What I Really Want for Christmas

Dear Universe,

I know you're a bit different than Santa but I just have to try. We have been ripping and roaring for a while now and it's catching up to us. Wood and I both had steep throat a couple of weeks ago and yesterday I yanked my back something fierce. We are so overdone that our health is starting to take a hit and we can't have that! We need a couple of minutes to catch up and catch our breath.

Lately it has been one thing after another, one BIG thing after another, and by after another I mean stacked on top of one another. I can handle only 1 thing at a time and I can't power through like I once did.  So, I need your help.

Yes, I know it's the holidays and that makes everything move more quickly. And that you're really busy. It's just that we can't move any faster than we already do. Can you help keep our stuff together and quiet for a while? Work, kid, gramma, house, cars, finances, etc. I don't want to be greedy but having everything be a bit boring would be nice for a change.

We need a break, please. We need rest. Relaxation. No illnesses. The opportunity to catch up with family, connect with friends new and old, do our jobs, meet our financial obligations and be present in our lives. To slow down and see this world a bit. The finished product will be so much better.

Thank you for your time and consideration, universe!

Love,

Wonelle

Saturday Blues

I wrote a great post from my phone this morning but it got lost before it was published. Since it was before 6am when I was writing, I can't even remember what I wrote about. Our rental property has had me busy most of the weekend. Weatherstripping, nuts and bolts, screwing doors shut. Today was labeling "trash" in the yard (more on the quotation marks later), cleaning up, organizing people to do work, and throwing my back out. Yep, when I was wrestling with the gate my back tweaked and I'm in a not so good way right now. Two Aleve and I'm able to walk, drive, pick up light objects, etc. but lifting my suitcase tomorrow is going to be a bit of a challenge. I'm already planning for asking a lot of strangers for assistance. Being with friends is good. Very, very good. Familiar, warm, comfortable. But being in the city isn't as good as I remember. Drivers are more agressive than I remember, people aren't as warm - heck, half of them don't even look you in the eye. It's a stark transition from the new life we lead in a sleepy small town that has only smatterings of real city life. It's a bit embarrassing, to be so acutely aware of and disgusted by how focused I feel I have to be here. How so much of what is good about the city that I love is also so bad about it. How soft we've become in our new environment. I run at 5am, in the dark, alone. And I don't feel afraid. I'm aware that I probably should be afraid. That if I were in Oakland I wouldn't even consider running alone in the dark. At any time of the day. I just remembered what this mornings post was about: Cold - how I was not warm and fuzzy with my tenant during this signing of the new lease. How my voice waivered and crackled in the beginning but after a few minutes of her not engaging I was able to move through the process as quickly as possible. How thought, I didn't leave anything unturned - every light switch, every lock, every faucet was tested. Every everything (mostly) was documented. I wasn't mean but I was cold. You know that saying "you

The Right Direction

I continue to mourn the changes we've experienced over the past year. Things like a great boss and an opportunity for advancment, having close friends and family close by, knowing how to get to just about anywhere in the area. But, being home, in my home, that I rent to someone else now, has helped to solidify that I am totally okay with the moves we've made. I don't miss our house as much as it the idea of our home and things like a great boss, close friends and family close by. The truth is, I'm okay with the house being an investment instead of being invested in it. I'm still mad about a few things but they really don't matter. My ego is loosening up a little. And it and my dreams are reminding me that we're on the right path, the right journey - home.

Going Away, Coming Home

The last few weeks, it seems like weeks since I last wrote for pleasure, (not that posting from my phone is really writing), I have had an active dream life. I'm not certain what most of the dreams have been about. But a few have been intense dreams that have made my head a bit electric - like there's electricity pulsing through my entire brain, sending a message of warning: this is very important so don't forget. Last night was particularly intense as well. Mostly because it was a dream about Wood and I, and our ability to go away and reconnect in the most challenging of circumstances. In this dream, I became interested in another person - began dating that person even, and in the end, Wood gladly took me back. I wanted to be back, not because the other person wasn't good. But because Wood is my soulmate. It was a sad and frightening dream with a good ending. Hopefully I can remember the details when I have some time to write again. I'm traveling alone for the weekend to take care of business. It's nice to have some space from my life, and be with friends, although this work part of my life is hard, too. I wanted to remind myself here to do a writing exercise in the future. It is writing a letter to my 16 year old self. Giving some advice. The dream, my work here, and the exercise have one common theme: You can never really go back. Home is where you are.

Do You Even Like Sandwiches?

Wood and I finally had sex outside of the bathroom. I'm not mad anymore. But I do feel like hell.

I've been sick. Wood started it, actually, with a sore throat the Friday before last. He sat around the house all weekend watching TV as I did my best to stick with my regular activities like shopping for groceries, taking a pot of homemade Kale and White Bean soup to a friend who's sick and whose live-in Mother In Law is home from the hospital on Hospice, and trying to get the boy some needed friend/skateboard park time. Basically, staying away from home and my Mother In Law as much as possible.

By Monday my throat didn't feel right and I couldn't go to work. I didn't want to infect anyone with my germs as lots has been floating around there lately and despite the fact that taking time off that I don't have will only add to the multitude of things at my office that are, in many ways, much harder than things at home, Wood stayed home too - and if he's staying home from work it's a serious germ we're fighting - and we both needed the rest.

Except for the fact that I forgot to call and reserve Grandma's bus for her ride to and from her day program, and Twig's school is on break for Parent/Teacher Conferences and the Thankgsgiving holiday so he needed to be dropped off at a different location than usual...

By mid morning on Tuesday I had a fever of 102.2 that had no intention of doing anything but rising. So, I promptly picked up the phone and made the next available appointment with my doctor. 

Strep. Damned 1st Graders with their germy little hands that never get washed properly, touch everything with no regard for what has just been touched, and then put their hands in their mouths! Good news is that during my doctor's visit, Wood's symptoms were addressed and we both got antibiotics. And, we discussed with the doctor a little scrape on Twigs face that had turned into something else entirely. Given Strep in the house, we took Twig to his doctor that afternoon and got his scrape that had become infected plus Strep and/or Staph treated, too.

All of these Wednesday doctor visits meant no Thanksgiving with friends as we had planned. Which is sad. We don't have any fun anymore.

Our evenings are spent catching up from the day. We get home at about 6pm and rush to get dinner ready (Twig is having behavioral issues because he's low blood sugar and Grandma is staring or wiggling her foot anxiously because the time says 6pm and that's when she wants to eat dinner) and the dishes done (if we're lucky), bath (if we're lucky), reading, bed at a reasonable hour. 

Typically, we both collapse at about 8 from sheer exhaustion from the day. Wood in Twigs bed after reading Harry Potter, me on the couch. Sometimes Wood makes it to our bed. If he does, I'm usually beckoned to Twigs bed. Or too exhausted to move from the couch. (I'm so becoming my mother)

Mornings are spent cooking breakfast and lunch, cleaning up from dinner, trying to talk about the day (if anybody wants to say more than "fine" or "okay" about it), and attempting to get out of the house so that the kid gets to school on time and at least one adult makes it, by public transportation, to their paying job on time.

Weekends are spent taking care of the regular household activities that all full-time working families with young children and no live-in nanny/maid service have to take care of - grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, yard work, considering the future. Then there's our second child - Grandma - fill the med containers, order more meds, ensure she's taken her shower, bills, Medicare, doctor appointments, grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, get her to church, reserve bus rides.

Two big fat slices of bread is what they are. Wood and I are sandwiched between everything THEM. There's no lettuce, tomato, onion, or special sauce on this sandwich. Heck, it's not even high end bread these days.  

Twig has been getting lost in the shuffle. It's not new that his needs don't always get taken care of. In some respects, that's the life of a child, right? I mean the life of a child whose parents are working-class (even if it is white collar working class) and have lots of responsibility. We aren't doctors, we don't have nannies, maids, enough money to buy everything we or our kid wants - we can get what we need like good food, a nice place to live, two old and paid for cars and a couple of dinners out a month. We can't take Disneyland vacations (any vacations, it seems). I mean, we can't just throw money at it. We spent money we didn't have to protect what little we had and now we're in a hole of debt. I can't help think that if money weren't a thing that we had to consider, our lives would be easier and we would be happier. I'd pay for stuff to be done for me and I'd have the time and space to enjoy life a bit. Well, that's what it seems like when I look at the family I just described and their world looks hunky-fucking-dory. Like they're actually enjoying their kids and spouse - their lives. 

But back to Twig. He's acting out the feelings of his self-absorbed, exhausted, overworked, unhappy parents. 

He overreacts when he doesn't get his way. He yells and screams when he should talk. He ignores when he should attentively listen. He jumps to conclusions instead of hearing the intent of the message. He slams the door or his fist for effect, to send a signal. He checks out of a discussion because it's too hard. He's the victim instead of an active participant. He gets hot and can't cool himself down. He has good days and then really, really bad days.

It's all my fault. Twenty minutes after the pregnancy test came back positive I asked "Who do you think you are that you can have a child? That you can do this and do this well? What makes you think you have what it takes?" The voice in my head now tells me I also made the wrong decisions about my husband, my job, my career, my friends, my family. 

I don't like my husband when he's constantly on Twig's case about insignificant things, say spilling a glass of milk, that can easily be fixed. When he overreacts. I really can't stand it when he tries to tease me and make light of a situation and it feels like a personal attack. That I hear everything that comes out of his mouth as a discounting of what, in particular, Twig feels about something. I hate having a job that is so intense it zaps all of my energy and dries me up before 5pm, knowing that we can't get by without my full-time income and that I'm priced out of the market to get a comparable paying job elsewhere. What was I thinking getting a degree in Social Work? - money is important! I wish I had more time to invest in my relationships outside my immediate family, that I wasn't convinced my child hates me (or that he has good reason); that I felt smart enough or skilled enough to be able to do anything well, much less enjoy life these days. 

I'm assuming that because we live with an old woman and a young child that are equally dependent on us for survival that the stress is getting to me. Seems reasonable, right? Yeah. Whatever.

As I re-read this post, I get it more than ever - my part, Wood's part, grandma's part and Twig's part. We just haven't slowed down enough to look at it, to give it the time and attention in needs. I've been up at 2am every night this week not because I've been sick. Oh, I've had Strep throat and Insomnia for sure - but I've been awake also because I've needed the time to think through the things that my husband and I need to address in our personal, married, and family lives - right now - Twig's screaming at at both of us:

THIS STINKS!

Yes baby, I hear you loud and clear. 

THE SANDWICH IS STARTING TO SPOIL!

Yeah, kiddo, we don't want to eat it - bad food makes us sick. 

Mommy's on it. And Daddy will be on it too.

ROBBED!

Every now and then, the universe offers itself to you so that you can get a touch, just a touch, of what you need and want.

Today, serendipitously, I left work early to pick Twig up from school. At exactly the same time I was leaving to catch the bus, Wood called. He, too, was leaving work to pick up Twig from school. SCORE! Grandma was still at program and we had the house to ourselves for an hour or so. 

TMI Alert!

Being alone in the house for an hour means one thing and one thing only: S-E-X!

Wood takes Twig off to his ballet class and I stay home to finish vacuuming the living room. About 15 minutes later, about 4:10pm Wood comes home. Together we finish vacuuming and rearranging the living room. At about 4:15 he looks out the kitchen window and sees GRANDMA's BUS!

DAMN-IT! She was picked up 15 minutes early and home within minutes of her pick-up time. 

We were robbed!

M A D

I just realized that my last post "On Being Needed" didn't get published. I believe I had written about all of the things that I want to do every day. How I wanted to exercise, write, spend time with my son, husband, travel. It ended with something like "Right after I make breakfast." That the post didn't get published makes me mad.

The fact that I'm living with my Mother In Law makes me M A D. Her wants and needs are paramount to anything else that's happening. Her need to eat. Her incorrect thought that eating more will somehow make her constipation better. The conversation, almost daily, that she doesn't need 2 breakfasts every day, that bread will cause her stomach problems. Her medicine, doctors appointments, dermatitis that requires special shampoo, the fact that we have to give her reminders to take a shower and wash her clothes. Her pissy attitude about those reminders. Her legal issues, financial problems, that she wants to go out and make new friends. The fact that she doesn't talk to us except to say "Yes" or "No" or ask questions about her medicine, food, doctors appointments... Please don't take this the wrong way. She is allowed to have wants and needs. But, her "filter" doesn't work correctly so "it" is always about her. Grr.

The tenant who we rented our house to stopped paying her rent a while back. We had to take her to court and spend lots of money to get her to pay. Thank goodness we have a friend that's a real estate attorney. But that's beside the point, I am absolutely infuriated about our tenant situation.

I got a promotion after three months on the job. My responsibilities are more interesting as a result, but the amount of work and level of intensity has increased significantly. Today a colleague put words into my mouth in a meeting where she was arguing that I should take on some duties that one of her staff people currently does and framed it by making it sound like it was something I was thinking about. She said "Well, you're concerned about x,y, z." No, I'm not concerned about that in the least. But I am pissed off for the way that you've presented it. It seems like you're trying to manipulate me in order to get what you want.

Wood moved to Portland last year in September. Twig and I moved in December. Grandma moved in with us in May. We just moved...AGAIN...to a bigger place to accommodate grandma and her needs. I hate that I don't have time or energy to unpack and organize everything because the day to day stuff takes a majority of my time and energy. I'm not the young whipper-snapper I once was - I can't read small print any more and I certainly can't push my body as hard as I did as few as 5 years ago (without severe consequences).

Anger has always been my go to emotion - an effective tool for channeling energy in order to change things, see forward momentum, be in charge. But I think I've reached the tipping point. I'm walking about my life in a daze - people call my name and I don't hear them until they've said my name 3-4 times. I'm mostly disorganized and can't concentrate on anything (mostly outside of work) long enough to complete a thought much less a task. I like mad. But it's not working. It is assuaged by crying. I've been crying a lot lately. Usually when I feel homesick or lonely, or when I long for people and places, things that were easy, comfortable, and familiar. Or when I'm awake in the middle of the night, watching TV. On the bus to work. There are times when I want to cry but don't. And other times that I don't want to cry but can't stop the tears from pouring out. I admit it, there is plenty of cause, much more than I've written about here, and I'm depressed.

Underneath the anger I'm mourning things that were; the things that are. Angry and the energy it brings makes me think that I have some control. But I know I don't. So I try to flow with life and what it throws at me. Going with the flow is not one of my strong suits so when I don't get to do what I want to do, or things get hard and I'm not perfect at [insert anything here] and mad doesn't kick in because I'm so tired, I get sad. I know it will not be like this forever. And while that knowledge doesn't make any of "it" go away, it gives me some strength, some hope, some fuel for positive change.

On Being Needed

What A Difference A Day Makes

Well then, things sure have calmed down since my last post. Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing's easy in our lives and there's way too much to do on a daily basis. But we aren't fighting. We are past the thunderous crescendo and on to the calm quiet movement of the opera that is our lives.

Twig's doctor visit was a smashing success in that the doctor agreed that the incontinence is vey likely emotional/behavioral as I described a fairly clear pattern. The doctor used his (yes, a man doctor!) doctoral authority to impress upon the boy how he needs to follow a 4 times a day rule: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and bedtime. There are still poopy pants, for sure but the doctor helped him understand the importance of getting cleaned up and that parents are the ones to get help from. He's been asking for -okay- accepting help. That the argument has been reduced is huge relief.

I have to say I simply loved this doctor! He talked to Twig and got a couple of other issues out in the open. From the 6 year old perspective. He gently coaxed the boy to express his feelings and concerns with the honesty that only a child brings to the table. He's so advanced for his age, clearly adept at reading other people's feelings, and takes it all on. This is nothing new really, and a little heartbreaking to hear since I'm responsible for his angst, and can't totally make it go away. But a good reminder for me and Wood that we have to be more aware of what we talk about around him and that to the extent possible we have to keep Twig's reality as close to that of a 6 year old as possible. The doc told him that he can let his parents worry about grown up things. He's been respecting when we say "this is a grown up conversation; let us think about grown up things. You think about kid things".

But there is a significant impact of Grammie living with us, as Wood and I overheard while Twig and his friend Warrior Princess chatted in the back seat Sunday:

Twig: There's someone new at my house you've never met before.
Warrior Princess: Who?
Twig: My grandma, she lives with us now. It's kinda hard.
WP: Yeah, its hard for me with my baby sister.
Twig. You have a baby sister? (WP lives between mom & dad. Dad has a new wife & baby that Twig hasn't quite comprehended)
WP: Yeah, and I don't get very much attention any more.
Twig: Yeah, my Grandma forgets and needs a lot of help.
WP: Yeah, babies do too. I get attention but only after she goes to sleep.
Twig: Yeah.

Wood and I said nothing during he exchange. We glanced at each other and discussed it later in the day. Wondering aloud if the current living configuration is causing more harm than good.

We have had cause, however, to become creative in getting our needs met, tasks completed, and social lives lived.

Last week Tuesday or so, Grammie started complaining of a bladder infection. Wednesday she was convinced she has diabetes, and by Friday, at exactly the same time I was taking Twig to the doctor (and concurrently taking calls from the lawyer about our property in California), I got a call from her day program saying she was sick and wanted to go home. It was an incredibly stressful afternoon and evening as Wood was out helping a friend of a friend.
On my own to appease Grammie's fears that the sky might be falling. But, the lie that I'd called the doctor and had been told to wait a day or two and see how things go before going to urgent care (the new doctor appointment doesn't happen until Sept 9th) worked. She hasn't mentioned bladder infection symptoms, woozieness, or other symptoms. She's a bit obsessive about her current meds but that's her Alzheimers and mental health.

Life has become exponentially more complex with her here. And although we're half way considering not keeping her with us, we aren't making any moves to the contrary. We aren't making any moves in any direction, really.

Except vacation. We're on vacation for a week. !!!!!

I Dream Of...

A long list of available jobs at one company, pretty much the exact same duties and responsibilities. Just slightly different titles. I apply for every single one of them despite the fact that they are manual labor jobs requiring much, much, much less than I have capacity for.

Driving along a long, curvy, very fast moving road - a wide freeway, actually - with lots and lots of construction materials, mostly long and wide white plastic plumbing pipes, along the side of the road. There are beautiful bridges and trees along the route. And the road is a surprisingly smooth surface to be traveling along - not many bumps along the way. It's a good thing because the water comes up on the road. The pipes fall from their large stacks into my lanes. The trees blow in the wind's fury. And it takes a long time to get to my destination.

The people on the bus are looking me up and down. They're dressed nicely, quietly chatting, sort of pointing, deciding if they agree or not. I'm at their house, on a beautiful deck, taking in the scenery; chatting, listening to their proclamations. I find a piece of fruit, a cherry-plum that is yellow inside. There's something not right. This place is a cult. It's all wrong. So I leave.

The boys elbow is in my kidney again and I wake up.

The Menu

Twig has been doing his very best to be a helpful boy lately. A few days ago he created a full menu for which he wants complete and total responsibility for cooking, serving, and cleaning up.

He wanted to be responsible for this menu on Friday but for some reason it didn't happen. He was tired and Grammie wanted to go out to eat. Twig and I stayed home because he just couldn't handle going out. Saturday night we were busy doing something else that I can't remember at the moment because I'm kind of enraged.

Every time there's a large transition in our lives Twig has bladder and bowel incontinence issues. I've always known when things are rough for him because potty problems appear out of nowhere and into my nose... They've resurfaced lately. Pee and poo everywhere. Daily. Often multiple times daily.

He's typically a refuser of taking care of his potty needs. He never needs to pee. Rarely needs to poo. In the toilet that is. Whenever I get a whiff, and it's typically an awful awful awful wretched smell, I give him a look and in the gentlest voice I can muster, ask him to "take care of business". He responds with his whiniest "What?" to which I respond, in the gentlest of voices I can muster, that he has had an accident. To which he denies. I ask him to clean himself up, to wash, change, etc. And he refuses. And I can't have him walking around with that terrible stink; the knowledge that he has poop on his butt drives me crazy. There are certain things I can't let go of. Things like shit.

Shitty pants have in the past, led to a rashy ass, which has led to doctor's appointments diagnoses of Staphylococcus infections, and 3 times daily application of ointment to said rash. Yeah. Staph.

Eventually we get to a place where I'm pretty much forcibly changing his poopy pants and underpants, cleaning shit off of him and his clothes (and the bathroom), and being screamed at that he doesn't need help, he hasn't done anything, that I'm a bad mom, to leave him alone, that he can't wait to go on an airplane by himself, etc. It is plain and simple: he hates me. I'm behaving in ways that make him hate me. And I'm trying to pick and choose my battles here.

In the middle of him cooking dinner tonight, I smelled "the smell". I asked him to change his clothes and clean himself up. He slammed the bathroom door. Multiple times. Screamed at me and called me bad, stupid, yadda yadda yadda. I offered to help. He told me to get out of the bathroom, that he didn't need help. I stayed and tried to explain that I understood it was embarrassing, that accidents happen, that we'd be visiting the doctor on Friday because we are worried that he can't feel it coming out, or smell it, or acknowledge that it's happened. I tried to force my help upon him. Eventually I gave in. Angry that it's difficult to get shit done (ha!) I barked my orders: change into clean clothes, wash ass, wash shit off of clothes, put washcloth in dirty washcloth tub, clean out shitty tub, wash hands. Call me if you want help.

He changed his underpants. Wet the washcloth, put it in the tub and resumed cooking. Lied to our faces about washing his hands. With still-shitty pants. And dirty hands. And guess what - suddenly I wasn't hungry any more. And neither was Wood. More screaming at me ensued. Horrible, mean, awful, bad mom.

Then he cooked. And ate. And served Grammie. And when that was done, I helped him get ready for his shower. In the process of helping him get undressed, I showed him the shit on his pants. And the shit that was on the clean underwear that he put on his ass that he didn't wash. And tried to express to him my frustration with him denying that it wasn't there in the first place. It was likely a lot less gentle than I'd like it to be. He's been acting out a LOT lately.

When he got into the shower, we talked about what had transpired. It came out that he thinks I'm mean to him all of the time. As hard as it was to hear that (since I don't always feel it), we accidentally dug a little deeper. My reserves and tolerance is terribly low - I'm done having this talk, this argument, this shit. I want the shower over and for him to go to bed. And after telling him what needed to happen next, he responded in a way that helped me understand that my directive, straight forward, no nonsense approach feels mean to him. I think that I try to reserve the barking for the times that it's really necessary. I give warning after warning, count from 3 to 1, suggest to him that my tone and body language are trying to convey something, suggest that he won't like it when I soon start yelling. But apparently to him the meanness is constant.

So, he's mean to me because he's "just giving it back". Wow, almost 7 years old and able to articulate all of that. But not manage his bowels. I don't know what to do. I feel so angry at him - and awful for not being able to suck it up and go with it. To pretend that everything is happy and good and that these kinds of things aren't a problem.

It's immeasurably difficult for me to let go when it's over. I get so worked up and it takes such a long time to come down. I wonder what is wrong with me, what is wrong with him. I'm fairly certain, even in the middle of it, that I'm doing exactly the same thing my mom did with me - being demanding, uncompromising, fiercely angry - and pushing him away faster than I need to. I question if letting him control everything that was important to him would calm his attempts to control things or make them worse. And I think back to my days working with people who had behaviorists involved in their lives - teaching me about The ABC's (Antecedent, Behavior, Consequense) of undesirable behavior. I know I have a part in it. And I know that this poo problem is not best served by natural consequences. I know he gets something from it too. Sure, we could ignore it, let him get a rash, and spread his feces all over the house. But I can't let it go. Any of it. I just can't.

We have an appointment to see a doctor this week. It concerns me that perhaps it isn't behavioral and I'm just now getting to exploring that possibility. Even though this problem has always been intermittent, I'm pretty certain it should have been addressed medically before now. I'm sure the stress of our lives is taking it's toll on Twig, too. And I'm feeling really shitty about myself, my behavior, the situation. All of the good that does happen doesn't cancel out the fact that I've behaved badly too.

Tonight, I missed dinner prepared by my favorite Chef. It's really my loss.

FIF

Most people say TGIF. I said it this morning and shortly afterward, changed my exclamation to: Fuck, It's Friday!

Once upon a time, Friday meant the beginning of the weekend. Slowing down a bit from the frenetic feel of the work week. Of hanging out with friends. Of taking a day to sit at home and re-connect with the family. Lately, Friday means getting out of work earlier than most and getting a head start on the things that we didn't or can't get to during the week.

Meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning the toilet, laundry, paying bills.

It's harder than ever for me to get these 'regular' things done because Grammie needs a fair amount of attention. In addition to the day to day cooking for her, organizing her days and such, there's the other things that she needs and has every right to want taken care of. Things like nail care, hair care, church, going out to eat. I never expected I'd ever say I didn't want to go out to eat... I don't really want to go out to eat. She wants to do it all of the time. I like it to be a treat. And she can't really do those things on her own anymore.

Anyway, a fourth person in the house has an impact I'd never really appreciated - or had to appreciate - before now. There is another person's needs/desires around food to take into consideration. There are safety concerns around her cooking on her own especially when we're not home. The bathroom, kitchen and floors get dirtier when there's a fourth person here so I can't fudge on doing things like cleaning the toilet when I could when it was just the three of us. Certainly, the fact that both Twig and Grammie aren't exactly aware of or care about how messy they are adds to the mix a bit. Sometimes I get really frustrated. Most times I try to come up with a solution that will make things easier for everyone. And I always remind myself that while some things are personality driven and extremely annoying I can't change who another person is. And that the reason she's here is because of her disease process.

Truth be told, Wood and I seem to be adjusting to this new life of nightly trading of sleeping spots (I'm on the living room futon, he's on the bed with Twig or he's on the futon and I'm in the bed) whilst Grammie is in Twig's bed. Twig seems to be adjusting to it okay. And I'm trying to let him check out if he needs to (e.g. Grammie and Wood went to dinner without us tonight - what a treat!). We all are sort of figuring out how 4 people shower and pee in the mornings with only one bathroom. And we keep communicating about day to day activities like who needs to be where and by when, who will drop off and who will pick up, where we will meet in between. We are trying to carve out individual time and family time. And hopefully we'll find sex time. Given that last statement, you'd imagine that we haven't had the time to even think about looking for a new place. We are doing well working as a team but we aren't getting used to the pace that we have to keep to ensure things are working well.

Hence, Fuck, It's Friday! No time to slow down. Ballet, groceries, nails, hair, pharmacy, play date, church, cleaning, cooking, laundry. Exercise needs to get in there too. We'll find our sea legs one day soon. And hopefully, Friday will take on it's "it's almost time to relax" meaning, someday real soon.

Thanks for reading. And thanks for commenting. :)

Daddy's Back

And that presents its own set of challenges. Navigating his emotions in the context of everyone else's is rather hard for me. The boy has been extra shitty. And I'm no perfect role model. Bad role model, actually. Wood's learned mantra is when you walk past the dishwasher and its loaded all wrong, remember, no one is gonna die". And while I subscribe to the concept, I find myself perseverating on mundane tasks that aren't really worth pushing about. And are the things that are: Twig's nasty tone, disrespectful back talk, willful disregard for any request we make of him. Nothing works. And after a while I get enraged and want to physically hurt him.

I blame Wood. At times he's disrespectful toward me. Even when he's kidding it's not good. And Twig sees it and thinks it's okay. Then again, other parents of kids his age are having very similar challenges. Maybe it's the fact that it's summer, that grammie is living with us, that I'm working full time... Or that he lost his two front teeth. Or something.

All I know is I'm headed to kick boxing tomorrow. Cause if I don't beat the shit outta something I'm gonna beT the.shit outta someone and that should be avoided at all costs.

Don't Tell Me What To Do

Every morning, as soon as my MIL has any indication that we are awake, she parks herself at the kitchen table. And waits. For me to serve her breakfast. She'll get herself some cereal, spills milk on the floor, makes a mess.of the table, and puts her dishes in the sink - even if the dishwasher is ready for dirty dishes. She always puts the dishes in the wrong way - cups and glasses on the bottom rack, plates on the top, or some weird combination of the two. She always has to be told to put the dishes in the dishwasher. She never has been a neatnick, and never really used a dishwasher so its kind of understandable that its not her first thought or that she's not good at it. Dishes aren't her strong suit, Hell cleaning has never been her strong suit... This is nothing new. And she does have Alzheimer Disease (I'm reading The 36 Hour Day and they've taken out the 's out of the name in the 4th edition). After she puts her things near me so that I can clean up after her, she sits down at the table and waits for more food. An egg. And juice. And toast. And her medicine. She just sits there and waits. And if I'm not getting to it fast enough, after all I'm also making breakfast and lunch for Twig and myself (Wood is out of town but he's often part of that equation), she asks of she can have an egg. And watches me make it. She has Alzheimer disease and part of her behavior is annoying because she has a fucked up disease and part of her behavior is annoying because she's living in my house and I don't like most people enough to spend a weekend with them much less live with 'em. But there's more. It's been a greuling week at work and last night I skipped making a full meal for dinner. I offered left overs and promptly parked my ass on the couch with a stiff drink in hand. And she came to the living room asking me for a salad. And followed that up with "I want salad every day" with dinner. There's lettuce in the fridge. "I need cucumbers and tomatoes" every day... I don't have the energy to do a full meal every day. I'd skip meals several times a week if it weren't for the fact that I live with other other people who can't skip meals. She then talks about how she can pay for the salad fixings, contribute to the weekly food budget. Which I explain is very generous and we can work that out another time. But she presses the need for salad ingredients. And I understand! All of it. She needs roughage so she can shit (I get it, I've got bleeding hemmorhoids from eating badly). And she's asking because in reality she's a guest in my home, reliant on me for just about all of her needs. I have to turn on the shower every day because she can't do it on her own. Sequencing, any activity that takes several steps is really hard for her. And I KNOW its her disease. And I STILL feel like she's telling me what to do, how to do it, and when. I ABSOLUTELY HATE to be told what to do in that "you're obligated, bound to it because I said so kind of way". And when I'm completely overwhelmed, overextended, overtired AND doing Twig and Grammy care alone and my full-time FUCKING JOB is Grammy care and I'm doing both with too few resources: hands on deck support, money, hours in the day, etc. It doesn't take long for me to feel like the slightest expectation of me is a provocation and at best feel bitchy or at worst act badly. Jeezus, this has only begun. Right now, all I wanna do is run! But I gotta get up and make breakfast.

Self Care

Once upon a time I told my mom that the should start planning for her old age because when she got there she would not be invited to come live with me. The way she saw it, my statement was as an affront, that I didn't like her, perhaps I didn't love her. The way I saw it was that I had lived with her before and know the limits of my personality when mixed with hers. Fast forward about 15 years or so and pretty much 5 minutes after meeting my mother-in-law the same feeling welled up in me something fierce.

And yet, 10 or so years later, I find myself living with my mother-in-law.

What changed?

She did. I did.

I can no longer get on the institutional bandwagon. After spending an entire career supporting people with disabilities and seniors to live in the community, asking either of our mothers to live in an institution when we could semi-reasonably attend to their needs seems a bit hypocritical, no? And frankly, I've grown up a bit and believe that its a monumentally important task and learning opportunity for the parent, the adult children and the grandchild. Intense as it may be - I fully expect for it to be overwhelmingly okay until it's not - it will be one Hell of a learning event. Respect for your elders, familial care/love, self care, circle of life...

In true social worker fashion, I've already identified support groups for caregivers, Alzheimers specific groups, told my husband that he's absolutely REQUIRED to attend (anyone who really know me knows that I demand little beyond basic respect from people), have looked into hiring a housekeeper for the chores, hired a part time caregiver for the non-program days Grammy is home alone, talked with my employer about her needs, and will continue to put necessary pieces in place to make this good for everyone - at least as good as it can be.

I have certainly fallen into my typical coping mechanism patterns of sugar/pastry in all its forms, coffee (periodically), insomnia, and no exercise. I give myself permission to do these things because something's gotta give. NARF is correct, I am not Super Woman (but, achem, I'm pretty freaking awesome in what I do accomplish) and I know I have to take care of my health too! I have a plan, and I will develop it more fully soon. Right. after I plan my weekend away. Oh yeah! I'm going to need my alone time periodically - to cry uncontrollably, sleep, have physical space from people, to not be accessible - to be off "needed" duty for a while. I've known for years in the deep depths of my soul that this time would come. Not the details, but that I would be here and now as a caregiver, that I would have my own set of needs. And way back when I knew that I'd check out of my caregiving duties and into a hotel to relax, recharge, reboot my systems.

No time like the present, right? I think I'll be making that reservation today!

Long Time No Write

I periodically get an email from Sitemeter that gives me an overview of the activity related to this here blog. One showed up bright and early this morning and since I usually wake up before anyone else, I took a look at the stats. Something strange is going on! I haven't actually written anything and posted here on almost 8 months. Eight months! And despite that, My Lady had 25 visits last week. Downright impressive that she's been working so hard and hasn't even been trying.

All kidding aside, it has been a long time since I've taken the time to write. And wouldn't you know it if the past 8 months have been such that I could have used a visit with my Nice Lady.

In the interest of time (and the fact that I'm writing this from bed on an Android phone with my over tired 6.75 year old sleeping peacefully next to me), here's what I've been up to:

Hubbie's started a new Job - in another state.
Was a single parent for 3 months.
Managed updates and remodel of our bathroom in preparation for out of state move. While working full time.
Hired moving company.
Packed house.
Rented said house out.
Moved out of state.
Unpacked house.
Started Twig at a new school.
Worked part-time remotely and finished a couple of work projects.
Had visitors from home. (notice very big smile on my face).
Volunteered at school, took the boy to swimming lessons, and the playground after school, kept house, met my husband for lunch once a week, exercised daily, made new friends, settled into our new life and started to enjoy a slower pace.
Got a new job. Started working full-time. about two weeks before summer started.
Set Twig up for summer camp. Took on single parenting while Hubbie's been out of town for work.
Attempted to get 68 year old Mother-in-Law with early onset Alzheimers Disease living in LA admitted to Assisted Living facility in my new town of Portland, OR. Which did not happen. She's living with us now. In our two bedroom 900 square foot rental.

I always swore that I'd be the only mother living in my house. Those words are now biting me in the ass! I want to do the right thing, and I (we) will. And three weeks in, I'm realizing just how hard its going to be.

I need a Nice Lady like never before. See you soon, I hope.

Vulnerability

Well then. A woman who pretty much sums up everything this blog is about. In about 10 minutes. And I love her.

Sometimes Wood tells me that I'm "too much". My response is something akin to "I'm just enough and don't you ever forget it."

Thank you #1 Reader for turning me on to it. And thank you, Wonelle, for taking the time for yourself.

I've Got a Hot Date

I've got a hot date. Not with my bad-boy, leather jacket, cowboy boots wearing, cigarette smoking, alcoholic boyfriend (Anthony Bourdain), my 'I'll give you anything you want from underpants to grated cheese, and take it all back without any hesitation as long as you use your rewards card' boyfriend (Fred Meyer), or my geeky-smart 'I will tell you how to make the best cheesecake, pork loin, or anything else you could ever want to eat and teach you the science of doing it in a way that you'll love it so that you'll want me more' boyfriend (Alton Brown). Nah, I got a date with my husband, Wood.

I warned him, many years ago, that he'd have to promise to be my boyfriend forever if he wanted to marry me. He agreed. But as with many things in our probably better than average marriage, as it turns out, I'm in charge of making him keep certain promises. Like being boyfriend and girlfriend.

Don't get me wrong, we both want to date each other. It's just that things have been kinda off-the-hook insane for the past 4-5 months or so. No, really insane. So insane that the following list is not in correct order. I can't begin to remember the timeline. And as you read, you'll begin to understand why. (not to mention the fact that I typically remember every detail of super-hard-stressful, dare I say bad events, with startling clarity and recall)

Grammy had surgery scheduled, then rescheduled, then barely completed because she was so scared by the prospect. But in the meantime she had several falls, lost about 125 lbs. and was in such ill-health and mental capacity we were really afraid something bad was going to happen. We had to go to LA LA land to be with her twice between July and September and she fought us every step of the way (but claimed she wanted us there).

Wood interviewed for a job in Portland, Oregon just before the canceled surgery was to take place. Then in the middle of Grammy's health debacle, he was offered the job and had to secretly negotiate the terms of the deal. He accepted the job (!!) but didn't tell his mom for some time.

He finally told her - about a week before he moved to Portland. She was kind of devastated.

Some of our closest friends moved to Costa Rica. Our other closest friends didn't take the news of our moving to Portland, on the tails of friends moving to Costa Rica, too well.

My nephew was diagnosed with a rare and extremely aggressive form of cancer and was literally hanging on to his life by a thread and a prayer (a lot of prayer from a lot of people). He spent about 3 weeks in ICU and another week or two after that in the hospital.

My sister (the same sister with the son with cancer) was pregnant with my niece who was diagnosed in eutero with a bi-lateral cleft lip and palate. Did I mention her due date was 10 days after my nephew was admitted to the hospital? And that she's estranged from the dad of the baby? Because he's got domestic violence and child abuse in his past (which she found out well after she got pregnant)? That she delivered the baby when my nephew was sedated and medically paralyzed?

My family had a hard time with the news of our move. And the plan for me and Twig to be with Wood for a week at Thanksgiving was not taken well. My nephew was still in ICU. It was hard, but necessary, to leave.

My house was burglarized the day - actually the exact same time - that I had a phone interview for a job in Portland. Thank goodness the interviewer was late calling me and my neighbor called me to tell me what was happening. And that the interviewer rescheduled the call considering I had to deal with the Police and all.

I was a single mom of a kindergartner who had some behavioral problems at home and school (in a class that didn't have a great teacher), doing all of the drop offs and pick ups, cooking cleaning, shopping, etc. AS WELL AS managing household improvements/repairs so that we could rent our house out once we moved all while my husband lived and worked in Portland.

I quit a great job with fantastic people, stopped exercising, and kind of got used to being on my own again. Which was my biggest fear of living apart for a while. I can be a bit of a recluse and a bitch to live with if left to my own devices.

While there are about 500 other really tough things that happened during that time, and I can't remember (whew!), we're now in Portland reunited as a family, unpacking, starting a new school (with a much better teacher thank-you-very-much), managing challenging behaviors, mourning our losses, celebrating our gains - and addressing the gambit of the issues that go along with a family separated-moving to a new place-now reconnecting...

Hence the hot date.

It's been really cold here at times (literally and figuratively); the date was for us to work on gathering all of our resources to get and stay all cozy-warm. I'm sure that there will continue be a cold front here and there. But as one of my four readers has said so eloquently, marriages have seasons. Some are cold and some are hot. And even though I was born and raised in California, I know that no matter what, it takes work to make it through any severe weather pattern.

*************
Things on all other fronts are much better now! Nephew's cancer is better - not treated (but no more tumors!), baby is born with only cleft lip (!!), they caught the kid that broke in, I was able to reschedule my phone interview (even though I bombed it), I'm working part time for my fantastic employer in Oakland from Portland for a while, I'm running again, trying to stretch my interpersonal skills and make new friends, I've got the inclination and desire to write, and I've got my family back together again. Equilibrium will begin to show itself sometime soon. GAWD, I hope!