to bring lunch?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her, “We’re going to make you lunch. We’ll come back and work on the apartment more another day.” She is satisfied and heads for DH’s waiting car. I lock the apartment door and pull it shut…. Nothing will be going anywhere – it’ll be there waiting for me… another day.
So ends Episode 3.
We came with totes, containers and garbage bags. My goal for this trip was to get more clothing, empty the refrigerator and the two dressers in the bedroom. Grandma accompanied us of course, but lost interest soon into the mission. Our first order of business was her closet. I thumbed through some hangers. I chose a tan sweater to take with us. On the very next hanger was another sweater – a light shade of brown. “That’s a good sweater,” she said, “that’s a very good sweater.” Ah yes, a very good sweater indeed. I recall borrowing it a dozen years ago to wear when I played a poor widow in a Sunday School skit. It has long been a mainstay in Grandma’s wardrobe.
“OK, I said… we can take that one too.” I could see this was going to be a painful process. “Why don’t you call Harriet? I can get along here” I suggested. Harriet is a 90-something year old friend of hers… “You haven’t seen her for a while; maybe you can go down and visit her.”
“I’m not sure where she lives…” (You know those apartment complexes all look alike). I grabbed the phone and called Harriet. She was pleased and anxious to have a visit. I told her to stand in her doorway and I’d send her down. Grandma was off in a flash, using one of the canes she had at the apartment.
I moved quickly, utilizing a three pile system: 1. Take home immediately 2. Store for warmer weather 3. Donate to the local crisis pregnancy center’s thrift shop. The thrift shop was winning. Grandma no longer needs the plethora of blazers she used to wear regularly. Also in that pile went anything is the size she ‘used’ to wear, clothing with buttons (arthritis unfriendly) and the myriad of cast offs she’d acquired from others in the complex cleaning out their closets. DH bagged quickly and carried to the cars.
She’s back. “Have they brought my lunch? I forgot all about my lunch.”
“No Mom… they don’t bring lunch on Saturdays… and they wouldn’t bring it here anyway. You don’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. What should I do then? “
“Were you done visiting with Harriet? Do you want to go back there?”
“Well I could… I just didn’t want to miss my lunch.”
“Go ahead. We have some more to do here. We’ll call when we’re ready. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” Again she heads to Harriet’s.
I move on to the dresser drawers. We had brought some long under the bed type storage containers and the plan was to empty the dresser contents into them (to be dealt with another day). I buzzed through them at record speed, throwing an occasional knick knack into the thrift shop pile. Mostly she had photos, rubber banded boxes (with my name on them) and various mementos from more than three quarter centuries of life. I visualize in the months ahead, pulling out one of these containers and providing her a trip down (hopefully) Memory Lane.
I hear the door. “When are we going to eat?” Back again. “I’m getting hungry.” Evidently the pancakes DH had made her this morning have worn off. “I told Harriet I was getting hungry. She asked me if I wanted a beer. I told her I don’t drink beer. How much longer till we have lunch?”
“We’re just about done for today” I tell her, “We only need to get stuff out of the fridge.” She takes a seat at the kitchen table as I pull a clothes basket over toward the refrigerator.
“This is a pretty nice table, where are we going to do put it?” she asks.
“We’ll sell it.” DH responds.
“Sell it? Why? This is a really nice table. I don’t think we should sell it.”
“We don’t have any place to put it. We’ll probably sell most of the furniture that’s still here. We’ve already moved everything you need.” Probably not the answer she was hoping for but she resigns herself (for now).
I zoom through the shelves, pitching as I go and depositing food within its expiration period in the “to go” basket. The freezer held many treasures in cardboard boxes and I realize the Schwan man will no doubt miss Grandma’s business… It all makes the salvage cut. DH pulls the unit away from the wall and unplugs it. I prop the doors open.
“What should we do with the refrigerator?” she asks, “do you want to sell it?”
“Probably not,” DH tells her, “it belongs to the complex. They wouldn’t like it if we sold it.” He takes the basket of food and heads to a car, telling Grandma it’s time for lunch.
“Are they going to bring lunch?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her, “We’re going to make you lunch. We’ll come back and work on the apartment more another day.” She is satisfied and heads for DH’s waiting car. I lock the apartment door and pull it shut…. Nothing will be going anywhere – it’ll be there waiting for me… another day.
So ends Episode 3.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Episode 2 - Please Don't Feed the Animals
Grandma’s first week hasn’t been too bad… a few adjustments and schedule adaptations but for the most part, no complaints. Please note, I said for the “most” part… there has been “one” part – where we have had issues.
You may recall from Episode 1, Grandma’s dog accompanied her to our home. Sam is a 9 year old, morbidly obese Shih Tzu whose ‘frontage’ resembles a bulldog’s. Until moving here, he slept in his own twin bed, had his own chair, dog sitter and favorite television channel (12). He lived a life of royalty and his subjects were most of the tenants of the senior complex in which they lived. Many carried treats in their pockets so as to be prepared for any potential meeting with Prince Sammy (and this is on top of the three squares Grandma would feed him daily).
A couple years ago, Sam had a near death experience. He had surgery for an intestinal blockage and his recovery was in question for several days. (Grandma claims to have no memory of this ordeal which is probably true) After a week at the clinic and a thousand dollar vet bill, he was able to return home weighing only 24 lbs and with a new lease on life. The vet put him on diet food and all was well for a while. Within a few months though, Sam’s weight was creeping back up as his Highness was again showered with treats and people food from Grandma and others. She lived in fear of his being evicted from the complex for surpassing the 30 lb weight limit for small pets, so much so we even bought a Pet-O-Meter scale to assure he was within the boundaries.
We too have a dog. Ginger Grace is a 4 year old Lhasa Apso . She was given to us three years ago when her mistress (the mother of a dear friend of mine) succumbed to cancer. She weighs about 13 lbs and eats dog food, “baked” (wholesome) dog treats and any human morsels that happen to fall from a child occupied high chair. We give her a treat when she comes inside from “being a good girl” and another when it is time to go “night night”. She sleeps in a spacious kennel. We do give her small amounts of popcorn if we’re eating it and use it as a training tool when teaching her various tricks. She loves going on walks and getting to go ‘bye bye’ in the car.
When she arrived, Grandma had a small stash of treats in her purse, which lasted until Day 3 (at which time one of Sam’s admirers from the senior complex stopped by with three more bags of doggy treats). DH put them up out of sight. On Day 4 (Monday) DH and I both went to work. Our teenage daughter, CeCe stayed home from school (in her room) with a sore throat and Grandma was in charge of the dogs. She is fully aware of the house rules and that we do not want her to feed Ginger like she does Sam. This would be the test. At one point, CeCe came down from her room and caught Grandma giving the dogs potato chips(Salt & Vinegar chips no less). When I got home from work, I asked if her Meals on Wheels had been delivered and she said, “Yes and we all three enjoyed it”. I gently rebuked her for sharing her lunch with the dogs and didn’t mention the chips.
Sam is still adjusting to the new environment… housemates and fellow canine. Ginger is used to dogs of other family members visiting but keeps a continual eye on Grandma, especially when she’s near the kitchen. Tuesday morning Grandma was eating breakfast when I came down and noticed 2 empty bowls on the floor.
Me: “What are these doing here?” (pointing to the bowls)
G: “Breakfast.”
Me: “Whose breakfast?”
G: “The dogs. I put a little cereal and milk in their bowls and they ate it right down. I think they want more.”
Me: AAAUUUGHH!
We had an exchange of words …. She apologized and assured me she wouldn’t do it again.
Tuesday was a snow day and there was no school. CeCe was again home and made lunch for Grandma. She took it to her in the living room and as is our practice, she shut the dogs in the kitchen. Grandma objected. She wanted the dogs with her. CeCe called me at work and asked what to do. I said to leave the dogs in the kitchen and if Grandma didn’t like it, to have her to call me. CeCe texts me and says, “She got the dogs out and is feeding them chips. I tried to tell her but she won’t listen.”
So I call home and once again we argue about the fact that we don’t want Ginger being fed table food. We also want Sam to be healthy and live a few more years. To do that, he needs to lose weight. Grandma responds that when she dies, “Sam can go too.”
“What?” I ask… “I’m not worried about what I’ll do with Sam if something happens to you, we’ll take care of him…. but I don’t know what I’ll do with you, if something happens to Sam!” Maybe I struck a chord… or maybe I just forced her underground… but round 1 is over.
We brought the Pet-O-Meter over and have decided Saturdays will be doggy weigh day. As long as Sam’s weight goes down and Ginger’s doesn’t go up too much, we’ll try to strike a compromise. Who would have guessed the first “bone” of contention, would be about dogs? So ends Episode 2.
You may recall from Episode 1, Grandma’s dog accompanied her to our home. Sam is a 9 year old, morbidly obese Shih Tzu whose ‘frontage’ resembles a bulldog’s. Until moving here, he slept in his own twin bed, had his own chair, dog sitter and favorite television channel (12). He lived a life of royalty and his subjects were most of the tenants of the senior complex in which they lived. Many carried treats in their pockets so as to be prepared for any potential meeting with Prince Sammy (and this is on top of the three squares Grandma would feed him daily).
A couple years ago, Sam had a near death experience. He had surgery for an intestinal blockage and his recovery was in question for several days. (Grandma claims to have no memory of this ordeal which is probably true) After a week at the clinic and a thousand dollar vet bill, he was able to return home weighing only 24 lbs and with a new lease on life. The vet put him on diet food and all was well for a while. Within a few months though, Sam’s weight was creeping back up as his Highness was again showered with treats and people food from Grandma and others. She lived in fear of his being evicted from the complex for surpassing the 30 lb weight limit for small pets, so much so we even bought a Pet-O-Meter scale to assure he was within the boundaries.
We too have a dog. Ginger Grace is a 4 year old Lhasa Apso . She was given to us three years ago when her mistress (the mother of a dear friend of mine) succumbed to cancer. She weighs about 13 lbs and eats dog food, “baked” (wholesome) dog treats and any human morsels that happen to fall from a child occupied high chair. We give her a treat when she comes inside from “being a good girl” and another when it is time to go “night night”. She sleeps in a spacious kennel. We do give her small amounts of popcorn if we’re eating it and use it as a training tool when teaching her various tricks. She loves going on walks and getting to go ‘bye bye’ in the car.
When she arrived, Grandma had a small stash of treats in her purse, which lasted until Day 3 (at which time one of Sam’s admirers from the senior complex stopped by with three more bags of doggy treats). DH put them up out of sight. On Day 4 (Monday) DH and I both went to work. Our teenage daughter, CeCe stayed home from school (in her room) with a sore throat and Grandma was in charge of the dogs. She is fully aware of the house rules and that we do not want her to feed Ginger like she does Sam. This would be the test. At one point, CeCe came down from her room and caught Grandma giving the dogs potato chips(Salt & Vinegar chips no less). When I got home from work, I asked if her Meals on Wheels had been delivered and she said, “Yes and we all three enjoyed it”. I gently rebuked her for sharing her lunch with the dogs and didn’t mention the chips.
Sam is still adjusting to the new environment… housemates and fellow canine. Ginger is used to dogs of other family members visiting but keeps a continual eye on Grandma, especially when she’s near the kitchen. Tuesday morning Grandma was eating breakfast when I came down and noticed 2 empty bowls on the floor.
Me: “What are these doing here?” (pointing to the bowls)
G: “Breakfast.”
Me: “Whose breakfast?”
G: “The dogs. I put a little cereal and milk in their bowls and they ate it right down. I think they want more.”
Me: AAAUUUGHH!
We had an exchange of words …. She apologized and assured me she wouldn’t do it again.
Tuesday was a snow day and there was no school. CeCe was again home and made lunch for Grandma. She took it to her in the living room and as is our practice, she shut the dogs in the kitchen. Grandma objected. She wanted the dogs with her. CeCe called me at work and asked what to do. I said to leave the dogs in the kitchen and if Grandma didn’t like it, to have her to call me. CeCe texts me and says, “She got the dogs out and is feeding them chips. I tried to tell her but she won’t listen.”
So I call home and once again we argue about the fact that we don’t want Ginger being fed table food. We also want Sam to be healthy and live a few more years. To do that, he needs to lose weight. Grandma responds that when she dies, “Sam can go too.”
“What?” I ask… “I’m not worried about what I’ll do with Sam if something happens to you, we’ll take care of him…. but I don’t know what I’ll do with you, if something happens to Sam!” Maybe I struck a chord… or maybe I just forced her underground… but round 1 is over.
We brought the Pet-O-Meter over and have decided Saturdays will be doggy weigh day. As long as Sam’s weight goes down and Ginger’s doesn’t go up too much, we’ll try to strike a compromise. Who would have guessed the first “bone” of contention, would be about dogs? So ends Episode 2.
Monday, February 8, 2010
The New Adventure - Episode 1
A few days ago, we moved my mother into our home. It was a day I knew would undoubtedly come but not one I necessarily looked forward to. Grandma has been slipping the past couple years, both mentally and physically. She suffers from rheumatoid arthritis, osteoporosis and confusion. Because of the advancement of those conditions, my husband and I decided she should no longer live alone in the senior housing complex she has called home the past eight years. For both financial and faith based reasons, we chose bringing her into our home for the time being, over assisted living or a nursing home.
Our two story home has a full finished basement. Along with both a storage and mechanical room, the basement has a family room, bedroom and ¾ bath. An ideal set up for semi-independent living quarters. So we would go from being a family of three, with one dog… to a family of four, with two dogs…. (Yes, Grandma will bring along her 30 lb. Shih Tzu, ‘Sumo’ Sam).
“The Move” from point A to point B was only a distance of about two miles. My husband borrowed a truck and one of our sons assisted with the move. I had already taken care of the details such as newspaper delivery, mail forwarding, Meals on Wheels delivery, etc. I was careful to choose only the furniture needed to create a similar atmosphere here, as that of her previous apartment. This is one of those “less is more” situations. We’ll continue to empty her old apartment over the next few weeks.
In order to accommodate her furniture, it was necessary to get rid of the furniture we currently had in the basement. I insisted (to the chagrin of the husband and son) to bring our furniture to the main level until we were able to find suitable homes for them. It didn’t seem possible to make her new quarters appear “comfortable” with twice the furniture that should be there; however there was obviously no room “upstairs” for an extra sofa, loveseat and recliner, so they were ‘piled’ into the dining area. I posted photos and “for sale” on Facebook and they were (thankfully) gone in 24 hours.
That first morning though, while eating breakfast, she (Grandma) noted the furniture stacked beside the island counter where she was sitting.
G: What are you going to do with that furniture?
Me: Sell it….
G: Why? It looks pretty good.
Me: Well, it was in the basement and we need to make room for your furniture.
G: How much are you asking?
Me: $125
G: Oh. (pause) I’ll buy it.
Grandma was sitting in her new living room while my DH was working on installing the now needed handrails on the basement stairway. He stopped what he was doing to assist her with the television. (Her senior complex had cable TV, we have a satellite dish) As she slowly channeled through the various stations, she stopped: “Oh look! It’s Power Juicer!” Sitcom? Documentary? No, it’s one of Grandma’s favorite infomercials. She’s happy. We also have found that Grandma loves any commercial with a dog in it. She took me by surprise though, when while watching GSN (Game Show Network) she looked over her shoulder toward our den, and told me a cat was playing the piano. (Yes we have a piano, no we do not have a cat.) I told her perhaps she was hearing the clock chime. I later realized she was probably commenting on another commercial and with the theater speakers in our living room, it likely sounded ‘authentic’.
Grandma had been living alone, so the fact we must leave to go to work and school as well as other events and appointments hasn’t been of great concern for us. We know there is going to be a period of adjustment as she become familiar with the house and becomes comfortable. We were gone much of yesterday to our daughter’s volleyball tournament. Before we left, my DH made her breakfast. She said she couldn’t remember when she had last had eggs (it could have been yesterday, she may not have remembered) but that’s due in part to the fact that she doesn’t cook.
G:“This was just delicious…now where do I pay for my meal?”
Me: You don’t pay for your meals Mom… you live here.
G: Oh. Well how long will I be staying?
Me: Hopefully until you die. That’s the plan… you’re going to live here as long as we can take care of you.
G: That long? Well, I didn’t tell my family how long I’d be here.
DH: We are your family…
G: No, my ‘other’ family.
Her other family is news to me, but if by chance one of them is reading… feel free to send me a check and sign up for a weekend of respite care! Before we left for the tournament, she asked me five times “What time will you be home?” and as I was rushing to get out the door, she told me not to forget to clean the kitchen before I left.
Grandma’s dog, Sam is obese. Actually, he is morbidly obese. He should weigh just half of his current statistics. This is due in part to Grandma feeding him an abundance of treats as well as sharing much of her own food with him. Our goal is to get Sam’s weight down. Poor guy did not realize he was heading for the Biggest Loser Ranch when he set foot in our house. I took him for a walk on Day 2. He limped back to the house after a not so brisk 100 yard stroll around half a block. Grandma comments that our dog Ginger is “so skinny” (she’s of normal weight). Our secondary goal is to not let her (Ginger) gain too much weight. So far, she’s lovin’ Grandma being here. Sam may be intruding on her space… but at least he brought a human food supply to share with her.
There’s a certain level of stress associated with any change to a family unit. For now, I’m choosing to deal with my stress through writing and the drinking of a little wine. I in no way wish to dishonor my mother by anything I write, but sometimes, a little humor can make a situation much easier to handle!
I’m referring to this chapter of life as “A New Adventure”. So ends episode 1.
Our two story home has a full finished basement. Along with both a storage and mechanical room, the basement has a family room, bedroom and ¾ bath. An ideal set up for semi-independent living quarters. So we would go from being a family of three, with one dog… to a family of four, with two dogs…. (Yes, Grandma will bring along her 30 lb. Shih Tzu, ‘Sumo’ Sam).
“The Move” from point A to point B was only a distance of about two miles. My husband borrowed a truck and one of our sons assisted with the move. I had already taken care of the details such as newspaper delivery, mail forwarding, Meals on Wheels delivery, etc. I was careful to choose only the furniture needed to create a similar atmosphere here, as that of her previous apartment. This is one of those “less is more” situations. We’ll continue to empty her old apartment over the next few weeks.
In order to accommodate her furniture, it was necessary to get rid of the furniture we currently had in the basement. I insisted (to the chagrin of the husband and son) to bring our furniture to the main level until we were able to find suitable homes for them. It didn’t seem possible to make her new quarters appear “comfortable” with twice the furniture that should be there; however there was obviously no room “upstairs” for an extra sofa, loveseat and recliner, so they were ‘piled’ into the dining area. I posted photos and “for sale” on Facebook and they were (thankfully) gone in 24 hours.
That first morning though, while eating breakfast, she (Grandma) noted the furniture stacked beside the island counter where she was sitting.
G: What are you going to do with that furniture?
Me: Sell it….
G: Why? It looks pretty good.
Me: Well, it was in the basement and we need to make room for your furniture.
G: How much are you asking?
Me: $125
G: Oh. (pause) I’ll buy it.
Grandma was sitting in her new living room while my DH was working on installing the now needed handrails on the basement stairway. He stopped what he was doing to assist her with the television. (Her senior complex had cable TV, we have a satellite dish) As she slowly channeled through the various stations, she stopped: “Oh look! It’s Power Juicer!” Sitcom? Documentary? No, it’s one of Grandma’s favorite infomercials. She’s happy. We also have found that Grandma loves any commercial with a dog in it. She took me by surprise though, when while watching GSN (Game Show Network) she looked over her shoulder toward our den, and told me a cat was playing the piano. (Yes we have a piano, no we do not have a cat.) I told her perhaps she was hearing the clock chime. I later realized she was probably commenting on another commercial and with the theater speakers in our living room, it likely sounded ‘authentic’.
Grandma had been living alone, so the fact we must leave to go to work and school as well as other events and appointments hasn’t been of great concern for us. We know there is going to be a period of adjustment as she become familiar with the house and becomes comfortable. We were gone much of yesterday to our daughter’s volleyball tournament. Before we left, my DH made her breakfast. She said she couldn’t remember when she had last had eggs (it could have been yesterday, she may not have remembered) but that’s due in part to the fact that she doesn’t cook.
G:“This was just delicious…now where do I pay for my meal?”
Me: You don’t pay for your meals Mom… you live here.
G: Oh. Well how long will I be staying?
Me: Hopefully until you die. That’s the plan… you’re going to live here as long as we can take care of you.
G: That long? Well, I didn’t tell my family how long I’d be here.
DH: We are your family…
G: No, my ‘other’ family.
Her other family is news to me, but if by chance one of them is reading… feel free to send me a check and sign up for a weekend of respite care! Before we left for the tournament, she asked me five times “What time will you be home?” and as I was rushing to get out the door, she told me not to forget to clean the kitchen before I left.
Grandma’s dog, Sam is obese. Actually, he is morbidly obese. He should weigh just half of his current statistics. This is due in part to Grandma feeding him an abundance of treats as well as sharing much of her own food with him. Our goal is to get Sam’s weight down. Poor guy did not realize he was heading for the Biggest Loser Ranch when he set foot in our house. I took him for a walk on Day 2. He limped back to the house after a not so brisk 100 yard stroll around half a block. Grandma comments that our dog Ginger is “so skinny” (she’s of normal weight). Our secondary goal is to not let her (Ginger) gain too much weight. So far, she’s lovin’ Grandma being here. Sam may be intruding on her space… but at least he brought a human food supply to share with her.
There’s a certain level of stress associated with any change to a family unit. For now, I’m choosing to deal with my stress through writing and the drinking of a little wine. I in no way wish to dishonor my mother by anything I write, but sometimes, a little humor can make a situation much easier to handle!
I’m referring to this chapter of life as “A New Adventure”. So ends episode 1.
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