Growing Pains......

We are never too old to feel the sting of growing pains.  In fact, adults feel them all the time.  From the moment I first realized, at age 21, that I would never have an entire summer off for school break (or an Easter Break or a Christmas Break!) I've had many such 'growing pains' moments.  We all see them - those moments when we are forcibly reminded that childhood is long over and we have become, irrevocably, grown-ups.

Each of us can easily make a list:
    First grey hair.
    Birth of first child.
    Child going to kindergarten.
    First major injury.
    Difficulty getting up off the floor.
    Child graduating high school/college.
    Realizing that ladders are much higher than they used to be.
    Caring for a chronically ill child.
    Noticing that new lack of agility.
    Moving an aging parent home with you.
    Burying a parent.
   
These things can range from the sublime to the rediculous, but each one reminds us of our advancing committment to adulthood and aging.

Hubby and I both had one such moment at the Post Office on Saturday.  We filled out our passport applications, submitted them, and drove home.

On the way home, Hubby said, "So, what did YOU put down under 'hair color'?

AHAHAHAHAHAHA!  We both had to admit that we'd written "Grey."  We kinda had to match the pictures, you know? 

DeeDee

Mother's Day Sandwich.......

Hubby works on Sundays, and Babygirl is not confident with the stove, so no breakfast in bed for me!  I'm sure someone has done it in the past, probably more than once, but I clearly remember only one time:  A plate of scrambled eggs, toast and bacon arranged to look like a big smiley face.  And it was edible!

Mother's Day at our house is usually haunted by loss.  Birthmothers, dead, living or status unknown hover around my children in my imagination at least.  The girls rarely say anything, but I know that they contemplate what is versus what might have been at least sometimes.

And today I have been contemplating that, too.  What is versus what might have been.

I might have opted not to have the one baby I had.  I might have never opened my life and heart to any child.  I might have, in the past two years, watched my youngest die.  I might have, in the past two months, watched my mother die.

I cannot contemplate any of those 'might have beens' without weeping.  Each and every child in my life has been an unspeakable blessing. My mother has been my support and help for my whole life.  The thought of not having known, or having lost, ANY of them brings me to my knees in gratitude for all I have been given. 

We who are in the Sandwich Generation, caring for both the generations before and after us, have many challenges.  Making ends meet in terms of time and energy is not the least of these.  But we who are in this situation also realize that we are intensely blessed.  We have, in our day-to-day lives, the joys and benefits of both generations. 

We are sandwiched between obligations, duties, stresses and strains.  But more than this, we are sandwiched by love.

DeeDee

PS  Check your car.  If you have both a walker AND a carseat for a grandchild, you can add one more layer to your sandwich.  The Club Sandwich Generation?

Passports....

Babygirl, Hubby and I went to the post office today to submit our applications for passports!  We were met there by our Make-A-Wish Wish Granters who came along to pay the bill.  They were totally impressed by how "organized" we were.  That's because, of course, they weren't here at home Thursday evening as Hubby and I ransacked the house to assemble the appropriate paperwork!

For Babygirl we needed her adoption decree, her new American birth certificate and the matching Social Security card..  We weren't sure so we also brought her citizenship notice, her Guatemalan passport (long since expired) and her Guatemalan birth certificate.  They asked if she had any photo ID (not counting the absolutely adorable but hopelessly out-of-date passport picture).  I know I'm not 30 anymore and I may be just a tad out of touch, but where the heck would a 13 year old get an official photo ID?  We were offered the opportunity to purchase a passport card (oh, so THAT'S where a 13 year old gets an official ID!).  I know about enhanced driver's licenses, but I had not heard of passport cards (you need the passport book for overseas travel). 

For Hubby, we needed only his application and his expired passport, plus a peek at his driver's license. 

For me?  Well, I have no idea where my old passport is.  It's clearly expired, and I know where I last saw it, but no idea where it went from there.  So I got to start from scratch, with:

Application, application to replace lost/stolen passport (separate form with same info), birth certificate (I brought two, both certified, and thankfully one of them listed my parents' names, since that was required), proof of name changes (first marriage certificate, divorce decree, second marriage certificate),  my social security card and my driver's license. 

Men have it so much easier LOL.

A quick phone call to our oldest to get her address for an emergency contact, and we were done.  The entire process took nearly an hour, much to the dismay of the kid waiting behind us LOL.  We were grateful to Make-A-Wish for funding this - the total tab was well over $300.

But it's a big step - looking to fulfill Babygirl's Wish in August!

DeeDee
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Third Year, Week Three - Running......

It's been a busy week. 

Friday:  Work, grocery shopping, laundry.

Saturday:  Move mom, feed moving team, unpack, feed family, unpack, laundry.

Sunday:  Pack lunches, travel to Dorney Park, travel on to Philly.

Monday:  Downtown Philly to see doctor (should I worry because I haven't heard anything about labs yet?), drive home, unpack unpack.

Tuesday:  Work.  Unpack. 

Wednesday:  Work.  Unpack.  Unpack more.

Thursday:  Clean bathrooms, clean pet cages and litter boxes, laundry, work, take Curlygirl to grocery store, help JuJuBee transport things to new apartment, search for paperwork necessary for passport applications.

Today:  I already have two loads of laundry done with more to go.  I'll head for work in a minute, come home and continue unpacking with my Mom.  But for right now I'll enjoy one more cup of coffee and enjoy watching the dog chasing dream rabbits (Wooof.  Woooofwooooofwooof.) while the fog burns off outside my window. 

It's good, really good, to have an unscheduled moment to listen to the morning birdsong.

There won't be many such moments this weekend either.

DeeDee
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The Aftermath......

Our trashmen came this morning and took away an absolutely enormous pile of boxes broken down and stuffed into more boxes surrounded by bags of wadded-up newspapers and more boxes of boxes.  The pile was 12 feet long, 4 feet wide and about 4 feet tall.

I'm glad our city recycles!

I still have a few more to unpack, but I can finally see most of the top of Mom's table.

DeeDee

Blue Rain.....

I fell asleep reading.  I like my current read:  The Codex Alera series by Jim Butcher.  He's the same guy who  wrote The Dresden Files, which is an absolutely wonderful good-versus-evil wizard series. 

Usually when I fall asleep reading I stay asleep.  But, as you all know, insomnia has become my buddy lately.  So I'm sitting here drinking tea and contemplating life, and the way I handle life.

I don't know about all of you, but I have a tendency to want to explain things.  I explain to patients why 'cutting down' on smoking is not remotely the same as 'quitting smoking.'  I explain world politics (as I see them) to my kids.  And I want to explain, over and over and over again why I have failed to do all that a I need to do in a day. 

I know that last one is a total waste of my time and energy.  I really have no need to justify to anybody why I can no longer juggle eight balls at a time.  No, wait - let me explain!  I am STILL juggling eight balls, maybe ten, but six or more of them are invisible to everybody else!  Oh, right - no need to explain. 

So while I was lying on the knife-edge of sleep, the phrase, "Because of the blue rain" appeared in my head. 

"Blue rain?"

The inside of my head is an endlessly entertaining and entirely frightening location.  Clearly my general sense of daughter-guilt has been swirling around in there for some time, begging to be processed.  My mommy- and grandma-guilt have been vying for my attention as well.  Don't even get me started on church- and work-guilt.  There is no end to my feelings of inadequacy LOL.

"Blue rain."

Why can't I take Curlygirl to the doctor today?  Forget that I am on my way with Babygirl to the doctors in Philly.  It's because of the blue rain.  Why did I forget to pick up Babygirl's new dose of headache medications? Is it because I was packing boxes at mom's?  Nah - it was the damned blue rain.  Why can't I drop everything and pick up JuJuBee everytime she needs a ride someplace?  Raining.  Blue.  Why can't I pull together music for church anymore?  Pouring, absolutely pouring blue rain.  Why wasn't I more organized for Mom's move?  Because of the bright blue rain.  Why can't I remember to send Citygirl a text now and then?  Overwhelmed?  Not at all - it's just the drumming of the blue rain.

Somewhere in my subconscious the steady dripping of family stress and sickness has taken on literal color and texture and become rain.  Pretty, blue, soft and steady rain.  There is no logical explanation for why one family of so relatively few people has so much epic, catastrophic adventure.  Nothing that makes any degree of sense.  Some people have some blue rain kinda days. 

We have a blue rain kinda life. 

We cannot stop or control the weather.  And unlike snow, you can't shovel rain out of your way.  The water rises and falls, and the floods come and go, and we are helpless to make the rain go away.  I've compared our life to rowing a leaky boat before.  We keep bailing the boat and rowing as hard as we can.

There is an old maritime prayer:  "Lord, the sea is so big, and my boat is so small." 

Lord, there is so much blue rain.  And I'm tired of rowing.

DeeDee

Third Year, Week Two - Lost.....

"Where are the cats?"

I spent much of the last month helping my mom pack up her things so she could move into the apartment next door.  We spent all of yesterday carefully loading all of her things into cars, pickups, and a U-Haul truck.

"Make sure you don't put any weight on the front legs of the piano or they'll break!"

The Mission Team from our church accepted the challenge of helping with this move in exchange for a donation.  And while they all understood why I needed to move my mom, they got front row seats on The Dementia Show.

"Where are the cats?"

I was surprised by how much stuff still WASN'T packed.  Mom's best friend had been steadily loading boxes for me to pre-move for weeks.  Load after load of beloved knickknacks, photographs, and history had already made their way over to mom's new place. 

"Make sure you don't put any weight on the front legs of the piano - they'll break!"

I had planned on simply grabbing my mom and taking her to my place so she wouldn't have to see the moving.  But there was still too much to do, so she sat through the majority of the load-up while I kept packing.  And packing.  And packing.

"Where are the cats?"

I got her home, settled her in, and started prepping lunch for twelve while the Team finished up the last of the loading.  I must say that playing Tetris apparently translates into some substantial real-world skills.  There was no wasted space at ALL. 

"Did you tell them to not put any weight on the front legs of the piano?  They'll break if they do."

The Team arrived, lunch was served, and the off-loading began.  It always takes less time to do this part, but it's still so MUCH work.  Thank God for people young enough to lift and haul and repetitively climb stairs!

"Where are the cats?"

The hardest thing about dementia is being so lost.  And the hardest thing so far about dealing with Mom's dementia is doing my best to not point out her 'lostness' to her.  Answering the same question over and over and over again as if it is the first time I've heard the question becomes a struggle after about the third time.  Hoping the poor souls moving the damned piano don't get offended by the implication that they are incapable of remembering to protected the legs of  said instrument. 

And watching my mom, lost and frightened, and not being able to help her find her way home.

DeeDee