I’m TOO Sexy for my SHIRT..

Dear Diary,

Even now..I’m scolding myself for letting my guard down and opening my big mouth to utter the unspeakable, into the ears (seldom functioning) of my MIL Ruth (dementia). There we were. Happily shopping our way through rounder’s of polyester, beige, elasticized waisted pants over at “SAKS” (J.C Penny). Just chewing the fat.. One minute we were all laughing and exhibiting gaiety, “Did you see Thelma’s HAIR yesterday? Heh heh heh. Looks like she borrowed Harry’s piece.. again.” Then..the very next thing I remember.. is watching in horror as the words come spilling from my mouth in one verbal puke. I was distracted. Not thinking clearly. They just flew OUT..

“Where are the FOURTEEN’S?”

“AAAACCCCK. What did you say?” Came the startled cries from my MIL.

“Who wears a FOURTEEN? I think you’re wayyyyy off. I’ve never worn a fourteen in my life.”

What do I do? OMG. She heard that? pfleh. Naaaaaah.

I looked at her and I could see her dementia increasing by the second. Her head started spinning and her eyes began to bug out of the sockets. People.. I had a SITUATION on my hands and I knew a quick recovery was my only hope.

“Nooooo. Didn’t I tell YOU? (Slapping forehead to indicate idiocy). You’re STILL a size 4. It’s just that they cut pants 10 sizes SMALLER then they did..in 1945.”

Ah HA. This makes PERFECT sense.

“Phew. Because you SCARED me there darling (small relieved, titter) hee hee hee. I knew there could be NO. WAY. You’ve always been the big one in the family.”

Oh sure.. come after ME why don’t ya? Feel better?

From time to time..I got this kind of TSUNAMI of inspiration—that caries me away to the land of all possibilities. Where I then proceed to do very rash and pathetically stupid things like.. taking my MIL back to school shopping. It was somewhat selfishly motivated but I was really getting tired of her hair looking like Don Kings twin sister. WE have a reputation to uphold over at Happy Daze Assisted Living.  Fact. Ruth has been voted for 3 years and counting, “The girl most likely to land a DEPENDS commercial” or at the very least.. a spot for Life Alert.. “Help! Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” Gawddd how we’ve practiced those lines.

Ruth’s known far and wide.. on ROAM (dementia floor, Rooms 112-358) for her amazing (and I might add..photogenic) previously high cheekbones, knock out figure, and amazing wardrobe. People bow (trip) in her presence she is so spectacular in appearance. But..sadly, there is always ANOTHER waiting to swipe her title (and date) away if negligence ensues. Hey. This is the REAL world. If you don’t keep up with the personal maintenance..some other girl like Doris will slide right in and better you with her new blue highlighted asymmetrical hair cut, denim leggings and a stylish boyfriend blazer (YOUR boyfriends) over her flannel pajama top. I can’t let that happen. Now can I?

Once the shopping was done it was time to focus on the fro. In we marched..arm in arm to see our dear friend Tessa. I gave up on the male hairdressers because it was becoming virtually impossible to have Ruth look straight ahead while in the chair.

“Ruth darling. I’m going to need you to look up for me now..so I can cut the back straight.”

RUTH (big goofy grin spreading across face)  Ohhhhh. You’re S-T-R-A-I-G-H-T?(thinking to herself and nibbling on lower lip) Hmmmmm..

ME (whispering): Stop looking at his butt and look UP will ya? You can do that on your OWN time.

Nope. Didn’t work well AT.ALL. Now we use Tessa and I’m giving directions so that we can achieve the perfect look that screams, “I may have Alzheimer’s..but I still have SOMETHIN’ going on.” Not sure w-h-a-t…but..somethin’.

“Can you take it up an inch or two in the back? Then maybe layer it..”

RUTH: Like THAT. Can you do it like that? (Pointing to a 25 year old Kim Kardashian look alike.) I think we look alike.. don’t you?

Exactly. Could be sisters.

My Sandwich Generation friends..it’s amazing how our seniors see themselves. Not as they ARE..but how they WERE. What you don’t want to do is shock them. Never tell your senior their true age or weight (pant size, shirt size.. bra size) This could bring on a massive coronary, which is hardly ever worth it. Aim ten to twenty years younger and five to ten sizes less and adjust according to the reaction. The most important lesson for us..the eldercare sandwiched masses, is at the end of the day—how our family member FEELS they look is so much more important than how they actually look. What a pile.. Keep them looking nice on the outside.. to match how they feel on the inside. You’re the one who has to see..REALITY.

Lookin’ good.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Don’t Drive Them Crazy

It’s back to school time again and my MIL Ruth (dementia) has some tips for all you kiddies out there on BUS rider etiquette.

1. Always use the potty FIRST. Accidents brought about by “bladder vibration” may label you a high risk seat buddy. NOT a title you want.

2. If you fall asleep on the bus..refrain from drooling on the shoulder of the boy or girl next to you.

3. Don’t scream and shout, “Where the halllle are we going? Aren’t we THERE yet? Take me home. When’s the movie?”

4. Feeling hungry? Please remember.. only eat the “free, green foil, after dinner mints” that you’ve had sitting in your coat pockets for months.. IF there is ENOUGH to go around.

5. Dispose of your trash (used Kleenex) properly by shoving it under the seat in front of you.

6. No pushing or shoving your neighbor OVER.. in an attempt to NOT fall down the bus stairs.

7. Never talk to the strangers on the bus..even if they know your name and SAY you LIVE with them.

8. Always stay seated until the bus comes to a complete stop to avoid landing in your married neighbors lap.

Have a wonderful school year!

VOWS of SILENCE

Dear Diary,

I wouldn’t even be having these thoughts about telling my MIL Ruth (dementia) about her brother Dick’s unfortunate passing if Uncle Dick had been a tad more thoughtful about the timing of his demise. I mean really. Who chooses MY wedding anniversary as the day they want to be buried. Ga. I had plans..all k-i-n-d-s of plans. No. This event only comes ONCE a year.. he could have died ANYTIME. I figure the only way to get out of it is to have my MIL write a note. You know..I’ll just casually say, “Hey granny..”

RUTH: WHAT? Will I write a note excusing you from Dick’s funeral cuz it’s your Anniversary and you had OTHER THINGS in mind? As. If. I have OTHER things on MY mind too and I wouldn’t MISS Dick’s funeral. Pathetic. Selfish DIL..YOU are.
On second thought the whole plan might backfire.

You see..There are two schools of thought in telling someone with dementia about emotionally charged events..

1. Do it. This choice will pretty much GUARANTEE she’ll beat the “news” to death by asking a million times in a period of an hour, “Who did you say just died?” and “What are you wearing to the funeral?” Then you will have to hear the sobbing and hysterics..

“Do you know he NEVER let me play net when we played mixed doubles? That’s right. He (sniff) thought my backhand was WEAK (sniff sniff) and he would NEVER let ME hit the bal-l-l-l. Wahhhhhhhh. We were soooo close.”

Then I would get her all calmed down..maybe sipping a Tall Chai Tea Latte (no water..sub soy) and KAPOW..she’d see some random dude, remember to ask me who died and the drama would start all over. Thank you..NO.

Which brings us to option TWO.

2. Don’t do it. I always have the option to say NOTHING and watch as within 48-72 hours of Dick’s buriel..as if picking up on some weird psychic liar vibe Ruth will all of a sudden stray into that way far off place in her Grey matter and emerge with..

“How’s Dick doing?”

ME: Um. Good. Yeah. He’s just as chill as ever.

RUTH: Well. I have an idea (OH! NO! Gawd! NOT an i-d-e-a). We could go over and visit him. Let’s see.. (pauses to recall where Dick lives) Do YOU know where he is?

Feh. Oh. Do. I.

ME (sweating as I’m forced to state some pathetic fabrication): He’s…Uhhhh..been a little UNDER the ground WEATHER these days.

RUTH: Well..that’s too bad. I don’t like to hear THAT.

Uh oh. She DOESN’T like to hear that. Drat. How bout THIS..do you like to hear THIS?

ME: No. It’s OK. He’s working for the Underground.. Big CONFIDENTIAL thing. Nobody know’s where he is. So we’ll have to wait for him to contact us. You OK with that?

RUTH: Well. I guess I am.

I feel that this could work..for a time. It’s not like I’m REALLY lying per say. I’m just mixing up all the words to form a new REALITY.

Back to my problem.. If I go to the funeral how am I to look SMOKIN’ and reverent? Can’t have my husband looking at the same hot mess he see’s EVERY other day of the year..now can I? I have a short little black dress. I could do a fishnet thing..you know high black heels, maybe a scarf for a hint of color. I happen to know that Dick..would TOTALLY appreciate this. He would prefer to have fine looking girls at his memorial. Big breasted hearted.. beautiful women. Because he was all about the heart that Dick. Heart of GOLD.. Yes. GOLDDDDD. With a little (big mother) bling set in the center..Happy Anniversary to me. (wink)

My Sandwich Generation..telling the TRUTH takes on a whole different meaning when dealing with family member with dementia. You’ll be faced with many difficult questions on the subject of truth–  that you may have NEVER dealt with before (some of you have..and I will find OTHER places to judge you). There will be the percentage of truth vs. the amount of Bull Shtick that you’ll be telling to your loved one. Then.. if you DO decide to TELL the truth— do you increase the meds and care level to accommodate the money back if not delighted S-L-I-D-E that comes when the stress of the TRUTH exacerbates the Alzheimer’s? Yup. Truth will set you free. Ha. It’s all a very complex puzzle. The best part? There is no answer. Only YOU will be able to tell..ummm..how much to tell. Or how much NOT to.

I swear it’s the truth. I do.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

We Got Busted at the Border- Vacation Part 2

Dear Grandma Ru,

How’s it going? I am writing this postcard to you while my mom and dad are in the Canadian CUSTOMS office trying to finagle their way out of being found guilty of aiding and abetting small and innocent children in a rock smuggling operation. It turns out..that those rocks we found— they’re actually GEODE’S and assorted SCHIST. Hee hee hee (snort). No.. That’s not a swear word. It’s a kind of rock we discovered while digging around the (front) of our fancy hotel. Well..we ALSO found some (laying) around the Starbucks parking lot, behind the McDonalds dumpster..ummmm. Oh yeah— in a  koi pond. You should have seen the one AlienDude found in that pond..must have weighed 45 Lbs. it was no easy feat to sneak that slippery little sucker into our duffel bag without getting busted. But..We. Did.

Everything was going along great until the customs guy asked dad, “Did you bring anything back with you?” Dad H-A-D to open his mouth and say, “KNICK KNACKS”. Seriously. What’s a knick knack? Well..That’s JUST what the border guard wanted to know. So then dad says, “Just some rocks.” Say what? JUST some rocks? We had to correct dad RIGHT AWAY.

“Excuse me dad”, we say. “Those aren’t just any kind of random rock..we found PRICELESS TREASURES. Really valuable gems and crystals and..”

The customs guy pokes his head through the back car window where we were sitting and says, “How many rocks would you say you’ve got packed?” My brother and I counted them up in our head and told him our guesstimate was about 150 or so. “PULL OVER.”

We got out of our car.. and Mom and dad told us to be cool. Don’t say ANYTHING else that might incriminate us. But then..something caught our eye. It was AMAZING. We felt compelled to hide it under our coat..because it would be so AWESOME to add it to our collection.

We had a really great time in Canada and we hope someday we will be FORGIVEN for taking all of their rocks and be allowed to visit there again. Can you come pick us up? We’re getting tired of waiting.

Love,

AlienDude and SmartAlec

P.S. We wish you were here..like last time when this happened.

What’s HOT. What’s NOT.

Dear Diary,

I was sitting with granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) over at Killjoy Senior living..when Marnie happened to REMEMBER (shocking) that 11 year old SmartAlec was wearing the same shorts and camouflage shirt he’d worn for the last three days.. again. Oh come on. You know me better than that. Of COURSE he went against my profuse objections (pflug..hadn’t even noticed). He decided that the peanut butter stains blended in nicely with the existing army pattern..so why bother to change what worked? I can see the reasoning..but Marnie? Not so much.

“When are you going to buy the children their “back to school” clothes? It looks like they’re down to (quick up and down appraisal with gaze falling on CROCS with the band hanging off to one side) NOTHING.”

This is the part where I can either defend or agree. Either way— I am so screwed.

“That’s just what we’re going to do..”

Out of the corner of my eye I’m watching both AlienDude and SmartAlec make a face at me and mouth the words, Club Penguin (the kiddie equivalent to FaceBook) with more desperation then I have ever seen. Ga. They’re more addicted than I thought.

“Next week.”

Big sigh of relief from the peanut gallery.

MARNIE: Well that makes sense.

Huh?

“That way they can see what everyone else is wearing and look for the trends.”

Oh yeah Marnie. That’s it e-x-a-c-t-l-y. I can see my nine year old AlienDude marching up to all his little dude friends asking, “So.. who are you wearing?”

MARNIE: You know I was so glad I waited that week AFTER school started to put my wardrobe together. One year all the girls showed up with dish towels wrapped around their heads like scarves. I had to think fast. So I rushed home and found..

UUUURRRRKKKK. Stop. Right. Here.

I needed to see if I understood what Marnie was telling me. Let me get this straight. The girls were wearing TOWELS on their heads? Heh. I k-n-e-w I’d been born in the wrong century. But really.. TOWELS?

MARNIE: They weren’t exactly towels..more like flour sacks.

OK. Better.

MARNIE: Each girl would cut up a flour sack or a sugar sack into a.. you know..

NO. I. DON’T.

MARNIE: A scarf. Then some would make fringe on the edges, a hem or some kind of writing like mine— that said (pausing to recall) FISHER FLOUR MILLS inc.

Oh. Kind of like having Gucci printed all over..only better.

Just then I notice Marnie staring over my shoulder..and turn to see a guy smiling broadly at Marnie and Marnie..sucking it up. She leans over and whispers..

That’s NED. He’s MY NEIGHBOR. He’s SINGLE.

Wuddya say granny? Not sure they heard you..ACROSS the street.

Ummm. Question. How does a person go from being a real snappy dresser in their youth..to a dude wearing plaid polyester trousers pulled up to his man boobs? Then for the “tough guy on the move with his walker” look.. add a hurl green nylon cardi, thrown over a tee shirt that reads, “Don’t act sexist! My beeotch hates that.” What happens to the judgment.. people? To ALLOW this kind of flagrant disregard for appropriate mens wear dressing to be flaunted up and down the halls of KillJoy is a..a..TRAVESTY. Meh. I guess we should just be applauding the fact that Ned is actually..dressed and stop at that.

No. Age is no excuse for this sloppy, complacent dressing attitude. Ned may be feeling cocky these days knowing that the ratio is something like 52 women to two men. His competition is nothing to swell to look at either. It’s that “guy” attitude of: Why should I bother.  I’m not going anywhere that I’m going to see anyone I know..and if I do..I won’t remember that I know them.. so who cares. Now change the channel BACK to football. Belch.

“So what do you think of him? Any potential?” Marnie slyly asks me after she and Ned have exchanged pleasantries and important information (complete review of the Obituary section of this weeks newspaper.)

Well. I suppose..with some work. Ga. First thing to go would HAVE to be the tee. Doesn’t he have a nice plain wife beater tee lying around..he could wear instead?

According to Marnie (a highly accurate source..if you don’t mind the 20-35% range) Ned was a real dapper dandy. All the girls would throw themselves in his path..screaming “pick me Neddy.. I’ll wear your pin”. He was very popular and soooo handsome. And..did you know—the girls STILL fall all over him?

Sure they do. The women are TRIPPING left and right.. over his walker and SPLAT.. to his Hush Puppies slipper-ed feet.

Marnie has been complaining about her eyes lately. She’s going to pick out some new designer frames that will hold lenses with a 4-inch thickness. Maybe we’ll all go and do that and the SCHOOL shopping at the same time. So let’s talk AFTER you get your new eyeglasses Marnie.. on what’s HOT and what’s NOT for Fall. K?

My Sandwich Generation..you can never become a slacker when it comes to fashion. If your senior loses his or her fashion sense and wears an outfit that SO doesn’t work..feel free to gently dissuade your loved one from that bad fashion faux pas. Sometimes as the aging process progresses..our family may forget what decade they are living in or lose touch with reality and try to wear their heavily beaded chartreuse blouse with a wool dress jacket and velveteen slacks in the August heat. For dinner. It’s not even a black-tie affair. H-e-l-l-o? My MIL Ruth. Of course my MIL has dementia..so she can do anything she darn well pleases. Go through your seniors closet with them and put together comfortable (and washable) choices that will always look fab. You’ll be glad you did.

Hope the towel thing comes back in.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

I slept on the dirty ground. Our Vacation Part 1

Because my MIL Ruth (dementia) and granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) were not (unfortunately) INVITED able to attend our family camping trip.. I took these FAB pictures that speak VOLUMES for the kind of wonderful time that we had..without them.

Oh look..see how WELL “your kids” get along? Shocking.

Never mind the wind chill was about 30 below zero on the deck of the ferry and they were huddled together to avoid hypothermia..we were just so DRAT EXCITED to be going camping in the San Juan Islands. I know there was some concern Marnie.. about how I would be CATCHING the food. You worried needlessly..as there was a Starbucks right down the road from the RANGERS with a minimal wait time.

Look Ruth.. this could be your new HOUSE BOAT.

The boys heard all the stories about how YOU used to be a skipper on your OWN little waterski boat..remember? Maybe not. In the olden days (when a boat cost..about two weeks worth of boys combined allowance) you used to cruise all over. AlienDude and SmartAlec thought it would be nice for us to make a purchase of OUR OWN. heh. This one was a l-i-t-t-l-e out of our price range.

This ONE..on the other hand..

I think we found our NEW boat. Yes. I do think we could even ski behind it.. in our FREE time.

OMG. Surprise. He found a rock.

It’s no surprise that SmartAlec would find THIS priceless piece of obsidian after digging through the entire rockery in the Shwanky Shwank Hotel garden— over a period of two days. No. Don’t be concerned. He most certainly did NOT keep ALL of the rocks he liked. Only 50% of them.

HAPPY MEAL

Dear Diary,

I am sitting here watching Granny Marnie (electric scooter girl).. watching my eldest child SmartAlec— ravage his food. Exciting? Perhaps not for you. But may I go on record as saying that there is nothing more entertaining (sorry Tori and Dean) as witnessing Granny Marnie’s look of sheer HORROR as her 11 yr. old great grandson shoves full salad plate sized PANCAKES into his eager little mouth in ONE bite. I would compare her reaction, to.. one I might expect to see in the random ZOO observer..while visiting the reptile house (on a Sunday afternoon..7/3/06). Oh look. It’s Mr. King Cobra enjoying his afternoon repast of ..some kind of prey he’s now swallowing whole. EEEEEEK..OOOOOHHHH. EHHHHHHH. BLECCCCH. How disgusting. Vile, depressing and yet—d-i-s-t-u-r-b-i-n-g-l-y fascinating. Personally..I ran away at the first sign that Mickey Mouse was something MORE than the play-date I though he was. Marnie this morning—is living THIS moment.. Mimicking, motion-by-motion SmartAlec’s gustatory style:

1. Focuses in on the captured food stuff (flap jack) stabbed by (cheap stainless steel) weapon..

2. Eyes bulging out wide with anticipation and then..

3. O-p-e-n-i-n-g of Mouth real WIIIIDE.

As quick as can be..BAM. IN. IT. GOES. Swallowed in one gulp.

“Repulsive. I have never seen anyone eat like that..ever. Did your mother teach you to eat like that?”

Oh. Yeah. Marnie. I sat my boys down at a very young age and instructed them in the fine art of Cro-Magnon table etiquette. “Hey boys. Don’t make me ask you again to go spit out your tree bark before you squat down on mommy’s nice clean hovel floor. GA. How many times do I have to tell you to USE your fingers? NOT your flint tool when you shove that (some species of dinosaur) into your mouth. Can you chew HIM up really well sweetie before you take another bite?

You know I should have been alerted to this tendency in SmartAlec as a young lad. When it came time to “OPEN” for a spoonful of rice cereal mixed with applesauce and sweet potato (the average 10 month old fare of champions) SmartAlec would put his little baby hands around mine and shove the whole mess into his face. Marnie doesn’t think this is cute at all.

“I can’t STAND it. SmartAlec—take that out of your MOUTH now.”

SmartAlec is looking at me all.. “do I do as she says mom?” with his cheeks bulging out to the max.. unable to utter a sound for fear of spewing pancakes all hither thither. I caught out of the corner of my eye.. his little brother AlienDude trying to inconspicuously scoot HIS chair over to the table across the way. Might it be weird for you to sit with STRANGERS dear? Always a shy child..I was impressed by AlienDudes apparent boldness in desperate times. While— In a universe far far away.. Thinking his way out of tough dilemmas is one of SmartAlec’s strong points. I watch him chew and swallow..little by little with his napkin shielding him from the eagle eyes of granny..who NOW has a new mission in life. What’s this? He’s pretending to CRY and dab at his eyes to elicit sympathy from.. Miss. Manners on crack. Ha. Don’t count on it.

“How can I E-V-E-R take you out again..eating like THAT. Why don’t I let you go sit outside and be all “nom nom” with your “eats” sitting in a barn with other ANIMALS for company.”(Not an exact quote..but you get the gist) I’m praying here that SmartAlec doesn’t finish too quickly what’s in his mouth knowing there’s NOTHING he would like MORE..and I don’t want Marnie to get her Granny panties in a (bigger) bunch then they ALREADY are. So. Say NOTHING child of mine if you know what’s good for you.

ME: Marnie. OMG. Look over there. Isn’t that Bertha Groonley with that Frank guy? I thought Irma was going out with him. What happened?

Am I the mother of all awesomeness or what? I know Marnie has a weakness for all things higher learning. She is definitely going to want to own this little piece of somethin’ for the dinnertime conversation du jour.

MARNIE (waving to Bertha to come over to our table): Well.. How are you doing d-e-a-r? I’d love to introduce you to my kids..

BERTHA (looking straight at SmartAlec): What a nice young man you have here Marnie. I have an adorable great granddaughter who would L-O-V-E to play with him.

Bwahahaha. SmartAlec’s eyes are tearing up..again and he is trying to swallow really fast now..without choking and making some sort of guttural sound. If I had felt that it was really important to UNDERSTAND him, I might have sidled up..listened really closely..and deciphered an emphatic..NOOOOOOOO. But. I was enjoying this MUCH. TOO. MUCH. With pancake shoved in there it came out..MEEEEEH.

Marnie and Bertha looked delighted..for a split second. Then the attention shifted once more to the table in the corner. Stupid move over at the Johnstone party of five table, AlienDude. Probably shouldn’t have guffawed as loudly as you did and brought full attention YOUR way.

Every time we go out for a meal now with Marnie..SmartAlec knows that in order to survive the scrutiny of granny he will need to perform his dining ritual in true British royalty form. He will cut up his food using something other then his TEETH and he will n-e-v-e-r have so much in his mouth at any given time.. that he won’t be CLEARLY understood when he says NO to a playdate..with people driving pink bikes.

I’ll take mine to go.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Car Wreck

Dear Diary,

People (My MIL Ruth) are asking for their car keys back so they can drive again. I had to go through the a-g-o-n-y the first time when she was TOLD (not by ME.. are you kidding?) that she either had to “hand um over” or foot the tab for the state patrol to bring on extra off duty police officers. The plan was the cops fuzz would RIDE 2 miles in front of her— specifically to clear a path as she gingerly traveled down Interstate- 5 in an almost forward motion. I don’t have any idea why NOW..she’s seeking reinstatement Oh. Like WHAT Ruth? You’ve gotten over dementia and feel your ready to try your hand at something you were never much good at in the first place. Is it that SUDDENLY you’re feeling the need for speed and the desire for freedom? How about you settle for borrowing Harry’s wheelchair and I’ll push you really fast around the DOWNSTAIRS lobby. If THAT’S not freedom then I don’t know WHAT. IS.

This is how I think granny got it in her head that it was time to drive herself for a change. I was a little bit overly enthusiastic at her ability to read a construction sign with ease and I drove her past a place of high quality scenery. Yup. That did it. Here we were cruising at 15 mph through a work zone and Ruth was checking out all the hot workman dudes (who she says, kept waving at HER). When one of the guys in his orange vest— flung himself in front of our oncoming vehicle and pointed at a big orange sign with humongous letters..

RUTH: Oh. I think he wants me to read that to him (giggle giggle). Roll down the window. Let’s see..(straining to read tiny print)

Metal. Plate. In. Head. Oh dear GAWD! He’s got a metal plate in his head. Should we give him money?

While Ruth was close regarding the text on the sign..no cigar.

ME: AHEAD. It says a-h-e-a-d.

RUTH: It was an honest mistake. Anyone could have made it. Bet THELMA wouldn’t have caught that detail. Is it MY turn to drive?

QUIZ: HOW TO KNOW IF YOUR SENIOR IS READY TO DRIVE..AGAIN.

(Please hand your senior a #2 pencil and allow them 20 min. per question)

VISION

1. When walking down the halls of Happy Daze Assisted Living..ROAM (Alzheimer’s) floor, your MIL will observe consistently:

A. Milton’s walker pushed out in front of his outstretched legs

B. The wall in front of the dining area (or any wall for that matter).

C. Her bedroom door with someone’s name marked in big block letters..R.U.T.H

D. All of the above

E. Are you kidding? No freakin’ way on any of the above.

2. Your (my) MIL can see and recognize objects in the range of:

A. Three to Five feet.

B. One to Two feet.

C. Six inches

D. Nose to nose with spit hitting your face when conversing.. asking “is that YOU in there Adrienne?”

(Potty Break. Pencils D-O-W-N)

HEARING

3. When the hearing aid is turned up to HIGH..your senior can differentiate between a cell phone ring tone and a real Police Siren. T or F

REACTIONS

4. In case a Police vehicle is tailing your senior (for not stopping at a “red” because they “forgot”)..your elder family member would take the following steps:

A. Step on the gas so as to try and “help” the officer catch the crook up ahead. After all.. it is her civic duty.

B. Pull over fast (now we’re talking). To avoid being followed by some fool playing “loud and annoying noise” on their radio (maybe NOT).

C. Slam on the brakes..because they “can’t remember” WHAT they are supposed to do.

FLEXABILITY

5. Granny can get in and out of her vehicle correctly without:

A. Smacking her head on the door frame thus messing up her hair-do.

B. Asking for assistance as to “what foot goes into the car first.”

C. Asking “now what do I do?” upon entering.

D. Getting in the BACK seat.

E. Demanding why she needs to wear a seat belt. Refusing to wear seatbelt the “right” way. Prefers the shoulder strap be placed UNDER the armpit for less wrinkling.

So how’d they do? I’d like to ask that you check their answers with the correction key listed below b-e-f-o-r-e making any hasty decisions.

1. B and D- Your senior MUST be able to see a wall so they don’t crash into the divider on the highway when they drive at night..on the streets of.. PARIS?

2. C- Granny must be able to see 6 inches in front of her. She’s NOT going to remember where she’s going ANYWAY so any further is a waist. Plus. She’s only going to be driving 15 mph so she can pull up nice and cozy like to an object and do a hard assessment before running it over.

3. This was a trick question. If your senior is driving with a cell phone in her car and it rings (with a siren ringtone.. because it’s her DIL) she had BETTER NOT even think to pick it up. Ga. If she gets a TEXT and she secretly reads it at the light..I will SO turn her ASS in. Got it Ru? NO texting while driving.

4. C- If an officer of the Law is following so CLOSELY behind.. that by you stepping on the breaks he is forced to rear-end you. Well, then I’d say.. you just get out of the car all bent over, shuffling around dazed and confused (as you usually are) and he will feel like crap. Then– he’ll have to pay all kinds of settlement money. If you don’t..speak.

5. A- This one was sooooo easy. Granny HAS to be able to get in a car without messing the hair. If the hair is no good.. Granny might as well just turn around and head back up stairs. If the hair cost $45 at She She Poo Salon and Spa and it gets taken down by a doorframe..hysteria of DIL may ensue along with total devastation by granny. Not a pretty site.

How did your seniors do My Sandwich Generation colleagues? Remember..taking away the keys the FIRST time is traumatic enough.. if you’re FORCED to go that route. This symbol of freedom is being yanked away from our elder family member and this could cause some serious mental health issues. I’m not SAYING that Ruth’s dementia was caused by taking the keys away..per say (Please note..there is no science to back this up.). I’m just sayin..15 years ago– she was a HECK of a lot more “with it” then she is today. Still. I’m SO. NOT. Evahhhh going to give them back. Did I mention the final test assessment? YOU my dear MSG friend will need to sit in the back seat..with duck tape over your mouth and allow them to drive you to the mall. Good luck with that.

Gotta GO. It’s green.
A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

SLEEPING AROUND

Dear Diary,

Something is not quite right over at Happy Daze Assisted Living. It’s just to drat silent and I’m starting to be unnerved by the strains of NOTHING filling the air up on ROAM (dementia floor). I walk through the faux bookcase and not ONE person is perched behind the door for me to smash. There is ALWAYS an escapee waiting patiently for some unsuspecting UPS dude to walk onto ROAM.. clueless that it’s an Alzheimer’s floor. Ga. They are so polite in holding the door open for any con (Shirley..But I’m not pointing fingers) to politely nod and pretend to be fully functioning. Then hastily dash out towards the elevators and try to ascertain which button is down.

Not. Today.

There is no one hunched over in the hallway pointing at my butt and shouting “maybe you should do our exercise class.” Or people sitting on the bench across from the fish tank asking every passer by, “When’s the bus ride? Are YOU taking us on a bus ride?” Wait. What’s this? It looks like one of the mean girls JoJo and her pissy posse..Marie, Marie L. and Greta 2.. all chillin’ around the service elevator door.

“Hi girls. Sup?”

JOJO: Hi sweetheart (leaning in for a kiss). Well..are you looking for your MIL? She’s on the couch sound asleep.

ME: (trying my best to avoid kiss because of overwhelming Adidas Fruity Rhythm perfume application that will adhere to me like wax to an eyebrow hair.) It’s 10:30.. what were you doing all night?

I swear I caught Marie give Marie L. a look like.. “Shut up and say N-O-T-H-I-N-G. She’ll squeal and we’ll be forced to beat her up with our walkers.”

GRETA 2: We heard through the grapevine..that your Ruth was up all night giving guided tours of other residents’ bedrooms.

ME: Was it by appointment or was she just going in un-announced?

JOJO: You know I’m not allowed to answer that. It breaks the code. But, if you want to text me..

ME: Forget the texting Jo. Let’s go primitive and I’ll CALL you from Ruth’s room. Will you spill then?

I went over to Ruth’s room to call up Jo and the line was busy. No doubt the whole FLOOR was in on a conference call. Time to go direct.

Usually at this time of the morning there is an exciting stretching class going on. Ruth loves the class because they always serve some nice refreshments..muffins, cinnamon rolls or some other such nourishing fare to fuel a body that is burning through fat storages like nobody’s business. One hand holding a Maple bar.. the other doing wrist circles. Noooo WONDER my MIL’s last season knit pants are now being used as compression hose. This morning I do not hear the all too familiar strains of Frank Sinatra singing “Luck be a lady” and I sure as heck DON’T hear the workout CD I put together..which is SO much better. Really. If you want to get the old heart rate up may I suggest Madonna, Lady Gaga, LL Cool J—Hearing THAT..I can almost forget where I am (like the rest of them).

As I rounded the corner into the dining room..I found myself gazing into the eyes of no less then twenty-two residents doing..ABSOLUTLY NOTHING. Yup. You heard correctly. Sitting in chairs all set up in a semi-circle..completely engrossed in just one thing. The couch. Now..I can ask you.. “What’s so interesting about a couch?” But, I won’t because..duh. This is a dementia floor and this is what’s FUN.. looking at a piece of furniture. Even more fun when my MIL Ruth is snoring on it. Plus, right now the most fascinating thing is to watch Ruth shout out from the couch in her sleep, “I don’t care that I already had breakfast. I don’t remember it. I want another.” Sorry folks..time to wake up your pastime.

“Don’t wake her up..we want to see what happens next.”

John..may I suggest a game of cards with Faye? She has NO ONE to cheat out of lunchtime Jell-O delight. Run along now.

“Ru..rise and shine. Time to wake up. You don’t want to miss all the excitement do you?”

RUTH (opening eyes and looking MORE confused): Oh hi there. What are YOU doing here so late? Excitement? Like what?

ME: Well..ummm.

I notice that all the “audience” is leaning forward in their wheel chairs trying to make out the conversation without being completely obvious about it. Like Greta 1. Who just slyly cranked up her hearing aid so she wouldn’t miss a word.

ME: Don’t you have a Happy Hands class or story time or SOMETHING this morning?

Just then I hear Janet shout at Faye..

“Would you hold down that racket? I missed the last part..”

ME: For those of you that were talking to your NEIGHBOR and didn’t h-e-a-r me..

RUTH: Ugh. I had SUCH a night last night. I remember that I was wiped out from the bus ride and I walked into my room to jump into bed. And you’ll never guess who was in there already. Lucy.

AUDIENCE: (collectively) Gasp.

RUTH: That’s right. She was in my nice 500 thread count, pima cotton sheets— drooling all over my nice foam pillow. You know the one?

ME: (nothing to say..just nodding..because I know the pillow from the 25 years of use.)

RUTH: I don’t know HOW she got in there and she had me all confused because I wasn’t even sure that WAS my room. Then I had to go find my real room or another one because I was beat.

LOUD NOISE IN BACKROUND

AUDIENCE (in unison): Pipe down Faye.

RUTH: I wondered around the streets (hall) for awhile until I got to Selma’s room. I wanted to see if she had any room for me in her bed.

ALBERT: That wasn’t SELMAS room.

RUTH: No. I guess not. At this point we were all up..so why not go take a stroll in the court yard? I organized a walking group.

ME: Did you go out?

RUTH: No..I don’t think so. Where would I go?

ME: On a walk.

RUTH: Oh. Yeah. (Long pause) How did you know I went for a walk. Jo? We have a code. Well..anyway, I got very nervous because I noticed I was being followed. It’s scary what goes on around here at night..

I glanced up to see one half of my attentive audience passed out in their seats. The other half were turned to witness John getting his bootie kicked by Faye who was screaming, “I win. I win. Loser. No Jell-O for YOU.” Looking at Ruth..I knew it was nap time. Mine.

My Sandwich Generation— one never knows with whom one will be sleeping with.. on any given night over at your OWN local Happy Daze Assisted facility. You can try to mark your seniors door area with all sorts of colorful memorabilia (bows, tennis balls, pictures of me, NORDSTORM charge cards) but please don’t be surprised if a “guest” shows up for a bit of a nap in the wrong bed. Prepare yourself and your senior for the unforeseen. Screaming loudly only has a tendency to wake up the neighbors and make matters worse. And I won’t do it again.

Sweet dreams.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

A Peachy Life

Dear Diary,

I am sitting here with my granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) in her apartment over at KillJoy Senior Living: if it’s not already done—we’ll do it to you.. reflecting on the amazingly full life of Papa G. who passed away yesterday. Before I get into the details of our conversation..I need to give you an idea of this mans greatness. Just writing this part chokes me up to the point that I may need to borrow one of those used snotty tissues Marnie is now pulling out of her bra to blow her nose. While watching her do this is a little unsettling—I have promised myself that just for TODAY I will totally hold my tongue and say N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

Papa G. was a man that all women adored and the men.. well, they just promised their wives they would try “really really hard” to be just like him. Possessing qualities that were incredibly rare for his gender.. an impeccably maintained meticulous closet, organizational skills were “other worldly” and the uncanny ability to marry a bold knit pullover with a Brooks Brothers washed oxford candy stripe sport shirt, a basic tan slack and finish with Ferragamo’s Laguna loafer.. for a look that rocked the house. Every old dude over EIGHTY was sporting the same look within days. I wouldn’t of even THOUGHT to pick up the teal in the cable knit and pare it with pink. But Papa G… he wasn’t afraid to make statements. No sir. Poly blend was for sissies.. he was a cashmere man through and through.

“Marnie..how about a little fresh fruit to perk you up?” I yell. My head’s stuck inside the dark depths of the refrigerator searching for something of nutritional value that will also help granny with some..uh hum.. regularity issues. I had made a nice cooked fruit dish earlier..added all kinds of high fiber goodies. Marnie inhaled it. In hind sight I should have put one bag less of pitted prunes in there and added a..WARNING label. Ga. Almost killed us all off. I pull out a heaping container of cut up peaches from the back and generously scoop them into two bowls for Marnie and I. We dig in and resume our chat about the kind of husband Papa G. was.

“Do you know that in all the years we were married..we never ONCE had an argument?”

Being that I’m not stuppppid. I will not do anything but agree with this comment. Even though..HOLY COW..I could tell you about some “discussions” in which Marnies reckless electric scooter driving habits caused plaster to fall from the walls in chunks and Papa G. to usher some sweet words of reassurance:

“MARNIE..geez-uz. What the HALLLE are you trying to do? Demolish the house? Can’t you steer that thing without taking out a door? How hard can THAT be?”

I’m beginning to think that the same memory loss mechanic that naturally occurs after labor..also happens after a death. We forget all the pain that we’ve endured and just remember the joy. All of the wonderful trips to far away lands like.. Alaska and.. Cincinnati. The amazing parties, the delish food..

I’m shoving the peaches into my mouth..like a woman who hasn’t eaten in..at least the last couple of hours. Can I help it that food during stressful times needs to be given in a steady stream to avoid catastrophic incident. Marnie also is enjoying seconds on the peaches. They were positively addictive and with each bite we felt a little bit more joyous..the grief was actually being lifted off of our shoulders by the MAGIC peaches. We continue talking on and on. I am POSITIVE that the first thing Papa G. will do upon his arrival and check-in at the pearly gates.. is first pick up his wings.. then head out to 7th Heaven Golf and Country club and set up a rematch with Grandpa Max. Papa G. will kick his HALO to the curb. No. Doubt.

Marnie and I are getting a teensy tiny bit giggly. More PEACHES Marnie. Burp. Tee hee hee. Burp.

“Where did these come from anyway? They’re like so (hiccup) AMAZING.”

MARNIE: Ohhhhhh. Did you find these in a BOWL in the back?

ME: Yessssssss.

MARNIE: Lara brought those over. They’re called Vodka peaches. (pause) I can’t remember WHAT she put in them..

Marnie and I are feeling only a little pain at the moment and lots of bliss. We are celebrating ninety-six years of a life well lived. We’re going to miss the old guy. Because G. rarely took a day off from work.. he really does deserve a break and a few holes of heavenly golf after a life so packed and juicy sweet. Dear papa G.—
P.I.P…

Hiccup

ummm. R.I.P

A