Facelift

When the kids hit home, there’s no telling what might happen. Sometimes everyone crashes and we step over and around sleeping bodies draped throughout the living room. Other times, we are roused out of sleep by major laughter and raised voices downstairs as sibling rivalry carries through a midnight game of Slap Jack, Risk, or Wii.

A couple weeks ago, in early May, the dominant spirit seemed to revolve around demolition and renovation. While Jeremy and Danielle tackled dismantling the outside deck in preparation for something new, Sarah launched an attack on the inner domain. 1970s wallpaper, and in one case a double layer of 1950s wallpaper beneath, was stripped and replaced with fresh paint. Old carpeting was hauled to the dump, belongings were sorted, given away, and organized, and renewed surfaces were covered with new area rugs and duvets. What a breath of fresh air!

Trust Me

Danielle’s friend, Ashley, began coming to the house to give Mom perms shortly after she earned her beautician’s license. After going without perms for several years because lying back in the chair or leaning too far forward made her dizzy, it was a huge treat for Mom to have it done again. Alas, however, Ashley eventually moved to Montana so it was a great surprise when she appeared at the door the other day wanting to set up a time to do Mom’s hair while she was home visiting family for the week.

Mom was on the tail end of recovering from the fluid build-up in her system that is an occasional arrhythmia complication, so her first reaction was that it would be too much effort. Taking a chance that she was actually able to weather the process, I insisted that we try so she begrudgingly let us roll her into the kitchen and start. These role-reversed decisions are becoming more frequent. Instead of her cornering me to take a bath, amid avid 8-year old protesting, it is now me pushing past her 98-year old grumping long enough to do something that I feel sure will please her in the end. And, thankfully, this time it did.

Because Ashley could not bring her perm supplies on the plane, she had gone to the trouble of purchasing new curlers, chemicals, and papers for this rendezvous. However, buying another special cape to wrap around Mom’s head and funnel the rinse water into the kitchen sink was not an option so we improvised by using a clean shower curtain of mine to fashion a substitute. The first time, it worked great, but silliness during the second rinse resulted in leaks and minor flooding on the floor. Of course, we stopped to take a picture because, by then, Mom was laughing and quite happy to overlook the drips.

I am thankful that the gamble paid off and Mom is enjoying her perm. Ashley promised to be back next Christmas to do it again, although, I suspect that Mom may not be up to it by then and the effort may too greatly outweigh the resulting pleasure. Some of her appointments are becoming too cumbersome for her now, as well. For instance, at her last annual eye exam she had to be transferred three or four times because her wheel chair didn’t get close enough to the machines. Yet only one of those tests is really necessary for maintaining her quality of life at this point. It is a hard call as to what is truly essential and when; caregivers in all walks of life need lots of prayers to help them make the right decisions at the right moments.

Seeing the Positive Side: If You Can't Laugh, It's Time to Quit

This blog was meant to help me sift through the mundane of my life in an effort to glimpse, name, and enjoy the intertwining, often hidden but miraculous nuggets of light that bring healing, enlightenment, joy, release, hope, or sustenance. Lately, however, I have been up to my armpits in a mire of sticky self-pity that threatens to suck the happiness and appreciation for life right out of me; so I’m going back to a basic litany (God bless my Catholic roots) of appreciation in order to get back on track. Please excuse the slightly ironic tone, but the humor does me good.

God bless Annie, who takes care of Mom when I have errands and whose recent two week absence was a painful reminder of the importance of back-up relief.

God bless Mom’s failing short-term memory. The repetition gets annoying, but there is a definite grace in having second and third chances to say or do something better.

God bless the unrelenting demands and furniture- and finger-endangering wild games of pets; for their antics lighten the load, their evident appreciation of us is satisfying, and their snuggling extends a blanket of peace.

God bless our veterinarian, who not only treats our pets, but is also sensitive to my state of mind as well. Who knew that his doctorate also seemed to cover detecting the acrid scent of imminent emotional implosion so that he could adroitly turn the conversation from cat lice to “How are you doing with Mom?” and really care about the answer?

God bless the stray pets who post “Easy Target” signs that point to our house as an inn that welcomes everyone; especially the cats who use our premises as a love nest when in heat.

God bless Mom, who is oblivious to the steady drag of time while she concentrates so hard on making sure that she puts deodorant on at least three times when getting ready in the morning and who increases my prayer life as I think to myself during transfers:  For the love of GOD! PLEASE… take…a...STEP!

God bless God, who sometimes gives me exactly what I want and then watches with muffled snickering while I wrestle with the idiocy of my self-inflicted predicament and relearn the concepts of humility and letting go.

God bless children who call, text, Skype, or pop in at just the right moment with their boundless, optimistic energy to turn our static, “old-farts world” upside down just long enough to get the blood flowing and then set us aright again before sailing out on the next high tide.

God bless scheming friends who talk me into midnight hot-tub dates if that’s the only time I can get away, cook shrimp for lunch rather than go out, listen without judgment, and keep me laughing, for they make me feel less alone.

God bless everyone in my household who can take care of themselves without noticeable spitting, farting, or grunting.

God bless Mom, who renews my spirit whenever she smiles or laughs.

And God bless Annie again, who is moving away in August, which will undoubtedly be followed closely by another implosion on my part.