PICTURE of the DAY: HOOTERS

My MIL Ru (dementia) is totally peeved right now due to the thoughtless and unfortunate gender discrimination of a certain activities coordinator at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Can’t say I blame her ONE. BIT. After all.. we women have fought hard to bust through the proverbial glass door (ceiling) for equal rights. THAT.. doesn’t just SUDDENLY stop because you live on some dementia floor. No sir it does NOT. So.. if all the guys have been WARMLY invited to attend the first annual GENTELMEN’S ONLY luncheon at HOOTERS— and let me just go on record as saying that THIS little “field trip” is SURE to claim a few lives.. Ru should also have the opportunity to attend if she so chooses. Right now she REALLY REALLY wants to because WALTER told her the service is AMAZING and the sandwiches are to die for. It’s not the SANDWICHES I’m worried about Walter.

Being that I passionately feel it’s my DUTY as a DIL to support granny on any of these human rights causes that she champions.. I agree to use my SUBSTANTIAL clout (yah huh) to see if the rules could be bent. Nope. No bending. At all. Such a shame that Ru got all dressed up and now has nowhere to go.

WISH BONE HEAD

Dear Diary,

Never UNDERESTIMATE dementia’s ability to RUIN your attempt to deceive when you least expect it. It’s almost eerie.. as if IT has a MIND of it’s own. Like the dementia inside my MIL Ru’s head KNOWS when I’m totally BULL SHWANKING her and then it’s all, I KNOW what would be FUN. Let’s totally jerk your DIL’s chain by having your ole memory banks fire AROUND the amyloid plaque depositions causing you to spew forth something akin to.. accurate FACT. That’ll teach HER to tell you she’s driving you over to your OTHER DIL’s house for Thanksgiving lunch..instead of the truth— She’s taking you over to HERS. Because HER own house is a disgrace.. with LEGO’S and clean laundry thrown all hither thither and she can’t get rid of that yummy burned pumpkin pie smell wafting through the halls. Then DEMENTIA’S all, “I’m gonna now open up this little pathway here (ughh ughhhhhhh) and BAM! Bwahahaha.” Screw YOU dementia. Beeotch.

(FIRE Neuron degradation fixer on my GO. ZAPP!)

“What OTHER DIL’S do I have? Are you telling me there are OTHERS I had to choose from.. ALL. THIS. TIME? I find THAT very hard to believe.”

My day started out with me scurrying up to Ru’s room on the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor of Happy Daze Assisted, ready to make awesome memories happen. I’m all about the element of CLUELESS with granny when it comes to special occasions or holidays..because if I give her any HINT of what’s coming, then I’ll be hearing of nothing else my friends, at one hour intervals for the next umpteen days till the start of said event.

I made the mistake once pffft.. or TWICE— when I told Ru her birthday was coming up and we were going to have a surprise party for her. Yeah. Shut-up. I know.. WHAT dummy would TELL a person they’re getting a SURPRISE party? Well, what are the chances she’s going to remember? Like slim to NONE, right? WRONG. For the next MONTH Ru’Mae wouldn’t walk into a BATHROOM without carefully PEERING around the corner first.. then going in slowly, flicking on the lights and shouting, “SURPRISE? Anyone?” It wasn’t all a waste. Saved us from a heart attack and gave Sylvia the heads up when she somehow wandered ONTO the wrong COMMODE.

There she was..my MIL— standing at her toilet clapping madly for it to flush when I came barging in.

“Having any kind of LUCK with that sweetie?”

I have become absolutely oozing HATEORADE on any new concepts that MUST be introduced to Ru at this stage in life.  I swear, you show her an automatic soap dispenser.. followed by twenty minutes at the automatic sink. Then she’s ruined for life. GA. It’s NOT the c-l-a-p-p-e-r Ru.. although you MIGHT be on to something with a single letter change. heh. Just FLUSH it. K?

“Guess what day it is?”

Yup. ALWAYS smart of me to start off with EASY questions before moving on to the real TOUGHIES.

“MY birthdayyyy?”

Ru, who’s now made her way over to the bed heaped with strewn assorted shirts, scarves and pants that’s she’s in the process of organizing into a “COLOR STORY”, looks up with big bugging out eyes in complete disbelief.

“Come. On. Didn’t I just HAVE my birthday already LAST year?”

Yeah. No. It’s not your birthday Ru and WHY you would put that Tangerine Ralph polo with the Plum Liz vest.. is SO beyond me at the moment.

Ummm.. People of My Sandwich Generation— just a note. When it appears that your loved ones faculties are faltering.. you can count on some SERIOUSLY amazing creativity to kick in as compensation. LAWDY! It’s like NATURES way of saying, YOU may NOT be able to remember that the BRA goes on the inside of the shirt.. but YES.. it so works to mix stripes with plaids and.. LACEY hoochie blouses with a turtleneck and leather ski mitts. Love it. Today just wasn’t going to be THAT day.

Finally after yanking on Ru’s, “I really love MY..”  stripey shirt.. that she’s worn for three consecutive days weeks and her least spotted elasticized waisted pants (because EVERY day is T day up on ROAM) I was able to hustle her downstairs and into my awaiting car and zoom off.. to the land of overcooked TOFURKEY and some smokin’ Pumpkin Pie flambé.

“If I remember right.. That’s YOUR place (Was gonna say SHACK I’m sure of it.) I would recognize YOUR house anywhere. I call it the LAUNDRY house. Remember the LAST time I was here? FOUR months ago. On a WEDNESDAY. At 2:23 PM. R-e-m-e-m-m-m-b-e-r? I must’ve sat there all DAY folding the clothes in that (pathetic, disgraceful..what kind of wife are you to my SON) overflowing LAUNDRY BASKET.”

Yo. Are you suuuuuure THAT’S my house? Hmmmm? How MUCH sure? $10.00 sure?

My only hope at this point is to pray that my MIL’s macular degeneration doesn’t auto correct itself too. Oh the SHAME if she walks in and SEES.. something. Anything. No. These badass miracles are going to NEED to stop ASAP or I might crumble right here on this heap of LEGO’S that I am pushing under the ornamental Cornucopia basket with my foot as we enter. This was supposed to be my fictional Sister-in-laws house and THOSE children spraying us with NERF pellets? HER kids. Until SOMEBODY forgot she couldn’t remember.. and DID.

“My Thanksgiving success is based— NOT in the number of dishes I make that are EDIBLE.. but by the amount that weren’t lost in oven flames.”

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

PHONE VEX

Dear Diary,

All I have to say is.. it’s ABOUT FREAKIN’ TIME you got your butt cheeks CANNED Marion. Finally after..Ga, I don’t know HOW long— Happy Daze Assisted Living has taken steps to remove my MIL Ru’s BEST (every other day and weekends) friend, from her position as appointed RECEPTIONIST and phone operator of the second happiest place on earth.. the dementia floor or as I affectionately call it ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory). I don’t want you all to be, WHOA.. Ru’s DIL is being so catty and back stabby to Marion— based solely on the fact that I’m doing the HAPPY dance as she’s sadly been dismissed..because I’m so NOT. Catty. It’s just you would THINK (because SOMEBODY has to) that a certain amount of training and instruction would be necessary before you allow a someone anywhere NEAR a device that connects her to the outside world..with PEOPLE with REAL needs.. who have no time for random chitchat about daily BOWEL regularity. Marion.

The procedure, for family calling to reach the residents at Happy Daze, is ON PAPER a simple one. You dial the correct number.. as opposed to the INCORRECT one of Happy D-O-O-Z hair salon for kids and pets. That was awkward asking for “dementia” and they’re all, “We don’t HAVE a dementia here on the schedule..are you sure you’ve got her name right?” Then you look up the number again (after you’ve actually pulled the car over) and call the CORRECT number. Finally.. a friendly coherent voice of a Happy DAZE front desk personnel, who politely asks if you would mind holding while she transfers you “Up” and forgetting you’re not 6 and ¾ years of age, respond with Of COURSE I mind waiting.. duh. Yeah. So what if I slipped and I said it? Who cares? It’s not like that warrants me being put on hold for long enough to win ten rounds of Brick Breaker 3D and hack into @dementiachick’s twitter account.

Finally there’s ringing on the line and then NOTHING except.. Marion. Just let me TALK to someone who actually works there dear mmm K? No Marion I will not let you take a message. The last time YOU did that— Ru thought that her SISTER was coming to pick her up for dinner. She SAT there on the bench across from the fish tank all day with her (neighbors) little floral print on avocado color (otherwise known as barf) 70’s duffel bag all packed. Oh pleeeze..don’t play all “I FERGIT WHICH time that was” with me dude.  Going to Nebraska for dinner MARION? Ru doesn’t havvvvvve a sister in Nebraska. Am I SURE? Yuh ha. No. Sister. EVAH.

I’m not really sure if they just got short on staff and decided, Well hey! We’ve got 23 dementia residents sitting around the dining area doing NOTHING all day except a random Happy Hands class from time to time. Why don’t we put THEM to work? Let’s take (eyes darting around the room to see who’s upright) HER! Girl with the nightie tucked into her pants. No. Not you. The OTHER girl.. Pink stripes. No. Not you either those are LIPS..I want STRIPES. Yeah. Come over here sweetheart.. now this is what I want you to do when this little phone rings.

Marion: Oh. That gizmo (pointing to the thermostat) there?

Staff: Nooooo. This one here. (motioning to wall mounted phone) And HERE’S the really RAD thing Marion. It makes a loud ringing noise. No. Different then Rogers hearing aid (insert nervous laugh here).

I’ll bet you money.. THAT’S how the selection process happened.

I have to think that things might have turned out differently had Marion NOT made the very ill timed decision to go on break and leave her seat under the wall phone VACANT for Sylvia to slide her delicate 300+ pounds of adorableness into. As luck would have it.. this “switch in staff”, coincided with another call by YOURS truly innocently wanting to check-up on Ru and see if she was feeling up to a little shopping for TEAM EDWARD Twilight apparel..because “that’s what they’re showing in all the magazines these days”.

Once AGAIN I had been placed on hold— THIS time listening to Copacabana for 15 minutes as sung by..Ohmahgawd. For real? The WIGGLES.

ring
ring
ring
ring

“Hell-o?”

ME: Ummm (pausing to do voice analysis) Hi! Is this Matilda*?

*Matilda is a completely bogus, made-up name of an imaginary “CNA” (Certified Nursing Assistant) who works on ROAM. CAN’T accuse ME of skimping on your eldercare education.. now can ya? Meh.

“No. Who’s Matilda? I don’t know any Matilda.”

ME: Who’s THIS?

“Why do you CARE who this is? This is Sylvia. What’s YOUR name? You know what we did today? We watched these men scoop out the fish from the fish ta..Do you know what time we eat? Oh. Wait I found something in my pocket..NOM NOM..”

This is about the time when my calm soothing tone kicks in.

ME: SYLVIA! I don’t CARE about the drat fish. COULD you PLEASE find a nurse to hand the phone to? NOW!

SILENCE

SI-LEN-CE

SIIIIII-L-E-N-C-E

ME: HELLO? HELLO? Pick up the phone Sylvia. Syl-vi-a (sing song fakey voice) PICK UP the sucky phone Sylvia.

“Hello. Who’s there?”

ME: Sylvia..pleeeeeeze? Is Ru’Mae there? Could you get her for me?

“Which one is she? What color is her hair? Oh. I know. Does she have GREYYYY hair?”

ME: GAAAAAAA! Please find a nurse. I’ll bring you candy.

“What kind? You know what? We don’t have nurses here..you want to talk to my mom?”

ME: Yeah. Put her on.

“Hello? This is MARION.”

Feh.

This is why the wall phone was mysteriously ripped out of the wall a few days ago. Now Marion is unemployed and hoping for a new position in customer service to open up.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the day: SUCKER

You know what THIS is? This is the face of a guilty woman. One who will stop at NOTHING to put fear into me by suffering from of all sorts of maladies.. headache, fever, nasal congestion. Then the MINUTE I leave.. BAM! My MIL Ru (dementia) FORGETS she was playing sick and takes off partying with her girls downstairs at the big Turkey Gala. Does she truly believe it wouldn’t get back to me that she was spotted at the festivities all whooping and hollering it up. Yanking up her pant legs with the rest of her posse in a pathetic attempt to get George, their favorite waiter to show them his BAGUETTES? Pfffff

Go ahead..thumb your nose at conventional wisdom.. just don’t be all complaining to me now that you’ve LOST your voice because you stayed up late drinking those YUMMY Prunetini thingy’s and yelling at Faye to take it all off. She could have REALLY hurt herself on that table Ru. I don’t feel One. Bit. Sorry. For you.

NOTE: Just ten minutes ago a nurse came down to find me and inform me that Ru had broken her.. TOE NAIL. Cripes! I’m on my way up.

SICKO

Dear Diary,

The minute I walked in I knew we had problems.. or I should say I— because YOU are reading this a safe distance away from the madness and mayhem thus able to laugh away without any reserve WHAT SO EVER. I on the other hand..took one look at my MIL Ru (dementia) sitting on the Happy Daze Assisted’s pee for all couch.. head down, eyes closed. LOST.. in reverent inner reflection and I’m not gonna LIE to you.. I got scared. Let’s face it, the LAST time I saw Ru pray..was like over a MONTH ago at Macys 50% day-o, ONE day only sale. We were in the midst of this TOTAL buying frenzy and there was this super cute knit wool cardi in pearl gray (Liz Claiborne) and we saw it in a size 6 but H-E-L-L-O.. reality. THAT wouldn’t fit over her left ankle. So we started to pray. Please almighty compassionate one in the heavens above.. let there be a size 18 in the back. Please. We promise to be good and do whatever we can for our fellow man (within reason). Just as we open our eyes..what to we behold? OMG. A size 18.. but WAIT A SECOND. That other lady with her hair still stinky from her chemical relax comes swooping in, followed by her clumsy sales girl with like twenty amazing sweaters that we must have missed from over in DENIMS and tries to TAKE it. No friggin waay was THAT going to happen. I lunged and emerged victorious..a sure sign that GAWD helps THOSE that help THEMSELVES.

Ru? Ru-ew.. it’s mee-ee. You can open your eyes now. My MIL opens her eyes about ¼ of an inch.. and then quickly shuts them again. Proving what I always suspected. She TOTALLY loves me and I am her entire LIFE. Seriously.. the woman can’t stand when I’m away from her for a second.

RU: (with slightly slurred speech akin to a few shots of Tequila) What er you doinnnn here a-gainnn? You were JUST here a bit ago.

Feh.

RU: Why ‘re you always fighting with what’s his name? You know the one who wears the same tight tee shirt every day..but it’s not Walter.

WHO have I been fighting with?

RU: Oh.. why don’t you just give him a big fat kiss already cuz you KNOW you want to.. P-a-u-l-a.

Fine. I can play along. Might as well– because I’m not seeing any signs of REALITY happening soon.

ME: Ru? (heh heh heh) Do you think he sounds.. PITCHEY in spots? Let’s ask Simon and Randy. S-i-m-o-n do you..

BITCHEY? Who’s bitchy?

And.. there goes MY fun. Balls. Granny seeing that it’s me standing over her.. immediately slumps her shoulders and commences with the insertion of the tip of a balled up tissue DIRECTLY into the runny nostril. Ewwwww Ruuuuu.. You don’t look so great. Then again.. who really WOULD with a billowing sheet of Kleenex hanging out of their nose.

That’s when granny started to do the ROUTINE with me. The one we do every time we’re the TEENSIEST bit under the weather. I’m all a-chy, my nose is running (sniff sniff) and my tummy doesn’t feellll goooooood. I am SO dying. Then really feebly she leans in closer to me (and I lean back cuz I’m not sharing the love) and she whispers to me. psssssss…. blah blah blah. My response.. of course is very delicate and tender due to the fact that THIS is a woman who has dementia. I must coddle her and treat her like the delicate little flower that she is due to her limited (ROFLMAO-rolling on floor laughing my ass off) understanding of what is happening around her.

“NO. You’re a whiny child. It’s just a COLD.. I’m not rounding up a bottle of Brandy while you write out your will. Why do you think I have the time to do that?”

This I have no tolerance for. I either need to see actual SIGNS of impending doom.. severe forgetfulness or yeah.. maybe some lack of appetite. Cripes! If I EVER see Ru skip as much as a snack—  I am totally hauling her not so little posterior into emergency faster then you can say “Walter, where’s your MAN CARD dude? Give Harriet back her pink plastic reading glasses.”

Since I am positive Ru’Mae ate her breakfast this morning.. due to partial evidence covering her lap— it is now up to me to ascertain the state of her memory. You know. Ask a few pertinent questions that she would have no trouble remembering.

“Ru? Do you now or HAVE you EVER.. owned any piece of the Burberry or Burberry Prorsum line? This could be.. but not limited too: accessories, outerwear or shoes.”

Ru: Handbags?

ME: Yes. Handbags will be acceptable.

RU: What season?

ME: Autumn/Winter o9 or before.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Neuron fire and..

“No. I can’t say that I have ever owned any Burberry..”

CONNECTION

“..I did have some Tahari. Uhhhh.. what did I do with that? If. I.Recall. I leant that to YOU. What happened to my beige and pink stripe silk jacket? Does it STILL fit you you or have you shoved it under the bed with all my OTHER nice things? tee hee. Just kidding.”

That’s enough.. you’re good to go.

My Sandwich Generation BFF’s.. colds and flu can be VERY tricky when all that disgusting virus attaches itself to our dear vulnerable seniors. You have to be careful for the morphing. What starts out as a little simple and innocuous OLD.. lady, suddenly changes into a raging drama queen with a desire for liquor, the Playgirl centerfold of Levi Johnston in his birthday suit (to hang on the wall and brighten the place UP a bit) and some warm comfort food like a Lava cake. Watch them closely and make sure you get PLENTY of liquids and rest.

Then leave well enough.. alone.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

PICTURE of the day- Quit playing with it

You know what we have here? We have a BLATENT misuse of natural resources. That’s right. I for one— am SHOCKED that my MIL Ru (dementia) who has numerous times defended in her pithy lectures to me the IMPORTANCE of reuse of dirty KLEENEX as shirt stuffing and disposable Pedicure thongs as a cute little ballet flat that goes with everything (because there are people in the world who have NEVER even OWNED a ballet flat) would go and WASTE like a gallon of liquid soap for a cheap THRILL.

At first glance you’re all..well THERE’S a woman who puts cleanliness way high on her list because she is so AWARE (gag me) of all the sickness going around these days. What you don’t know is.. we had been in this ONE stall bathroom at Happy Daze Assisted, for— I would say, no less then 35 minutes playing at the sink with the new ELECTRIC SOAP dispenser, when SOMEONE started banging on the door. Did we stop our playing for who we THINK was Marion.. a woman notorious for her ZERO bowel and bladder control.. in order for HER to use the bathroom? No. We most certainly DID. NOT. Did we know what we were doing was wrong..even bordering on immoral? Yes. Yet.. because Ru was having SO much fun (just like the slots in VEGAS) we kept at it. Poor Marion.

HOMEWORKER HELPER

Dear Diary,

In commemoration of my now HEALTHY child made to (begrudgingly..pffff) remain home ONE MORE DAY, t-h-i-s time due to “Teachers in Service Day” also known SECRETLY as “Screw you.. maybe you should’ve rethought that bar of SOAP you gave us LAST year for our HOLIDAY gift.. DAY”. We (Alien Dude and I) decided to head over to visit granny (my MIL Ru) at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Ru..despite her (rumored) dementia, is a WIZ at anything numbers related. As long as it does not have to do with her room number, phone number or any kind of number on a scale that she’s ON. Then everything get’s all twisted and confusing. We forget to carry the 1’s into the tens column, we accidentally subtract 45 (lbs.) for clothes          instead of 5. Then we end up with a pathetic and so OBVIOUSLY wrong answer for our total weight. Because..I’m sorry.. you are so NOT 110 Lbs and a size 4. Grade: F

On the flip side Ru is totally AMAZING in the telling and fixing of story problems. So— What happens when you take ONE little brownie and are asked to share it with two other girls.. who you can’t remember their names..but we’ll call them “Y” and “Z” who have been waiting for like.. FOREVER for that brownie?  There is only ONE left because someone put them in her PURSE earlier and snuck them back to her room. Someone. We shall call HER “?”. K. You got that? Write it down on a piece of paper so I can check your work later people. Then, “Y” leaves to go use the bathroom and doesn’t ever come back.. because she “got distracted” playing with the new automatic hand soap dispenser. How many QUARTERS must the brownie be split into for the remaining “?” and her girls “Z” and the still absent “Y”? The answer of course is a no brainer. You don’t split it.. you run like HALLE out of the room with the remaining brownie shoved into your open mouth with “Y” running after you with toilet paper hanging— Adhered to her bunny slippers and “Z” flipping out.. not to mention “?” shrieking with brownie spewing from her lips. So is that amazing? Ru’s kind of like a GENIUS.

Alien Dude is struggling over 4th grade algebraic equations.. and seeing that I am not in a position to help him in the slightest considering I cheated on every single math test I ever took from the second grade on. Probably if they had HAD calculators instead of those drat counting beads I would have been like a total mathematician instead of a girl who still counts on her fingers all secretively. Oh pleeeeze.. YOU KNOW I’m not actually DRYING my “wet finger nail polish” when I’m wiggling the digits after lunch while trying to figure out the tip. For this very reason.. I need to employ the skills of my MIL. I am SO ASHAMED.

Happily when I ran upstairs to get granny, she wasn’t already involved in watching the paint peel yet. Just too DRAT absorbed in MTV Disaster Date and Worlds Strictest Parents for the last..What? TWO HOURS.

“Well. Would you look at who’s HERE? Did you come to spring me OUT?”

ME: Maybe. You feeling SHARP today? (Stupid. Stupid. Question.)

RU: As sharp as to be expected under these mitigating circumstances.

Ummmm. So. That was a very cognizant and well stated comeback granny. Someone who didn’t KNOW you as I do.. might venture to guess that you ripped it off from Dr. Phil. Heh.

Alien Dude needs your assistance downstairs..should we see what HE wants? Notice how I avoid the word “help” at all cost. I throw that word into the mix and the next thing I know she’s bandying it all about for the next week..maybe even two. “My DIL asked me for HELP” or “I have to go HELP my DIL”. Wait..THIS is my fav, “I can’t do Happy Hands class today all 23 of you sitting before me..BECAUSE my DIL can’t do math without my.. OMG here it comes. Cue the slow motion.. HEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPP.

There sits Alien Dude explaining to his awesome granny exactly WHAT his problem seems to be. He’s all.. I DON’T GET WHAT “X” IS? Then Ru becomes very quiet and I assume she’s doing some deep mental calculations because she does that gazing blankly into space thing (and so freakin WELL I might add).

“Grandma?”

“Yes dear?”

“What’s the answer?”

RU: To what?

Alien Dude: What is “X”?

RU: (thoughtful expression) A letter in the alphabet. I seem to remember it comes after Y.

And so I ask myself.. the very same thing. WHY?

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

PLUCK OFF

Dear Diary,

Never have I seen such DRAMA over something as innocuous as a CHIN HAIR. Now..I don’t want to overstate it.. but this wasn’t any ordinary chin hair— And on CLOSER inspection.. if I could just sqqqqquishhh my way past your little dementia clad friends Ru. EXCUSE me Blanche; I want to see My MIL’s whiskers. K? No dear.. I most certainly will NOT grease your palm with a GREEN BACK for the good seats. Move aside people.. MOTHER PLUCKER coming through.

I finally climb over the last walker to get to my MIL.. who’s sitting at the dining table thoughtfully pulling on her two-inch goatee. Let me see Ru. Take your hand away.. Relax would ya? I’m just doing the initial exam you don’t NEED the drugs. Yet. Ewww. Yeah. That’s a dozy all right. I say, while rubbing my finger over granny’s craggy jaw line. GAWD. Let’s just take care of those little saplings RIGHT now.

Are you surrrre we have to do it now? It’s just.. that I don’t k-n-o-w if I’m UP for it.
FIVE THINGS WE CAN DO WITH LENGTHY CHIN HAIRS:

1. Tie a pink teensy weensy bow around it.

2.  Dye it with food coloring (dip it in the Tomato soup, beet salad, Jell-O mold served at lunch)

3.  Name it little Ricky

4. Curl it..then wax the tip.

5. Tourist attraction for the (functioning..cough cough) family members who have nothing to do when they show up.

I’m looking around the Happy Daze Assisted’s entertainment room.. Which I may add.. I have NEVER seen used for anything entertaining EVER. With the rare exception of the time Jo took her full glass of juice and dumped it down the front of Rose’s nasty looking floral print (cannabis with branches and berries) polyurethane bow tie blouse, because Rosie was forcing some ratty stuffed animal in her face. Jo was not really feeling the whole “doggie wants a koosie” thang.

Finally I locate an unoccupied space.. kind of behind the TV cubby swinging doors and pull Ru along side of me. A great master such as I most simply, CANNOT be expected to perform optimally.. while hoards of BORED (out of their semi functioning brains) onlookers gather around us.. like the trainwreck watchers that they all are. Get comfy Ru.. just sit back and relax.

So.. uh hummm (clearing throat) what am I seeing you for today?

“What’s the matter? Is it POST NASAL DRIP? It’s probably mucus in your throat.”

GAAAAH. I roll up my sleeves and peer down at my MIL’s upturned face. Deep in thought of how the heck I’m going to get all this thinned out without Ru’Mae needing a blood transfusion after the fact. Then she’s all, ARE YOU going to trim them up a bit? STOP. Here are the rules Ru.. You can NOT talk to me when I’m in the MIDDLE of doing a procedure and stop pointing to your teeth as a SUBTLE hint that I’ve got something stuck in MINE. Ummmm.. I was just going to ask how much you’re thinking to take-off? To which I, the consummate professional reply— I’m thinking to thin them out a bit here.. (leaning in closer) maybe layer the front ones (yank)— we can try and grow out the fringe under the nostrils. That would look hot. OMG. Are we good? Let go of my shirt..you’re getting it all sweaty.

I’m getting down to business with my ultra cool tweezers. I chose the top of the line red ones. NOT only are they pretty..but they have AMAZING grasping abilities. Nothing like seeing that plucking tool come at you and then you stop breathing waiting for the CRIPPLING pain as I pinch a half an inch of skin along with the hair. But DANG.. instead I miss totally.. and you’re all, YOU MISSED againnnnn? How hard can it be? Feh. These red ones get the job done with only minimal pain and suffering.. which is $4.35 WELL spent, I’m thinking. Anyway.. they instill confidence and make me look like the well-trained professional that I am. As IF dementia residents would have any idea that I wasn’t the most skilled surgeon in the country (who cares which COUNTRY) if I didn’t use red tweezers.

Then you know how you can actually FEEL when someone is WATCHING you? This weird vibe that someone was breathing down my neck made me tense up in the middle of a tug. You know..that creepy feeling. I couldn’t put my finger on it.. and it was almost like I could smell the scent of DREAD in the air (sniff sniff).. so I just went on with my work.. even though the hairs on the back of my neck were feeling all cold and ticklish (sniff sniff)

OH FOR PETE’S SAKE. There stood Marion.. her little elfin head bobbing up and down, checking out the accuracy of my work from over my shoulder. Giving me directions with the breath of a dragon emanating from her open.. NOSE?

A little to the left. No. Try again. A little to the right. S-t-e-a-d-y. Now don’t get nervous.. you’ve got this one. Down you go and..

ENOUGH. I can’t focus and I WORK better alone. Plus your hands are FREEZING Marion. Get them off of me right now and GO brush your teeth.  I smell BEEF STROGANOFF halitosis.

I’m looking over at granny who’s trying to help me with all kinds of interesting facial contortions. As if she can THRUST her hairiness into my tweezers. I know you think you’re ASSISTING.. but would you kindly refrain from pursing your LIPS together and sticking out your chin. I can’t land on my target when it’s MOVING. No. The loud PLEAS for mercy aren’t HELPING either.

I have a couple.. more.. to.. do and VOILA! Ru was rubbing her face and all.. Uhhhhh. Ohhhhhh. Ahhhhhh. It FEELS so nice— Like a babies bottom. The next thing I know.. a crazy stampede of hairy girls (and Walter) rush at me wanting only ONE thing— For ME to DO THEM too. Pfffft. The Mother Plucker doesn’t pluck just anyone. Try waxing.

My Sandwich Generation men and women.. it is not my job to pluck the ones YOU LOVE. Get ready to perform tasks that you never thought you’d do in the eldercare arena. Remember.. it takes a strong hand, a sharp set of eyes and one very strong STOMACH.

Missed. Ouch.

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the Day: CHECKED OUT AT CLUB DEMENTIA

It’s always so nice to be given a huge warm welcome by your MIL Ru.. who can’t be bothered in the slightest to get up from her reclining position on her lounge.. but instead waves you over with a request. Oh..what’s THIS? You want to know if I could BOTHER myself with bringing you a plate of those “yummy crème puff thingy’s”. What’s in it for me Ru? Then all my MIL’s little dementia groupies snigger and promise me a big tip. Pfff. As if. THAT will SOOOO be the day and did I fail to mention I’m no longer authorized to take your Shell gas card BLANCHE.. it was DECLINED. Gasp. I. KNOW.

Then Ru’s all like, “Well if YOU’RE not going to do it.. I’ll get someone ELSE.. like (pointing to Marion who’s spritzing herself with her Soup of the Day) HER.” That’s FINE..you go ahead and chortle all you want GIRLS. It’s not me who’s gained 35 POUNDS of mid-section “muscle” on VACATION is it?

Happy Daze Assisted Living’s answer to Club Med for SENIORS with cognitive impairment..  welcomes YOU. Come lay out on the beach (floor), bask in the 80+ degree electric heat and know that SOON somebody will come running by (or over) you to serve liquid refreshments. Ummmm Ummmmm. Nothing like a cool prunetini to sip while watching the tropical fish float to the surface. Plus.. and THIS is what’s really cool.. you NEVER need to put on a swimsuit over your polyester stretchy pants. EVER. Unless of course..you WANT to. Here at Club dementia— it’s anything almost goes..with one exception Yo! Roger.. the nude beach is THATA way dude.

WHEN DOCTORS ARE OUT TO LUNCH

Dear Diary,

Nothing like getting unsolicited medical advice from those people who claim they are licensed to dole it out and obviously are so NOT. Why yes dear sweet and EVER so helpful MIL Ru (dementia).. When YOU had little kids that were sick..I’m SURRRRRE you found leeches to be extremely helpful. Question? Did you stick those suckers on BEFORE or after you shot your little rascals up with whiskey and stuck a bullet between their teeth? I get a little nervous when receiving advice from SOMEONE (and their girlfriend’s) who became board certified through Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman’s fan club and yet STILL can’t RECALL the proper WHISKEY dosing instructions for a child ten years of age.. weighing roughly the same as..ummm.. your left bosom. I know. I’m being PARANOID. But if she gets JIGGER and SHOT mixed up.. Can you say MALPRACTICE?

I feel I’m absolutely within my rights to explain to Ru nicely (to avoid getting her granny pants in a twist) that it’s simply INEXCUSABLE for medical personnel to screw up instructions on meds and I would kindly request another opinion from..hmmm. I begin my search in the dining room for the perfect practitioner. Compassionate, caring and above all else.. a reader of the medical periodical JAMA.. As opposed to the more popular Happy Daze Assisted Living version—PAJAMA.

SYLVIA. You have your hand up. What advice did you glean from last nights reruns sweetie? Speak up. I can’t hear you. Sylvia recommends for it’s amazing precision I use a rectal turkey thermometer to get an EXACT temperature from the sick child. Heh. That ought to cure what ails him. Anyone else feeling slightly MORE lucid today? (snort) My eyes come to rest on Jo. Ahhhh..Jo. I can always rely on her for all things parenting advice. Proving that in NO WAY is her awesomeness of mothering reduced in the s-l-i-g-h-t-e-s-t having raised half a dozen kids that visit with the frequency of.. Ru’s menstrual cycle. September 13, 1974.

So nice of you to suggest sharing some of YOUR pills Jojo. It’s just (feigning deep thought) my kids don’t HAVE diagnosable dementia and giving them YOUR private stash might give them another reason to.. hurl. Don’t be sitting there all smug in your judgieness granny. Your theory that I brought the SWINE plague upon your grandson’s Alien Dude and Smart Alec because my HOUSE is a mess AND the bacteria sit in my overflowing unpressed, unfolded, clean laundry basket— multiplying and waiting for the wearer of the boxer shorts is completely BASELESS.

Show me the science. No. THAT’S your stinkin’ Dr. Quinn fan club card.. THE S.C.I.E.N.C.E

Funny how these “doctors” are sooooo great about handing out advice..yet make the WORST patients. Isn’t it? Nothing like being on all fours scrubbing miscellaneous substances off the children’s bathroom floor and gagging from Clorox vapors.. only to receive the news that my MIL refuses to remove her bra after being asked nicely by the male nurse several times.

UUURRRKKKKK. SHUT. UP.

Are we sure we’re talking about MY MIL?

Why yes.. I’m told. The nice male nurse noticed a red rash around the bra hook area of Ru’s back and wanted to get rid of the binding and 5 sizes too small Victoria’s Secret demi bra. Buttttt nooooooo. WHAT? She won’t take off her bra for some young guy she doesn’t remember she knows just because he ONLY calls her over and TALKS to her. Modest and hard to get.. that’s my MIL for you. Feh. WELL dude. Did you promise you’d take her out to dinner first or did you just stomp over demanding she pull off her shirt and fling her brassiere at you? Because I can’t think of anyone she would do that for..no..wait a minute..I can.

When you have a job to do.. you have to do it yourself. Or if you’re amazingly talented at the art of deception (as I most certainly am) feel free to lay out a well constructed plan for the staff to carry out. Better make darn sure if you do— that it doesn’t evoke suspicion by the unsuspecting target. Then you’re really screwed and she might just NEVER put on a bra again to SPITE you. Ewwwww. We all know that the HIPPIE chic look can’t be properly rocked by an 82 year old dementia patient wearing her stripy tank. EVER.

It was a simple plan and nearly impossible to screw up. Remove everyone’s bra so Ru WANTS to take hers off. Maybe even warm her up with a few choice pictures out of OK! Magazine. Certainly it can’t be too hard to get.. say.. a shot of Lindsay with the girls set free. Oh no.. Wait. Show her Pam Anderson. Hahahaha. MUCH MORE relatable.

Unfortunately Ru wasn’t thrilled that HER nice young fella/nurse was asking all the other girls to take THEIR bras off after propositioning HER. Duh. Where is the skill HAPPY DAZE? Go find Walter.. HE knows what to do.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.