UNDER OBSERVATION

Dear Diary,

My day started out with me over on Happy Daze Assisted’s— ROAM floor (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) shrieking to my MIL Ru (dementia).. full of shock and horror as we gazed into her closet together. “What do you MEAN you can’t remember what you used to put this Oscar de la Renta blazer with? Are you kidding? Think. Think hard. Could you have put it maybe with an off white cami or a black scoop neck silk shell?”

Ru’s just standing there racking her long term memory banks, which are SUPPOSED to be still able to put out all kinds of important data when called upon by the user. But at THIS.. my most important hour (since I’ve procrastinated as per usual), when I need to find something in the vintage section of Ru’s closet to wear to a party.. we had a drat hardware glitch.

All the signs were flashing SYSTEMS ERROR as granny, after fingering the texture of the black crepe material with satin cuffs for about at LEAST a full minute—which I cannot emphasize ENOUGH people.. given her talents and abilities, is absolutely ludicrous. Seriously, I’m thinking THIS. IS. IT. Anything over five seconds to pair a simple (yet elegant) blazer with a top, can only spell trouble.

Ru proceeded to shakily move towards her green and white hoochie cotton tank, with a look of “could this WORK?” written all over her pale and drawn face. She nervously inserts the tank into the jacket and fiddles with the jeweled buttons. My heart is pounding remembering (because SOMEONE has to) that perhaps THIS was the slide that I’ve been warned about. The one that can strike unexpectedly.. pffft and totally catch you off guard (only if you’re heads up your kazoo and you’re in total DENIAL, which I am most definitely NOT). Then your next task is to quickly readjust your expectations so as to not put added PRESSURE and induce performance anxiety in your senior.

“Oh my friggin LAWD Ru? H-e-l-l-o.. you can’t be SERIOUS? Are you going to tell me that you’d even THINK to go out to a formal function pairing those together? What would you put on the bottom.. tan CAPRIS and a ballet flat?”(snort)

Then I see Ru..who’s still deep in her trance like state (no need to insert JACK here) move with great inner fortitude and obviously some kind of dare I say, PLAN.. towards, a solid black trouser. Jeeeezus. Sheer GENIUS. Yeeeeees granny! I see where you’re going with this. I’m thinking if she picks up the faux jade cuff and the pair of black slides.. I’m going to have that coronary you’ve heard me refer to time and time again.

“First of all.. if it’s a formal— I’d consider going long (rubs smooth, freshly plucked jaw line) but the only long gown I have is pink and has LIPS on it and might FIGHT the h-e-a-r-t-s on the long terrycloth jacket (robe) if you wear them together. I might be tempted to put you in something more like THIS..”

See you guys? I got all worked up for nothing. Ha! It would be perfectly acceptable for me to wear a stripy tank with red knit (holding them up to get a better look) LEDERHOSEN and an orange floral print scarf.

I of course have only one thought at this point.. Go see what Blanche has next door in HER closet. Oh come on! I’m KIDDING. I’m just going to veer off for a sec.. It’s not the bestttttt idea to have too many choices in your seniors closet. Especially with dementia— given that excess can cause all kinds of confusion when your loved one rises to go out cruising the hallway at 2:00 am and needs to throw a little something “darling” on. To have to riffle through ten pairs of slacks (dark, light, tweed, denim) and about 15.. no, make that 20 assorted tops.. to find something both age appropriate (anywhere form 35-95 depending) and seasonal (always hot, humid and 85 inside) can lead to utter chaos, headaches and over medicating (you).

Ru’s still examining away.. all the contents of her rather full closet. Shoving this and that around like the SEASONED stylist that she is. When— shock of shocks.. she stops DEAD in her tracts as she comes upon a chocolate brown set of flannel pajamas with cupcakes on them. In all fairness.. these may sound a tad UGLY but oh people.. they are no more disturbing to look at then those fleece onsies everyone’s wearing.. SNUGGLIES. Bah. Granny takes the hanger with the PJ’s attached and starts waving it in my face all, HOW did t-h-e-s-e get here again? I thought I threw them in Selma’s toilet.. but joy of joys here they are. Want them? Wait a minute. Are we discussing this again? (shaking head incredulously). Ru looks at me like it’s ME that has cognitive impairment (this is where you zippppp it friends) and is all smirks, “I didn’t KNOW we discussed it a first time.”

Oh yes dear MIL.. we most certainly DID. After you woke up in the middle of the night and in your sleepy state started shrieking, “What do I have ON? Dear GAWD. Who did this to me? These aren’t MY jammies.. they have cupcakes on them” Woke up the whole floor. Everyone was talking about it.

I’m still puzzled by my MIL’s abilities. We think it’s fine to dress with our shirt partially buttoned and our bra peeking out, “because they’re showing it in the MAGAZINES”, but the minute we see a pattern that’s slightly BOLD we let evvvvvveryone know of our displeasure. Hmpf. My Sandwich Generation, don’t EVER think you know what’s coming next for you in the way of eldercare and your seniors aging pattern. If you think about it.. the element of surprise is p-r-o-b-a-b-l-y the best way to go. Please remember (cuz you CAN) to keep it simple.. and take it ONE step at a time.

Cupcakes anyone?

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

NEW YEARS RESTITUTIONS

Dear Diary,

I’m highly perplexed because as I stand at the entrance of KillJoy Senior Living’s dining room I’m being greeted by a pair of beady, stabby with a dash of guilt ridden, EYES belonging to my Granny Marnie.. resplendent with dark brown penciled slasher brows (which obviously I can’t take credit for). Truth be told, there’s actually MORE then one pair of beady stabby eyes with crappy brows.. but THAT pseudo friend of Marnie’s, Gertie, ALWAYS has that look of gastrointestinal distress or a bad case of hemorrhoids (the choice is yours) every time she sees me. OBVIOUSLY she’s still holding on to some petty grudge against me for not alerting her to the fact that she had a rather large quantity of NORTHERN quilted bathroom tissue hanging off the back of her polyester pants leg when we walked out of the ladies lounge together.

Excuse meee (sing song voice). Please don’t judge my actions until you get the full story. I didn’t SAY anything because.. b-e-c-a-u-s-e I couldn’t catch up to her. She was limping WAYYYYY too fast now that her cast is off and she’s figured out how to use that staff she wields like Queen Nefertiti to propel her across the floor. Oh pleeeeeze. You know what the Toilet Paper Madam said to me under her breath when we were all seated at the dinner table? She’s like, “Dear, you chew your food like cud” and I’m all, EXCUSE me? (Because I wasn’t sure I had heard right) Then she does one of THESE.. “What? Huh?” Obviously Marnie and the assorted 6-8 OTHER hard of hearing GOT it the first time. Hahaha. Cackle.. much.

As I walk closer to Marnie I see she is determined to try and pretend she didn’t see me and is bending down in her electric scooter to.. roll under the table. Not a stunt that I feel comfortable recommending to anyone sporting a hairpiece that is held in place by a singular hair.

“Ummmm. Marnie. Lose something down there or.. stuffing a few (dozen) SPLENDA packs into your bag? Here (hands over salt shaker). This is the match to the one you have upstairs.”

I happen to know when something is about to go down. Call it my sixth sense or call it being welcomed by the front desk staff with a complete shock and AWE greeting of, “How much has Marnie LOST? Oh emmm geee! She’s going to be down to NOTHING at this rate.”

Then I look at the receptionist like dude SERIOUSLY? Because you know.. she only plays BRIDGE for nickels right? I mean.. on a really pathetic day (which I may add NEVER happens) she stands to walk (whizz) away from the card table seventy-seventy-five CENTS in the hole at the very MOST. Hardly enough to hawk her scooter and dig out the knee and elbow pads.

Apparently SOMEONE in an attempt to fool herself into thinking she might actually lose 15 lbs of “water weight” in under a week.. increased the stakes a touch— by blabbing her lofty GOALS to a few choice individuals. Now KillJoy maintenance, housekeeping, nursing, book keeping, Jo Shmoe the cable man, the gardener and (as I later came to learn) the Access city bus guy.. all are keenly aware of Marnies highfalutin promises to herself and are impressed beyond measure at her amazing FIVE-pound loss in thirty-six hours. Imagine all these great results from my innocent sweet little granny sitting here next to me dropping ONE, TWO, THREE.. no wait. FOUR sugar cubes in her six-ounce coffee. No doubt, to replenish the lost carbs from her “STRENUOUS” workouts on the “machine” (Treadmill according to the mail chick. Pflugg)

Hey granny I hear you’ve advertised that the “seated, with arm mobility only” contraption has “helped you drop a pant size in two (cough) days (cough, bull.. cough, sh.. cough, hack). Congrats.” Another incredible weight loss story people.. from the girl who has a tendency to make bogus resolutions KNOWING full well that in roughly three to five business days they’re going to be chucked out the window like yesterdays fruit cake and replaced by admissions of FORGETFULNESS.

“Ma’am.. here is your eggs Benedict with a half a quart of crème sauce dumped on top to help hasten a coronary. A side of well-done bacon, for a touch of atherosclerosis and ummmm let’s see. What did I forget? Oh YES! The extra jumbo hurkin cinnamon roll you asked to be wrapped up to go for your afternoon workout. I’ll just run and get your prunes.. anything else I can do for you?”

I’m staring at Marnie transfixed. Unable to squelch the amused smile playing around my lips and a look in my eyes pretty much asking the question that I’m SURE you’re thinking.. ZOMG! ARE YOU KIDDING?????? Marnie who hath no shame says to the waiter while looking him straight in the stomach (higher.. there ya go) eyes..  all defensive and full of (fill in the blank) and indignation too..

“I’m sorry but you must have the WRONG table. Uhhhhhh. I ordered the plain oatmeal with a side of steamed non-fat soy like I get EVERY morning. (wink) Go find out who ordered this before it gets cold and I’ll just wait for mine. Ohhhh Wait. (Looks at me) Deeeeaaaaaarrrrrr.. would YOU like to have this?”

I swear.. can you even get over the nerve? The poor sweet KillJoy waiter was NOT getting Marnies body language AT ALL. The shrugs, the bottom lip pout, the winks. What’s with the winking Marnie.. you plan on slipping him a quarter when my head is turned for his l-o-y-a-l-t-y?

Granny (woefully) turned away our sweet and sorely MISTAKEN waiter.. who did indeed decide it was best to leave the heart attack on a plate for me and emerge a few minutes later with Marnies delicious and full of visual appeal, bowl of groats. Not thrilled with her lumpy bowl of lukewarm oats, Marnie predictably turned her sites to my side of the table and began to eye my every move with what I’m sure can only be categorized as.. LUST. Apparently it’s just been recently discovered that to lose weight not only must you watch what you eat.. you must monitor what everybody eating AROUND you is eating and remark on the nutritional information and how it will help increase the size of my THEIR already rather “BIGGISH posterior”. Meh

It was a lovely way to start the New Year. But don’t think for even a minute, that I would leave a perfectly good cinnamon roll sitting in some dark kitchen to meet it’s end in the trash. As we made our way out (in reverse mode) of the dining room, I promptly told grandma I forgot something and before I could go running back to retrieve my reward, she reaches into her bag..

“Looking for THIS?”

Bwahahahaha.

High FIVE granny.

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

DOPE

Dear Diary,

I don’t get it. No matter how many times I give my little motivational speech of “you’re a leader.. NOT a follower” to my MIL Ru (dementia) it ZPPPPT (swipes top of head) goes right over the top. You know.. to ENCOURAGE her to exert her independence and free thinking abilities over being one of these people (pffft.. pick one) who just takes words said to them by some random “friend” completely BLINDLY. Let me tell YOU— Then Ru finds herself waiting for HOURS on that nasty well CURED (for lack of a better word) bench in the hallway of ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) across from the fish tank, waiting for someones SISTER to come and pick her and her BFF “what’s her name” up and drive them to Cuba.. and she wonders WHY.

CUBA my ass. Think about it Ru.. did it ever OCCUR to you where Blanche would GET hold of a passport so fast when it took me THREE months to get mine? I didn’t THINK so.

Instead of embracing my message the first time I utter it, with all the other really AWESOME and important keepers.. and please don’t get me wrong. TOTALLY impressive is her product knowledge on anything Chanel Ready-to-Wear. Ru kind of lackadaisically lets it go in one ear— where it then gets unceremoniously CHUCKED it into the short-term memory bank waste receptacle.. never to be heard from again. Until the opportunity arises ONCE more (as it always does) and I find myself digging around for any shreds left (and there NEVER are) before launching in again.

This is what I’m sayin’— so when you look at me granny and say you THINK you want to start drinking coffee.. because “all the other girls are doing it” I have to scratch my head (because my crappy dandruff is acting up) and ask you, “If the OTHER girls jumped of a cliff would YOU?” To which you flippantly reply,

“Sure. Why not?”

“Ohhhhh K. Let’s try another one. If the whole dementia floor was to start smoking POT.. would YOU do it too?”

Yeah. I’ve sooo got this one. I’m going to nail her now and do a convincing closing argument. Nothing too PREECHY but I’ll get my point across and make SURE this time it sticks. Maybe.. I’ll even throw in a small r-e-w-a-r-d.. some sort of bauble. One can never have too many stretchy bracelets with plastic real looking QUARTZ thingy’s on them. THAT otta cinch the deal.. you mark my words she’ll remember EVERYTHING this time.

“I’ve smoked pot.”

The trick here is to not over react or you’re going to lose the fact gathering momentum that you now have the opportunity to enjoy and are SALIVATING for at this VERY instant. Because in your state of deep profound SHOCK and absolute inner HYSTERIA.. if you dare let it show.. even, say for one split second the whole thing will vanish before your eyes. POOF. All gone.. YOU’RE screwed.

Because I possess huge amounts of RESTRAINT, I’m able to suppress the snorts coming out of BOTH my nostrils and blink back tears that have begun their slow descent out my eyeholes. It’s a bit harder (and don’t PRETEND to not know what I’m talking about GIRLS) to stop the bladder leakage that has commenced without doing THE DANCE. Not that Ru would notice.

“Should we find you a bush or can you wait till we get home?”

DRAT. The best I can do right now while regaining composure is to PRAY my little theatrics haven’t taken her to a different place and time. Because in all honesty I don’t think I would EVEH forgive myself.

“Ru? Ummmm. You smoked (voice goes down a decibel) POT?”

“No. Never.”

Oh come ONNNNNNN. Geezusssss. It was just one little pee pee dance. I beg you..don’t leave me hanging.

“Oh really.. because I just thought you said that you smoked?”

“Nawwwww. You must be confused. Never TOUCHED the stuff myself.”

Yeah. That’s it..I’m sure you’re right. I must BE c-o-n-f-u-s-e-d. I must be standing here talking to somebody else all of a SUDDEN that looks just like you but in fact IS. NOT. I’m not letting this go because it is ahhhhhhh.. too good. Too freakin’ good. I need this. I NEED this morsel like a super model needs a good airbrush. Just this once Ru. I promise to be good and not ask for anything else (except your UGGS) ever again. Well.. maybe also I might ask for your Liz handbag..but that would be all.

What about INHALE?

(shakes head from side to side)

Brownies?

“YES”

AHHHH HAAAA!

Since I’m “HUNGRY”.. Ru reaches in her coat pocket to pull out a little delightful chocolate something from last nights dinner, wrapped up tightly in a stolen polyester napkin. Seems it was being saving just for this sort of emergency. You know, in CASE we should ever be out somewhere together and I should come down with a ferocious case of the munchies and need to be saved by a smooshed chocolate Figgy Pudding, minus (peering closely) the custard sauce on top. Always thinking (something awesome) that granny.

My Sandwich Generation friends.. it may be difficult to gauge what is indeed FACT and what is pure SHWANKY bubbling up from the depths of your seniors past impressions.  I urge you to NOT take everything that comes up.. to heart without FIRST doing some INVESTIGATING. There are going to be those times (with dementia or without) that your seniors’ words uttered.. are JUST that. Words. Mixed up feelings and thoughts that went through a huge ordeal before they even MADE it out the mouth. RESIST the urge to overreact and calmly (as if) piece together any possible story scoop that might be there. Then have a field day with the truth. The DOPE doesn’t come any better then this.

INHALE.

EXHALE.

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

PICTURE of the DAY: The gift that keeps on giving

Some of you may have doubted (hopefully) the authenticity of the last post on my MIL Ru (dementia) and the delicious and OH SO APPROPRIATE gift of an entire FRUITCAKE presented to her by Happy Days Assisted brass. According to Ru.. it was a show of thanks for her invaluable contributions (bwahahaha..please read the  320 pages of archived material) to the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor “all these past 40 years.. since I was a new bride”. After Ru’s initial disappointment upon opening the extravagant present (total raging hissy fit).. I was able to redirect granny to her room and PROVE to her and all her closest strangers friends that the GIFT really could be enjoyable and yes, EVEN USEFUL— almost as fun as playing Wii Golf. How is that possible? By simply picking up the 5 pounds of delight.. making sure to pick out the green cherries for snacking first and HURLING the rest out the open window, in bite size chunks at the nice people down below. Heh. You have never HEARD so many screams.. of delight.

Fruit Cakes

Dear Diary,

My MIL Ru (team dementia) typically has the best manners of anyone I know. She is kind to a fault, always waits to begin her meal until EVERYONE else is cued is SERVED and she never laughs at the wrong times..pffft. Like..THAT Marion. Who thought it was soooo funny when I spilled soup in Shirley’s hair. I was TRYING to help her eat.. MARION. She turned her HEAD for GAWDS sake. So.. (motioning to zip mouth). Anyway, I was completely taken aback by my MIL’S sudden change of demeanor (because that NEVER happens). I go bouncing up to the dementia floor and straight through the faux bookcase, full of vim, vigour and you know..other things which we don’t REALLY need to mention here. Only to come to a halt in front of a disgruntled MIL.

Jolly.. MUCH? I ask my pouting, MIL Ru as she stood smack dab in the middle of the nicely decorated hallway of the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor. Granny was blocking traffic flow in both directions with her arms raised above her head holding some BOX and yelling, “WHO WANTS IT? Anyone? Going once..going twice..” To absolutely NO ONE.

“I don’t get it (this is news HOW?). I saw this clown come in and he had all these boxes to hand out and everything was going so well and.. BAM! He gives me THIS (showing me badly beaten up box). WTF?”

Uhhh. RU didn’t actually say WTF.. I did—as I looked down to more closely examine the damaged box of Premium Fruitcake (Premium? Snort) weighing like a freakin TON. You know what I think this was— A pathetic and INSENSITIVE dis to my MIL and HER PEOPLE from some bogus “CLOWN” with a hefty beer belly. So Santa.. what exactly are you inferring by handing out fruit and nut ANYTHING around here buster? Personally, I don’t even THINK those words or dare mention them in even the context of “CRISP” for fear of Blanche and Selma taking it wrong, getting all defensive and screaming, “So WHAT’S your BMI these days sweetie. Have you measured your GIRTH? Hey.. This is supposed to come with whip cream.”

Hard to believe that THIS woman waving her expensive new FRUITCAKE in the air, is the very same Ru who always remembers to say a polite PARDON ME to some WALKER before she gracefully trips over it. Then as she’s painstakingly pulling herself off the floor.. she’s only consumed with the WALKERS sustained injuries over her own. Who does that? My MIL THAT’S who. Disorientated, disheveled.. her hairdo amiss, she leans over to the vacated walker and is all, OMG. I’m so sorry..I didn’t SEE you there. ARE YOU OK? I’ve witnessed it gang, time and time again. That is why I’m SHOCKED that Ru has her granny panties in a twist when instead, she should be in her room furiously roughing out her THANK YOU note.

I might have  slipped and uttered that last thought out loud because the swinging box of confection started coming closer and closer to colliding with MY person.. as if it’s all MY fault she got a cake and not the black patent pair of Chanel’s she’s been dying for. Then Ru looks me straight in the eyes (well she THOUGHT it was me.. but shhhh) and says, “I hope you’re happy (Not happy.. Ecstatic. Bah.). THIS is the thanks I get for being a good customer here all these forty years. Now you’re going to have to go all the way to NORDSTROM and return it. I. Want. Shoes.”

Poor Lena’s staring into Ru’s eyes with fear and is all, “Well.. alright dear. But how do you suppose I’m to GET to NORDSTROM to get your shoes? Are you going to drive me or am I going to walk? In the mean time— I have some shoes I can g-i-v-e youuuuu.”

“Ruuuuu. I’m over here (waving).”

“What are you doing over THERE.. when I’m talking to you HERE?” (pointing finger in Lena’s face)

Uh oh. John.. dude— can you just duck a bit and try to finesse your chair through to the right of Ru..ummm hurry fast when the box is being swung to the LEFT? OK.. annnnd on my “GO”.. NOW JOHN. MOVE. EEEE GADS. Cripes. Ru you’re wayyyy too close for my comfort in smacking Selma in the face.

As I behold my typically mild mannered Ru, who is unequivocally irked beyond reason, I have to wonder why not a nice HOT WATER BOTTLE from Happy Daze administration? Everyone needs one of those. Maybe a cute pottery bowl.. for soaking dentures or leaving hearing aid’s or OTHER assorted paraphernalia. Who wouldn’t be THRILLED to get a bowl? Wouldn’t you think while all the SUITS were  sitting around brainstorming potential gifts for their dementia residents..someone might have stood up and said MAYBE the fruit cake idea should be back burnered. Wait a minute.. Ru. Look at what Jo’s doing with her gift..

“A flower holder. GENIUS. I see where you’re going with this Jojo. So now you add some water to saturate it, (dunking fruit cake in sink) goooood and shove the cake ewwww in a vase..and VOILA! I’d say THAT’S pretty impressive. Ever thought to go pro in floral arranging?”

“What are WE supposed to do with it? Do you know?” Numerous pairs of eyes look in my direction as if I possess the knowledge that can unleash the magic POWER of the secret red box. That’s when it hit me. Why not turn this into something.. enjoyable? Interactive. “Everybody.. why don’t ya head on over to Ru’s room, say around 5:00ish and remember to BRING the “BIRTHDAY gift” you just got. We’ll open them up and drop them out my window at passersby. K? THAT would be SO fun.”

I do HOPE the administration is not expecting a thank you note.

Bombs away.. Heads!

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Knotty or NICE

Dear Diary,

It never fails to amaze me how I find myself guided serendipitously into amazing inner discovery. Today at Killjoy Senior Living: Motto— If it hasn’t been done, we’ll do it to you.. home to my granny Marnie (electric scooter girl), I learned of yet ONE MORE hidden talent (cough cough) that I possessed alllll along but SHOCKINGLY never even knew I had. As granny Marnie’s trusted (hardly ever) granddaughter, it would be my task to cut Marnies hairs.. roughly 12 of them. This was a daunting and at the same time thrilling challenge. Now.. just to set the record straight I wasn’t simply HANDED this project on a silver platter. I had to massage the truth.. so to speak, with a tiny itty-bitty fabrication just to land the stinkin gig.

“Oh yeah Marnie, I cut people’s hair ALLLL the time.”

This bold faced BULL SHWANKY brought to you by my awesome fantasy life.. inside my head.  I do so wish you all could enjoy it with me.. because you would be incredibly impressed with how competent I am. There.

Never being one to doubt my skills.. I had no reason to think that I couldn’t easily and perhaps successfully step into the role as hairdresser extraordinaire. Think about it. There’s NO friggin downside. I could totally do a MOHAWK.. No. Wait. A BUZZ cut.. and because Marnie covers her head up with a hairpiece— which is my all time favorite from the ROAD KILL 07 collection, named AMY. Nobody would EVER know. Ha. Some of you guys who’ve yet to get a PIECE ( that’s in.. Hair PIECE) might not realize that to make the wig seem ummm NATURAL (har dee har), all real hair must be tucked underneath the fore mentioned MEDIUM SIZE RODENT FAMILY weave.

“Don’t worry honey. I took care of it myself” boasts an older, female version of Don King.. Replete with well arched penciled on brows and floral smock, sitting smugly back in her electric scooter as I entered her bathroom this morning. Nothing and I mean N-O-T-H-I-N-G could prepare me for the hack job granny gave herself. Not wanting to hurt Marnie’s feelings, I sidetracked the hair subject the best I could.

“How about the downpour outside Marnie? I think it’s probably best if you stayed inside (and hid) today. Huh?”

“Honey. Why don’t you grab a towel and dry off your.. HAIRRRRRRRRR.”

She said it. I didn’t.

“Look at yourself. WHY? I ask you. Wahhh-eye? Tell me pleeeeeze. I told you I was coming over. Who does THIS (motioning to Kewpie troll doll hair) to themselves?”

Heh. Do you remember those troll dolls? Yeah. Good visual.. hmmm? For. YOU.

OK.. here’s what we’re going to do. Please come over here and we’ll put this cape (frilly nylon bathrobe?) around you. Good. Sooooo, my feeling is to transform your look into something a little more— (fiddling with the back of her head) FLIRTY.

Then I’m all getting into my role and walking around the chair still in consultation mode.

“Maybe we pull a few pieces down here (bringing strands from the back of her head down to front to make bangs). Bangs take 10 years off I always say. You’re going to look 86 again, Marnie. Maybe we can do some CHUNKY layers around the sides of your head..”

“Your mother’s getting chunky.”

Not going there.

“..and take this piece and wraaaaaap it around like.. THISSSS. Ummmm.”

MARNIE: “What’s the matter?”

ME: “Maybe not do THAT with it.”

In order to get a good cut it’s basic 101 knowledge that you need professional grade tools to work with, like these metal FABRIC shears also known as Rose Bush and Hedge clippers. Wait. What about this COMB.. or as I call it when planting PANSEYS.. THE CLAW (cultivator). That ought to feel reallll nice on the scalp eh Marnie?

If I remember correctly— when my MIL Ru (dementia) goes to a real Hair salon where she pays $15 to get stunning hair and TEA.. the stylist tends to stay away from scissors that requires two hands to hold onto MARNIE. Pffft. They usually do a fabulous job. Except for today. So let’s say for some STRANGE reason (who KNOWS what THAT could be) Ru FORGETS (gasp) and OH.. let’s say, steps into her SHOWER without her ADORABLE Sephora shower cap on.. thus emerging looking like a drowned mink. Then someone (we’ll call her ME) shows up on the dementia floor and is greeted by her MIL in URGENT need of a “blow up” QUICK cuz lunch is in TEN. Yup. Piece of CAKE after MARNIE I’ll tell ya.

Oh. Your question is WHY didn’t Marnie go to a pro to get her hair done? Because why pay $15 dollars for hair that will never SEE the light of day..when you can get ME who’s done this LOTTTTTS of times, styling it for FREE in the privacy of your own unassisted living facility.. with as MUCH free TEA as your bladder can hold? Sounds logical to ME. Bah.

“Do you have anything I can pin it up with Marnie? Besides medical tape. What ELSE do you have? (rummaging through bathroom drawers). Ahhhhh HA.”

As luck would have it.. I stumbled upon an old plastic baggie of bobby pins from— I want to say 1955, m-a-y-b-e ‘66 to assist me in the process of holding the hairs from the upper part of the head so I can be free to dive into cutting the lower tangly tresses.

snip, snip, snip

A little more off here.. snip, snip

“Don’t take off too MUCH. You’re not leaving anything to tuck under.”

Marnie, why would you try and tell ME how to cut hair?

OMG is THAT the world’s dumbest question ever uttered.

Done!

So? What do you think granny? You’re gonna HAVE to take your hands away from your face MARNIE. Stop it. That is SO not funny. (pulling hands) Urrrrr.

Who do you think you look like?

“Who?”

YOU look like Rihanna. THAT’s who. That’s a Rihanna cut.

MARNIE: It isssssss? Fantastic honey. Really. I don’t think I’ve.. Ever. Looked. This. Great. Who’s Rihanna?

So maybe she looked a little more Dorothy Hamill. Whatever. The point is.. SHE’S NOT BALD. Drat I’m good.

My Sandwich Generation.. there might be this overwhelming URGE in your senior family to perhaps SHRUG OFF using the UNNECESSARY services of a professional due to perceived EXPENSE or effort. Maybe they’ll have some illusions of grandeur and suddenly feel that they can drill their OWN teeth now or shoot their own BOTOX.. Or WHATEVEH. The fact remains that you may need to step in and make the appointment for them. Hide the power tools and call the dentist. Even if you’ve always wanted to.. don’t try it yourself. No matter HOW many.. or how few teeth they have left.

Snip.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: I sleep in TIGER

At first when my MIL Ru (dementia) opened her present she was all, “OH WOW! These are adorable”. Then someone, we’ll call her.. ME (stupid) HAD to open her mouth and be completely showing off my great depth of intelligence with, “Ru..You know what kind of PRINT these are? They’re T-I-G-E-R pajamas.” I should have considered the ramifications of mentioning that particular species of cat at a time like THIS. When so much media attention is focused on that urrrrr..animal? Not judging.

GRANNY.. I got you cheetah or I found these lovely ZEBRA.. HALLE— I could have said OSTRICH and she wouldn’t know the diff. Might have even saved myself an HOUR of heated lecture on promoting wrong doing and encouraging negative behavior. Then Ru looks at me.. horrified and blurts,

“ICK. Why on earth would you give me TIGERS pajamas?” To which I answer..minus the skill and great wisdom you’ve come to expect from me, “I didn’t SAY they’re TIGERSSSS print pajamas. Why would I gift you those? (pause while she digests this factoid) Plus.. he probably sleeps nude.” Uh huh.

That settled THAT. Time to hop in the sack with Tiger..print.

A List

Dear Diary,

Well.. would ya take a gander at who’s sitting over THERE, looking all intellectual and wizened on the “COMFY chair”. Behold the splendidness of my MIL Ru (dementia) with her little pad of paper.. and her stolen pen from Happy Daze Assisted’s downstairs restaurant Upah Chuque (not it’s real name). Truth be told you guys, they serve the most rockin FRIES. Seriously. I might even go out on a limb as to say that those fries are so freakin’ good.. that it shouldn’t be out of the question to do your next DATE night there. You and your romantic love interest, sitting there cuddling next to Harv. Whose extreme flatulence is causing him to let one RIP in your direction every twenty seconds.

Stay AWAY from the green bean casserole. YOU. HAVE. BEEN. WARNED.

Also don’t freak out with seeing the occasional 85 year old walk up to your table and grab a few fries off your plate and shove them into his mouth, giving you a pleasurable glimpse of his gnarly dentures that have not adhered properly to the roof of his mouth and are all hanging mid air and clicking away as he chews. If you can get over this.. then it’ll be worth it.

There’s my Ru all fast and furiously scribbling away about something.. don’t ASK ME what.

I’d like to share a small factoid with you.. Ru is actually known as the most academically gifted and TALENTED (heh heh) semi-cognizant person up on ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) FLOOR. I guess if you feel to consider Albert’s bid to participate in this contest.. Ru might come a close second. Some (Blanche.. cuz she’s dating him) might say he’s usurped Ru of this title. But I SAY that’s a load of HOG WASH. All he does to appear smart is quote really important word news.. randomly and people are all ohhhhhh ahhhhhh Richard Nixon got impeached? When the frick did THIS happen? Then it’s like this ripple goes through the whole dining hall and you hear, “OMG. Peaches? What kiiiiiind of peaches.. because I only want mine with COTTAGE CHEESE.”

While you’re a little LATE on the IMPEACHMENT news ALBERT.. I agree with Selma on your more TIMELY update. So share with us your thinking on WHY they JUST took down the iron curtain when, “there’s nothing the HALLE wrong with the old CURTAINS?” Huh? Smart boy.

Ru wins in my HUMBLE opinion because she can WRITE and do many other amazing feats at the same time.. Give me a sec. K?

Likeeee READ. She can read AND she can write. Ta da. I don’t know many who can pull THAT off here. Who really cares what she writing? That’s a lie. I do. Maybe her LIST has something to do with me and I would need to prepare myself. (Rapid Breathing Response) Maybe she’s going to make me the proud recipient of her used pair of disposable Pedi- thongs? I’m getting all tingly thinking about it.

With tiny itty bitty dainty steps I tip toe, like a delicate 5,000 lb. Ox into the dining room/workout area. Making sure that my piqued curiosity doesn’t cause the genius to lose her train of thought or to startle her BFF Nancy B. who’s snoring away with her little blue head on the table, eyes shut, and her hand wrapped protectively around the KNIFE she was using to shovel mushed up cheesecake into her.. ewwwwww.. NAPKIN.

“Ohhhhh. Leave her alone. She wanted to take it back to her room so she had something to offer guests who might stop over. I think I have some leftover cheese and crackers if you’re hungry. Did you have your lunch?”

As IF I’m going to say NO. Why NO granny.. I didn’t have my lunch, so I might need to run down the hall to your room and fix myself a nice piece of that unrefrigerated for a week cheddar you wrapped so nicely in your dirty dinner napkin and slap it on this (picking off white KLEENEX fuzz) tasty rye crisp. I don’t even NEED a plate cuz (picking off hair brush and dirty tissue) I’ll just use THIS here unused pair of DEPENDS it’s all laying on.

I find it best to distract Ru by changing the subject really subtly. This is never too difficult because sometimes we don’t even make it through an entire sentence without sidetracking a few dozen times.

“What is this?” (Good. Play dumb.) Peering down on her LIST in Ru’s enormous scrawl I see..

My Top Picks of the best gifts.. that I want and can’t live without.

1. UGGS ( NORDSTROM $100.00 depending on what kind)

2. Tennis Bracelet (Plastic beaded .50. Chip sold separately)

3. Necklaces (macaroni product hand dipped.. PRICELESS)

(Insert here.. a bunch of doodles and hearts.. with Ru + cute guy= LOVE written on it)

4. Nail polish soft color (No clue. Staff did them. Cheap.)

2. Tuna

3. Side of mayo

Interesting. Sometimes when you have a supremely brilliant MIL.. you might not be bright enough to grasp where she’s going with her work.

6. Nice sheer white blouse for dressy occasions

(Not going there)

7. Labels with the names of those PEOPLE in the picture hanging on my wall.

8. Prescription to PEOPLE Magazine and VAGUE

9. Mammogramed top sweater size 6

10. Santa’s Lap Dancing Shoes

Ru? WTF? I’m not understanding number TEN. Could you pleeeze explain this cuz you know.. it leaves QUESTIONS in the mind of the READER. While you’re at it– go ahead and explain TEN and NINE because.. not to be MEAN but, are you thinking the sweater is for your neck area or the whole body?

RU: That was a typo.

PHEWWWWWW

RU: It should have had a comma THEN said SIZE 8..

AAAAANNNNNDDDDD? (As I pray)

RU: It goes with the DANCING.. SHOES.

Of course it does.

Happy Holidays My Sandwich Generation.

-A

PLEASE NOTE: The author was paid ZIPPO and given NOTHING to mention the above items in this post. If you want to give me something.. I will SO take it. Please leave a comment and tell me if it’s food or some kind of chocolate.. as I will gladly accept both. Hugs.

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the day: Feminine Napkin Scarf

My MIL Ru (dementia) is known far and wide for her amazing style sense and ability to trendset like nobody’s business. I was just SLIGHTLY (just to be different) CONFUSED by some her accessory choices today and begged for some cheesecake CLARIFICATION. Why we were putting the linen napkin around our NECK as opposed to maybe a little something a bit more..Oh, I don’t know.. OLD SCHOOL. Like a scarf? It’s just that the look is BUSY enough— with the hot pink hand painted macaroni tennis bracelet and the TIGER (NOT going there) trimmed tee, with the plastic strand of beads. Overkill with the neck wipe granny.

Ru explained it all, so that it made perfect sense, as it usually does. Here we are in this festive holiday season on a beautiful SPRING (Close. Enough.) day and there’s still a NIP lingering in the air and she got COLD.

Phew. Good to know THAT’S the reason.

Why walk allllll the wayyyy back to her room, get there, forget what she was looking for and walk allll the way back empty handed.. running the risk that her CHEESECAKE might be lifted in the process.. when there was a perfectly good WRAP laying right there at the lunch table for her to finesse into a neck warmer? I would say THAT was pretty RESOURCEFUL thinking. If I was stranded on a deserted island and could pick one person to be there with.. I would SO choose YOU Ru.

MORE THAN A HANDFUL

Dear Diary,

Today I went bra shopping with my MIL Ru (dementia), joining the legions of other mother/daughter duo’s looking for proper support for that first time bra wearer. Ru always being one for fitting in with the rest of the group (gag me) is playing the role of the giddy thirteen year old pubescent to MY portrayal of the haggard, nerve frayed mother who squelches any thought of purchasing PASTIES that look similar to something I saw Madonna’s TWINS covered by in Truth of Dare. Oh. Shut up. I know you watched it.

Witnessing the delight in Ru’s face as she shouted “I want THIS one” while waving about some totally screaming hoochie leopard print 42 G cup underwire was ALMOST as good as seeing the newly sprouting “tween” next to her PRETENDING not to hear her mom shouting, “Yooo Hoo! Excuse me.. could you pleeeeeze fit my daughter with a training bra? There’s NOTHING to support— so just a simple strip of $10 cotton will do fine.” Heh. I could see the girl quiver with fear that one teensy complaint out of her could see her RIGHT BACK to being one of those pathetic wannabes forced to shove Kleenex in her undershirt for the next six years..until you SHE graduates High School.

“WHAT are you telling her Ru? You have SO worn a bra before. (eye roll) What’s that thing you wear on the outside of your sweater to be like Madonna. Huh? That’s a BRA.

“No it’s not. That’s my bikini.”

Pflug. OF COURSE IT IS. (smacking forehead) WHAT THE FRICK could I be thinking? I’m standing at the counter with granny surrounded by a vast assortment of lace demi cups, sleek racerback’s and silky underwires and listening to her falsify some tale of woe to the salesgirl, about how she wants to look more PROFESSIONAL (being that you do WHAT for a living granny?) and “lend more support to the surrounding breast tissue” which has begun (cough cough) to sag a BIT (snort) over the years causing mild to severe back problems such.. as hunching over (go ahead and say it..) LIKE my DIL.. “when I shuffle down the halls at MY place.”

All of the lovely above monologue.. brought to YOU by either MTV’s My Sweet Sixteen or Dr. 90210. Played ad nauseam (in place of Paint Peeling observation class 101) in most of the realllly GOOD dementia facilities like Happy Daze Assisted. You know.. because it’s been shown to be helpful in eliciting memories in residents.. that NEVER even happened. It so works.. because now my MIL thinks she’s getting a friggin BEWB JOB at NORDSTROM by..

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have a Dr. Rey who works here. But, I would be glad to help you. Why don’t we go into the fitting room with THESE (230 assorted brassieres) and measure you to see what size you wear—ummmm.. now.”

As opposed to the bras we were wearing three years ago, which are now four sizes too small? Say. It. You know you want to.

“Wow. Granny. You went from a 36A to a 42B.. Achieving HUGE results without creams and enhancements. You know what THIS proves? That with the right fatty diet and lack of exercise.. we can ALL be HOOTERS girls. It’s gonna be so FUN getting old.”

What? Too much enthusiasm?

Those of you that don’t own any bewbies, thereby preventing any DIRECT experience in the bra-fitting arena.. will be shocked to know that you don’t just stick your hands over them and GUESSTIMATE the cup size. Some more strenuous tasks to achieve the perfect fit are needed. After measuring around the back area, the individual is asked to lean over and touch her toes. But what happens when the individual.. we’ll call her Ru.. explains clearly that she ALREADY haddddd her exercise class? Why should she do it again? Do you have a water and snack for her? By the eighth.. “Lean over, touch your toes, and shove them in the cups for me please”, my MIL was ready to be done. Happy—beyond measure, with her new (steel reinforced concrete grade beam inserts for maximum support) WONDER bra, that made her look like that woman she saw on a calendar..

Let’s give it a second and see if there’s MORE to the sentence shall we?

“In the staff locker room that I wandered into..”

and..

her name said.. May.

Oh my gosh! There are MEN in here? giggle giggle.

The sound of a deep male voice pulled Ru out of her dressing room faster then I ever thought possible. Booming from the NORDSTROM PA system we hear the baritone uttering’s for Jim..our trusty Men’s Shoes sales associate being asked ever so politely to return to MENS shoes on the first floor. Jim.

Granny steers us out of the department and has us running (1.2 mph race pace) to the elevator to find the owner of the voice she just heard outside her fitting room door. Then out of nowhere.. and people, I’m telling YOU, I didn’t know WHAT to do. She starts loudly saying “TOOT TOOT. TOOT. TOOT” to this group of well groomed gentlemen in suits walking straight towards us FIFTY FEET off to the RIGHT. RU. Knock it off. What are you doing that for? Cut it out, they’re LOOKING at us. “TOOOOOOT”. Ruuuu!

Standing completely FROZEN with fear.. afraid to move and yet disturbingly amused was a group of half a dozen SUITS.. checking out the chick who was TOOTING at them and her pathetic wing man squishing herself down to appear.. invisible.

“Oh I’m sorry. I thought you were going to run us right over” offers up, my grinning like a Cheshire cat, MIL. Can I get your names?

Why? So you can fix them up with some of your FRIENDS? Don’t do it boys. Run. Scram!

Ru’s looking at them with her sweet gummy smile, batting her eyes wildly. Then turns and walks away with her head and everything else held way up high.. glancing over her shoulder to see them staring after her in wonder. As was I.

Off to find the Jim.

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.