Can you believe since I posted that self incriminating entry about shaking My Mom out of bed, we've had almost no bad mornings? Go figure.
I'm wondering if I can credit Vitamin D3...
I started taking the vitamin this winter to fight off the so-called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), or at least being chronically tired and not in the mood to do much of anything. As I researched the benefits, a few articles said the vitamin also helped Alzheimer's and Autism. So... yes, I tried giving 2,000 iu's to My Mom. I figured if anything, a vitamin can't hurt. Ever since she's been remarkably social and much more connected with the world around her.
She'll actually engage you in a conversation. Now, the conversation won't be particularly meaningful, but at least she prompted the chat. That's new. She's just more engaged in everything around her.
I know I can't say for certain this is what's helping, but I at least want everyone to know it might.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Night and Day Difference ... Literally!
Holy cow did my day start off bad. And wow did it just come to a close with a phenomenal ending. A joyful, teary eyed, happy ending to the sappiest movie you've ever seen kind of an ending.
The question is: What happened?! Not even what happened, but yes, what happened? How did it all change so quickly? And why am I surprised? Why can't I catch on that the mood of Alzheimer's patients will change more often than any state's weather. (I grew up with the good ole line "If you don't like the weather in Michigan, just wait it will change." I was so disappointed years later to learn that at least a dozen other states made the same claim.)
I guess the lesson is, if you don't like just about anything, just wait and it will change. Some things will transform more quickly than others. The mood and behavior of my Mother being a prime example.
So, if I'm honestly trying to encourage people to give home care a shot, I have to be honest about good and bad days -- there I go again. Correction: good and bad moments.
Our bad moments typically happen in the morning and solely during the task of trying to get my Mom out of bed. She is NOT a morning person. Like Mother, like daughter, I'm not either, which probably makes the situation even more volatile.
Whenever we have to be somewhere -- or if I just don't want her sleeping til 2 pm -- I have to circle back in and try to wake her at least a dozen times. I start out very fun and creative.
"You get to see all your friends at the activity center today," I'll say cheerily. (that's the approach for Mondays and Wednesdays when we attempt to go to her daycare.)
Sometimes she'll perk up and ask what she'll get to wear, at which time I parade out a host of tempting outfits. Most days she burrows further into the covers and tells me she's sick. I leave the room for a few minutes, come back fresh and pretend to wake her up for the very first time with an all new approach.
"It's a gorgeous day..." or
"It's Sunday, we have to get up for church." (That one worked quite well for a while, but wore off. Now I resort to "God called and said please get out of bed," and even that doesn't work.)
She came from a big family, so I sometimes tell her if she doesn't get up one of her sister's is going to sneak off with her best dress. Sometimes I tell her that her Mom said to get up... and "she's on her way up here, you better be out of bed before she hits that door." (I don't even think my Grandma was ever an enforcer, but by the desperation of round 8 or 9, I'll try anything!)
My current all time favorite is to blow into the room holding a page of the newspaper and claim with urgency that there's a 75-percent off sale at Macy's. That at least gets the little 88-year-old 90-some-pound shopaholic to open one eye.
The problem happens when she either sees through the ruse, or legitimately can't see a good enough reason to get out of bed. That's when the trouble starts. She plays dead. I mean really dead. She sinks so far back into that teeny little frame I'm positive she's sunk into a permanent vegetative state and the next stop is the nursing home. The first couple times I was ready-to-call-an-ambulance terrified. Now that I can clearly see the odd Alzheimer's induced game of possum, I get frustrated and today, I admit, I got really angry.
She had on wet pants, the bed was getting wet and she was down right mean as I tried to care for her. When I gave morning pills to her she pulled a Hannibal Lecter and tried to bite my finger.
I rolled with the bad mood for almost two hours and finally gave her a strong "listen little lady, you're at least getting up to change those pants. You can go back to bed after that." She fought back with a punch and I am so ashamed to admit it, I lost it. I grabbed her under the arm to avoid getting hit and in one motion, hurled her up and to the side of the bed with such a fluid motion she landed propped on the side of the bed, her feet hitting the floor, putting her almost in a standing position. I was mortified at my action, but thrilled with the outcome. I had to keep the momentum at this point, so I immediately changed the tone.
"That's better! Good job! Look at you standing up. Okay, the bathroom is right this way!"
Somehow, it's one of those 'I can only credit a Guardian Angel' moments, she actually shuffled into the bathroom -- rigid, angry, growling and baring teeth the entire way.
Luckily for me, it's only about four steps into the bathroom and it turned out to be less than four minutes from the next miracle.
As she sat on the toilet, I quickly removed soiled garments, replacing them with nice dry clothes and viola! my Mother returned. As if waking from a trance she looked down at me as I squatted to pull the new pants up past her ankles.
"Well, look who's here! Good morning!" she bubbled. I let my Are you kidding me?! remain in my cartoon thought bubble. Instead, I mustered a laugh and said, "Well, good morning to you!"
She changed in a snap. I think she wanted to be nice an hour earlier, but she couldn't figure out how to gracefully end the standoff.
I don't want to ever loose my patience or resort to force again -- in fact, I'm going to seek out some professional techniques for getting my Mom up and moving on these tough days. The thing is, I know a more clinical approach will be more effective, but it will also likely lead to more growls. I'll need to be reminded not to take those teeny tiny moments so personally. She doesn't.
At least for the time being, they're super brief, always fleeting and my dear sweet Mom always awaits on the other side.
Just now as I tucked her in bed, she said she had the best day ever and that I should try her pillow, it was the most comfortable she's ever had. She just glowed with love. "And you are just an angel," she said grabbing my hand with complete admiration. "What would I do without you? You're my girl."
I fought temporarily with my thought bubble again for a moment -- sure, you're so sugar sweet now, but what about when the alarm goes off tomorrow morning? I'm not into holding grudges, but unlike my Mom who truly had no recollection of a single bad incident happening today, I don't quite have the ability to completely shake off the memory that easily. We were back sitting bedside just hours after the morning scuffle and evidently my subconscious already braced for the next encounter. Then I remembered tomorrow's Saturday. We don't have to be anywhere by a certain time. She can sleep in. I could cast off the worry of tomorrow after all and thoroughly enjoy this good moment. We laid together and I asked her to list the highlights of her day. The exact examples fell into the late night gibberish category, but she was positive it had been a great day. I agreed. At least it ended that way.
The question is: What happened?! Not even what happened, but yes, what happened? How did it all change so quickly? And why am I surprised? Why can't I catch on that the mood of Alzheimer's patients will change more often than any state's weather. (I grew up with the good ole line "If you don't like the weather in Michigan, just wait it will change." I was so disappointed years later to learn that at least a dozen other states made the same claim.)
I guess the lesson is, if you don't like just about anything, just wait and it will change. Some things will transform more quickly than others. The mood and behavior of my Mother being a prime example.
So, if I'm honestly trying to encourage people to give home care a shot, I have to be honest about good and bad days -- there I go again. Correction: good and bad moments.
Our bad moments typically happen in the morning and solely during the task of trying to get my Mom out of bed. She is NOT a morning person. Like Mother, like daughter, I'm not either, which probably makes the situation even more volatile.
Whenever we have to be somewhere -- or if I just don't want her sleeping til 2 pm -- I have to circle back in and try to wake her at least a dozen times. I start out very fun and creative.
"You get to see all your friends at the activity center today," I'll say cheerily. (that's the approach for Mondays and Wednesdays when we attempt to go to her daycare.)
Sometimes she'll perk up and ask what she'll get to wear, at which time I parade out a host of tempting outfits. Most days she burrows further into the covers and tells me she's sick. I leave the room for a few minutes, come back fresh and pretend to wake her up for the very first time with an all new approach.
"It's a gorgeous day..." or
"It's Sunday, we have to get up for church." (That one worked quite well for a while, but wore off. Now I resort to "God called and said please get out of bed," and even that doesn't work.)
She came from a big family, so I sometimes tell her if she doesn't get up one of her sister's is going to sneak off with her best dress. Sometimes I tell her that her Mom said to get up... and "she's on her way up here, you better be out of bed before she hits that door." (I don't even think my Grandma was ever an enforcer, but by the desperation of round 8 or 9, I'll try anything!)
My current all time favorite is to blow into the room holding a page of the newspaper and claim with urgency that there's a 75-percent off sale at Macy's. That at least gets the little 88-year-old 90-some-pound shopaholic to open one eye.
The problem happens when she either sees through the ruse, or legitimately can't see a good enough reason to get out of bed. That's when the trouble starts. She plays dead. I mean really dead. She sinks so far back into that teeny little frame I'm positive she's sunk into a permanent vegetative state and the next stop is the nursing home. The first couple times I was ready-to-call-an-ambulance terrified. Now that I can clearly see the odd Alzheimer's induced game of possum, I get frustrated and today, I admit, I got really angry.
She had on wet pants, the bed was getting wet and she was down right mean as I tried to care for her. When I gave morning pills to her she pulled a Hannibal Lecter and tried to bite my finger.
I rolled with the bad mood for almost two hours and finally gave her a strong "listen little lady, you're at least getting up to change those pants. You can go back to bed after that." She fought back with a punch and I am so ashamed to admit it, I lost it. I grabbed her under the arm to avoid getting hit and in one motion, hurled her up and to the side of the bed with such a fluid motion she landed propped on the side of the bed, her feet hitting the floor, putting her almost in a standing position. I was mortified at my action, but thrilled with the outcome. I had to keep the momentum at this point, so I immediately changed the tone.
"That's better! Good job! Look at you standing up. Okay, the bathroom is right this way!"
Somehow, it's one of those 'I can only credit a Guardian Angel' moments, she actually shuffled into the bathroom -- rigid, angry, growling and baring teeth the entire way.
Luckily for me, it's only about four steps into the bathroom and it turned out to be less than four minutes from the next miracle.
As she sat on the toilet, I quickly removed soiled garments, replacing them with nice dry clothes and viola! my Mother returned. As if waking from a trance she looked down at me as I squatted to pull the new pants up past her ankles.
"Well, look who's here! Good morning!" she bubbled. I let my Are you kidding me?! remain in my cartoon thought bubble. Instead, I mustered a laugh and said, "Well, good morning to you!"
She changed in a snap. I think she wanted to be nice an hour earlier, but she couldn't figure out how to gracefully end the standoff.
I don't want to ever loose my patience or resort to force again -- in fact, I'm going to seek out some professional techniques for getting my Mom up and moving on these tough days. The thing is, I know a more clinical approach will be more effective, but it will also likely lead to more growls. I'll need to be reminded not to take those teeny tiny moments so personally. She doesn't.
At least for the time being, they're super brief, always fleeting and my dear sweet Mom always awaits on the other side.
Just now as I tucked her in bed, she said she had the best day ever and that I should try her pillow, it was the most comfortable she's ever had. She just glowed with love. "And you are just an angel," she said grabbing my hand with complete admiration. "What would I do without you? You're my girl."
I fought temporarily with my thought bubble again for a moment -- sure, you're so sugar sweet now, but what about when the alarm goes off tomorrow morning? I'm not into holding grudges, but unlike my Mom who truly had no recollection of a single bad incident happening today, I don't quite have the ability to completely shake off the memory that easily. We were back sitting bedside just hours after the morning scuffle and evidently my subconscious already braced for the next encounter. Then I remembered tomorrow's Saturday. We don't have to be anywhere by a certain time. She can sleep in. I could cast off the worry of tomorrow after all and thoroughly enjoy this good moment. We laid together and I asked her to list the highlights of her day. The exact examples fell into the late night gibberish category, but she was positive it had been a great day. I agreed. At least it ended that way.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Five Golden .... (what are they again?)
Our family has always loved to sing.
From the time I can remember my Mom, Dad, sister and I would huddle around a phone receiver on Christmas Eve calling family and friends singing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." As our parents aged, my sister and I received a number of calls from people now singing to us. They didn't want the tradition to end.
Last year we started a new one. We're down to just six of us for Christmas eve dinner, my sister and her family, my Mom and I. We don't place calls anymore, but we do take time after dinner to sing carols. My mom just beams. Music is truly her favorite thing in life.
Blame it on the egg nog (okay wine), we decided to get crafty last year and assign each family member a section or two from the 12 Days of Christmas -- my Mom insisted on carrying out the prestigious "five golden rings" line.
We'd go around the room, each of us crooning out our "day", and each time we'd come to my Mom, she'd act surprised, then catch on that it was her turn and belt out "Five... Golden... HENS!" Every time! We'd laugh, remind her it's rings, she'd do a practice, "Five, Golden, Rings" then we'd start up a new round, the song carried it's way back to my Mom, she'd react in surprise and belt out yet again, "Five Golden HENS"!
This year the surprise would be on my sister and her family. Our caregiver bought my Mom the 12 Days of Christmas book. She's been practicing the entire thing over and over since Thanksgiving.
I couldn't wait for the new annual tradition to start last night. What a surprise my Mom would deliver. She's knows the entire song cold now.
We were each assigned a day, my Mom once again waited to be honored with the cherished "five golden rings" line. The song started up and my Mom actually joined in on all the days just as I expected, the lyrics wound their way around the room and ultimately came to my Mom for her big solo, she smiled a grin and launched into her lines: "Five.... Golden.... HENS"!!
From the time I can remember my Mom, Dad, sister and I would huddle around a phone receiver on Christmas Eve calling family and friends singing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." As our parents aged, my sister and I received a number of calls from people now singing to us. They didn't want the tradition to end.
Last year we started a new one. We're down to just six of us for Christmas eve dinner, my sister and her family, my Mom and I. We don't place calls anymore, but we do take time after dinner to sing carols. My mom just beams. Music is truly her favorite thing in life.
Blame it on the egg nog (okay wine), we decided to get crafty last year and assign each family member a section or two from the 12 Days of Christmas -- my Mom insisted on carrying out the prestigious "five golden rings" line.
We'd go around the room, each of us crooning out our "day", and each time we'd come to my Mom, she'd act surprised, then catch on that it was her turn and belt out "Five... Golden... HENS!" Every time! We'd laugh, remind her it's rings, she'd do a practice, "Five, Golden, Rings" then we'd start up a new round, the song carried it's way back to my Mom, she'd react in surprise and belt out yet again, "Five Golden HENS"!
This year the surprise would be on my sister and her family. Our caregiver bought my Mom the 12 Days of Christmas book. She's been practicing the entire thing over and over since Thanksgiving.
I couldn't wait for the new annual tradition to start last night. What a surprise my Mom would deliver. She's knows the entire song cold now.
We were each assigned a day, my Mom once again waited to be honored with the cherished "five golden rings" line. The song started up and my Mom actually joined in on all the days just as I expected, the lyrics wound their way around the room and ultimately came to my Mom for her big solo, she smiled a grin and launched into her lines: "Five.... Golden.... HENS"!!
The Jokes on Me!
Thinking my Mom needed a little dose of the spirit of giving, rather than just getting, I set up a little Christmas eve shopping expedition.
Together we constructed a list which included my sister, her husband and two girls, myself, two dogs and the cat. My Mom asked twice why she wasn't on the list. I promised repeatedly that she'd be receiving gifts, but in exchange she also had to buy for others.
I even offered to provide the money to buy the gifts, showing her a nice crisp twenty. I knew better than to give it to her, she'd never let go. Instead the deal was the bill would remain in my wallet until we hit the cash register.
The first choice was to head toward the dollar store -- I thought it would be a riot to see what she might choose for her clan and it would be right in her price range. I also held extreme concern that the selections might be too slim so close to Christmas which could ruin the whole idea. Instead we redirected toward Walgreen's. Surely they'd have something for everyone. And they did, much more than I expected.
My Mom got her hands on the handle of that shopping cart and just like Frosty when the hat was placed upon his head, began to come to life. Completely in the spirit of giving, my Mom ripped through that store, her selections spot on for each recipient, and, of course, way over the dollar store budget! (Keep in mind I had already made her "real" purchases, these were supposed to be for fun.)
Staring at her checklist she thought a coat might be nice for my sister. I explained that Walgreens probably wouldn't be the place for something like that, but over my shoulder she managed to spot a suitable back up gift, a super soft, beautiful light blue bathrobe. One aisle over, she broke into laughter as she choose a U of M "snuggie" for her son-in-law, then after bawking over makeup for her granddaughters, she instead sought out really cool bath kits. She had it all sewn up in less than a half hour. Complete with small toys for the dogs and cat.
We hit the check out where all the Christmas nick knacks caught her eye, including a pile of cheesy Santa hats. "C'mon," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "let's each get one and wear them all day!" She was practically Mrs. Claus by now.
I am soooo not a Santa hat type. I don't think I've ever worn one, and thought I never would.
"They're only 2.99," she continued her plea. By now she had hers half cocked on her head and offered another to me. How could I refuse?
I placed it over my pony tail and she howled. "You have the hook sticking out the top," she laughed. "You do too," I said. She laughed harder. The sales clerk rang up our order, which totalled at least four times the initial budget. Crumb, we should have gone to the dollar store, I thought to myself. Not for the reason you'd expect, not because of the dollar damage she tallied in such a short outing, but the silly hats. I really doubted the dollar store carried Santa hats. I wouldn't have been forced to wear one. Talk about a scrooge. I really wanted nothing to do with that hat, but she was right, it was only 2.99 -- pennies compared to the rest of her purchases. I let her throw them in the pile, even though I had no intention of wearing it outside the store.
The clerk took our money and cut the tags off our hats which my Mom, yes, insisted we wear out of the store. Okay, I'd leave it on one moment longer. No one seemed to be watching, except my Mom who was now a little jealous that I wore mine better than she did. She pulled down the passenger side mirror to give her hat a little tilt, and as she did, she began singing her traditional "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..."
It was the very song she sang every year while decorating the house since the time we were small kids. Wow, what a throw back. It was awesome and well worth any minor humiliation of wearing a silly red hat. Funny how life can twist things around. I was trying to re-teach my Mom about the gift of giving, and in the end, she placed a hat on our heads that made me come to life with Christmas spirit.
Just as she wished, we wore those hats the rest of the day, singing carols all the way home!
Wearing them may even become a new Mom and Mary tradition.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Is Anything in Life Really Free?
My Mom loves junk mail. She could literally sit with a good offer and read it over and over again for an entire day. In fact, as I write this she is enthusiastically reading me an offer for a magazine subscription which includes a free garden issue. And... if we reply by November 10th, a free tote bag!
She reads the offer better than the announcer on any game show. Very convincing.
Her two favorite phrases to really play up when she comes across them, "that's right... you could win (fill in the blank depending on the offer)" and "call one, eight hundred (add numbers depending on the offer.)" She very deliberately enunciates each digit to ensure we don't mis-dial. They could literally hire her at a voice over agency.
She's on page two now, they've upped the ante -- if you send the preview card today you not only receive the garden issue and tote bag, but one "best ever issue" and four free special issues. "Well, can I get my tote bag today?" she just asked emphatically. I think she's finally figured out I hold the purse strings. I told her she needed to prove to me it's not a scam. Mistake! She just started reading the entire four page mailing piece. Again. From the top! She pauses after each section to say "what do you think of that?" Her way of luring me in. She's super impressed each time she notices that letter has her name on it. That for sure adds credibility. She just came across the tote bag offer for the 400th time and experienced the same joyful surprise as she did round one. "Wow! Are we getting all that?!" Followed by "I've never had a tote bag like that." Again, showmanship, purely trying to win me over.
During a recent business trip, our caregiver called and said my Mom wouldn't let up on trying to book a free lasik eye exam. Yep, I said, last week it was a storm door consultation (we live in a condo), and the week before that teeth whitening. Sneak the material away from her as soon as you can before the irritation becomes unbearable, I advised.
Sometimes I use the enthusiasm and enclosed response card as an opportunity to get her to work on her writing skills. I have her fill in the name and address section. Her hand does not cooperate with her brain very often, so I have to find several response cards from any kind of offer before we start to fill one in. She gets really worried or distraught if she makes a mistake, concerned it may jeopardize the offer. By having extras on hand we can keep trying to get it right.
Other times, she'll express concern over what day it is so she doesn't miss the deadline. On those occasions I grab a calendar and have her figure out how many days until the offer ends.
They're all great activities and help keep her mind sharp. She's cutting out the response card right now. I might actually let her send this one in. We'll enjoy the magazine and she is really over the top with that cheap little tote.
I can't help but think that allowing this indulgence flies in the face of the bits of wisdom she used to impart on me when I was young and wanted something for nothing -- which I think went ever so cleverly, "you can't get something for nothing." In this case, she keeps missing the part that says -- "all with your paid subscription." And the advertisers don't make it at all that clear exactly how much that is. She'd also put us off by telling us that whatever we wanted was "probably junk." Sometimes it's okay to break the rules and risk getting taken. My Mom also used to caution often that "there are no free rides in life." While I'm old enough now to know that's definitely true, I guarantee you that the ride from filling out the postpaid card to dropping it off at the mail box will be pretty fun! What more can you ask from life?
She reads the offer better than the announcer on any game show. Very convincing.
Her two favorite phrases to really play up when she comes across them, "that's right... you could win (fill in the blank depending on the offer)" and "call one, eight hundred (add numbers depending on the offer.)" She very deliberately enunciates each digit to ensure we don't mis-dial. They could literally hire her at a voice over agency.
She's on page two now, they've upped the ante -- if you send the preview card today you not only receive the garden issue and tote bag, but one "best ever issue" and four free special issues. "Well, can I get my tote bag today?" she just asked emphatically. I think she's finally figured out I hold the purse strings. I told her she needed to prove to me it's not a scam. Mistake! She just started reading the entire four page mailing piece. Again. From the top! She pauses after each section to say "what do you think of that?" Her way of luring me in. She's super impressed each time she notices that letter has her name on it. That for sure adds credibility. She just came across the tote bag offer for the 400th time and experienced the same joyful surprise as she did round one. "Wow! Are we getting all that?!" Followed by "I've never had a tote bag like that." Again, showmanship, purely trying to win me over.
During a recent business trip, our caregiver called and said my Mom wouldn't let up on trying to book a free lasik eye exam. Yep, I said, last week it was a storm door consultation (we live in a condo), and the week before that teeth whitening. Sneak the material away from her as soon as you can before the irritation becomes unbearable, I advised.
Sometimes I use the enthusiasm and enclosed response card as an opportunity to get her to work on her writing skills. I have her fill in the name and address section. Her hand does not cooperate with her brain very often, so I have to find several response cards from any kind of offer before we start to fill one in. She gets really worried or distraught if she makes a mistake, concerned it may jeopardize the offer. By having extras on hand we can keep trying to get it right.
Other times, she'll express concern over what day it is so she doesn't miss the deadline. On those occasions I grab a calendar and have her figure out how many days until the offer ends.
They're all great activities and help keep her mind sharp. She's cutting out the response card right now. I might actually let her send this one in. We'll enjoy the magazine and she is really over the top with that cheap little tote.
I can't help but think that allowing this indulgence flies in the face of the bits of wisdom she used to impart on me when I was young and wanted something for nothing -- which I think went ever so cleverly, "you can't get something for nothing." In this case, she keeps missing the part that says -- "all with your paid subscription." And the advertisers don't make it at all that clear exactly how much that is. She'd also put us off by telling us that whatever we wanted was "probably junk." Sometimes it's okay to break the rules and risk getting taken. My Mom also used to caution often that "there are no free rides in life." While I'm old enough now to know that's definitely true, I guarantee you that the ride from filling out the postpaid card to dropping it off at the mail box will be pretty fun! What more can you ask from life?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Snippets from Tonight...
My Mom's been having a lot of difficulty remembering words for objects lately, so we've started playing a little game called "what's that."I point in rapid fire to things and she calls out "cup", "plate", "fork", "hat", "flowers"...
It's not her fault that she doesn't have the opportunity to use much vocabulary these days. I figure it's my job to help her retain key words for as long as possible.
I'm careful to approach the activity when she's in a playful mood and it won't hurt her feelings for being demeaning. Tonight during dinner I learned I also have to watch out for her creating her own vocabulary from the Land of Oz to compensate for her shortcomings.
She confidently told me tonight that the lamp was a "switzer" and her brand new reclining chair a "booglie." When I asked if she was sure the thing you sit on is called a booglie, she said, "c'mon, everyone knows that." I suggested that maybe it was a "chair", then she acted like I was a simpleton and said she would call it a "recliner." She pulled the tougher word out of thin air.
Same with "glasses" when under fire she called them "spectacles."
On a second note, Skinny Winnie ate a great dinner tonight, or so I thought. We had lasagna. Did I mention the dogs and cat love having my Mom live here? When I'm not looking, she evidently provides them with a bountiful buffet. (see attached photo, "Bug Kitty Busted". I thought only Garfield liked lasagna...)
Sunday, October 18, 2009
To Share ... or Not .
We were going to pay a quick visit to my sister and her daughters the other day. I stopped at a gas station on the way and ran in to buy two cheap packs of some type of fruity tooty gum for my Mom to give her granddaughters as a gift.
I sometimes think the girls are a little distant around my aging Mom and I'm not beyond bribery to try and bridge that gap.
I hopped back in the car with the two bright pink and yellow packages and handed them to my Mom, explaining that she could give them as a gift to the girls.
"That's exactly what I wanted," she said with a pout. Somehow she had transformed from 87 to 2 during my three minutes in the store.
"This is fruity gum, Mom. You don't even chew gum," I said.
"Yes I do." She now grew a little huffy. I couldn't hold back a laugh. She was pouting like a toddler and even trying to shed a few tears. My laughing really set her off.
"What? This is exactly what I wanted..." She was already holding the packs, but she scooped them in closer and pulled them possessively to her chest. There was NO way she was handing them off to anyone.
The hilarious interaction went on for a good few minutes. Her logic too silly to recall accurately. To end the stand off, I offered to buy her a pack of gum on the way home, which she mistook as right that minute.
"Well..." she uttered just one word in absolute defiance, now sounding more like a sassy teenager.
I pulled out, letting her, for the moment, think she could keep the gum she already had. It's one of those times Alzheimer's plays in your favor. By the time I hit the main road, all would likely be forgotten. My Mom is usually generous to a fault. When we were young everything went to her daughters first. That very night at dinner she offered me a bite of her main course and dessert. Fairly disgusting, but more in line with her normally generous heart than the present moment where a mutiny was about to erupt over bubble gum.
12-year-old Meghan ran out to the drive to greet us. I pried one pack free from her fingers and said "look what your Grandma got you!" Meghan grabbed the gum and gave my Mom a thank you hug. (See, these little dollar investments can really payoff!) Grandma was so thrilled with the smile and hug that she barely noticed the switcheroo when the gum transferred from her hand to Meghan's. She also still had the remaining pack to clutch.
As we entered the house, I saw my Mom tighten her grip on the gift. I warned 8-year-old Emily that Grandma may have a little difficulty handing over the surprise. My sister said the girls could share one pack and Mom could keep the other, but I insisted she needed to learn, or re-learn how to share.
"What, so she can remember it for a few minutes?" my sister asked. Nicely, not snotty. She's a mom herself and one of many that caution me constantly to pick my battles. (I also won't give in and let her wear white socks with black shoes. Not even in the house. Someday, from heaven, she'll thank me for that.)
To me, sharing was a war worth waging, but I proceeded with tact. Turning the gift giving into a game would surely work.
"Mom, didn't you get Emily something really special today??? I bet she's dying to see it."
My Mom's face lit up. She loves being the center of attention these days. This gave her a stage to unveil the surprise. She pulled her hand up from the table, hiding the packet under her palm and said to Emily, "Do you wonder what I have here?" She bought into the game one-thousand percent. "Do you think this surprise might be for you?" My Mom's face grew more and more animated and Emily giggled her head off in anticipation. We were all having a riot over the gum hand off. Until... the lead in to the silly surprise, the suspense, took so long to build that my Mom forgot who the recipient was. When she finally revealed the brightly colored pack of gum she proclaimed, "look what I got!"
We all burst into a whole new round of hysterics, including my Mom who loves a good time. "No Mom, that was supposed to be for Emily."
Emily now laughed as if she was being tickled to death. Meghan howled from the sidelines. Their Grandma was being super silly and they loved it. Ultimately, my Mom returned to being the amazing woman we all know and love as she finally, generously handed over the simple little gift to her granddaughter with pride. "Here, this is for you."
Emily grinned back at her Grandma with an ear to ear smile and reciprocated with a big hug.
I probably should be a little ashamed at admitting openly that I spent a dollar to generate a couple of genuine hugs. But when your heart is in the right place, it always works out. Not giving in to the toddler tantrum and coaching my Mom to overcome the dementia induced personality change, led to an amazing surprise of its own. The laughter we shared that day created a true bonding moment, a memory that will likely last a lifetime.
Sitting in the kitchen sharing a huge laugh with Grandma ... that's priceless.
I sometimes think the girls are a little distant around my aging Mom and I'm not beyond bribery to try and bridge that gap.
I hopped back in the car with the two bright pink and yellow packages and handed them to my Mom, explaining that she could give them as a gift to the girls.
"That's exactly what I wanted," she said with a pout. Somehow she had transformed from 87 to 2 during my three minutes in the store.
"This is fruity gum, Mom. You don't even chew gum," I said.
"Yes I do." She now grew a little huffy. I couldn't hold back a laugh. She was pouting like a toddler and even trying to shed a few tears. My laughing really set her off.
"What? This is exactly what I wanted..." She was already holding the packs, but she scooped them in closer and pulled them possessively to her chest. There was NO way she was handing them off to anyone.
The hilarious interaction went on for a good few minutes. Her logic too silly to recall accurately. To end the stand off, I offered to buy her a pack of gum on the way home, which she mistook as right that minute.
"Well..." she uttered just one word in absolute defiance, now sounding more like a sassy teenager.
I pulled out, letting her, for the moment, think she could keep the gum she already had. It's one of those times Alzheimer's plays in your favor. By the time I hit the main road, all would likely be forgotten. My Mom is usually generous to a fault. When we were young everything went to her daughters first. That very night at dinner she offered me a bite of her main course and dessert. Fairly disgusting, but more in line with her normally generous heart than the present moment where a mutiny was about to erupt over bubble gum.
12-year-old Meghan ran out to the drive to greet us. I pried one pack free from her fingers and said "look what your Grandma got you!" Meghan grabbed the gum and gave my Mom a thank you hug. (See, these little dollar investments can really payoff!) Grandma was so thrilled with the smile and hug that she barely noticed the switcheroo when the gum transferred from her hand to Meghan's. She also still had the remaining pack to clutch.
As we entered the house, I saw my Mom tighten her grip on the gift. I warned 8-year-old Emily that Grandma may have a little difficulty handing over the surprise. My sister said the girls could share one pack and Mom could keep the other, but I insisted she needed to learn, or re-learn how to share.
"What, so she can remember it for a few minutes?" my sister asked. Nicely, not snotty. She's a mom herself and one of many that caution me constantly to pick my battles. (I also won't give in and let her wear white socks with black shoes. Not even in the house. Someday, from heaven, she'll thank me for that.)
To me, sharing was a war worth waging, but I proceeded with tact. Turning the gift giving into a game would surely work.
"Mom, didn't you get Emily something really special today??? I bet she's dying to see it."
My Mom's face lit up. She loves being the center of attention these days. This gave her a stage to unveil the surprise. She pulled her hand up from the table, hiding the packet under her palm and said to Emily, "Do you wonder what I have here?" She bought into the game one-thousand percent. "Do you think this surprise might be for you?" My Mom's face grew more and more animated and Emily giggled her head off in anticipation. We were all having a riot over the gum hand off. Until... the lead in to the silly surprise, the suspense, took so long to build that my Mom forgot who the recipient was. When she finally revealed the brightly colored pack of gum she proclaimed, "look what I got!"
We all burst into a whole new round of hysterics, including my Mom who loves a good time. "No Mom, that was supposed to be for Emily."
Emily now laughed as if she was being tickled to death. Meghan howled from the sidelines. Their Grandma was being super silly and they loved it. Ultimately, my Mom returned to being the amazing woman we all know and love as she finally, generously handed over the simple little gift to her granddaughter with pride. "Here, this is for you."
Emily grinned back at her Grandma with an ear to ear smile and reciprocated with a big hug.
I probably should be a little ashamed at admitting openly that I spent a dollar to generate a couple of genuine hugs. But when your heart is in the right place, it always works out. Not giving in to the toddler tantrum and coaching my Mom to overcome the dementia induced personality change, led to an amazing surprise of its own. The laughter we shared that day created a true bonding moment, a memory that will likely last a lifetime.
Sitting in the kitchen sharing a huge laugh with Grandma ... that's priceless.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
