15 July 2010
14 July 2010
The delicate balance
This is sponsored content from BlogHer and Home Instead Senior Care.
I have never had children, but I almost wish I had, because I think that having toddlers would be good training for dealing with the elderly.
The two groups have many of the same characteristics. They can’t always control their bodies the way they would like to. They sometimes have trouble expressing themselves. They get frustrated at their limitations. They get tired easily and they need their naps.
My father, who has dementia, often gets so disgusted when he can’t put a sentence together that he will quit talking altogether.
“Aw, just forget it,” he grumbles, throwing his hands down.
In helping the elderly – especially those with close emotional ties to you – there is the added consideration of trying to preserve their dignity and independence while keeping in mind that they may not always know what is best for themselves anymore.
Right now I am struggling with my father’s medication. He has taken a dislike to the mail-order pharmacy, claiming they screwed up his order on purpose. Prescriptions through the local pharmacy cost more than twice as much.
Do I overrule him and order from the place he doesn’t like, even though he has the money to pay for the more expensive prescriptions? Or do I do what seems like the prudent thing and save him money, at the cost of his wishes?
Yet largely, I am lucky. My parents, though significantly disabled (my dad by partial blindness and the dementia and my mother by severe arthritis) are very independent. They live in their own home with the most minimal of help (housekeeping and gardening). They don’t need 24-hour care or help with bodily functions.
Their life motto might well be “Don’t be a bother.” They go so far out of their way to not trouble me that sometimes it approaches ridiculousness.
I’ll find out they have been suffering along without something they need, and when I ask why, they will say “Oh, we didn’t want you to go out of your way.”
My dad made this door-closer out of rubber bands when the little air cylinder on their screen door broke. Just because he is mostly blind and can't remember anything doesn't mean he's not clever.
Recently, my mom asked me to pick up an electric blanket for my dad. It took me about a week to get around to purchasing one.
The next day, my mom said “Dad slept better than he has in a while with that new blanket. He has been so cold at night.”
My dad was apparently freezing without the blanket and they didn’t say anything about really needing a new one because they didn’t want to bug me. I had assumed that they needed a new one just because the old one was getting shabby, not because he was too cold.
Sigh. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
I teeter between thinking I am a good person because at least I see my folks every day, and feeling like a jerk because I don’t always know how to meet all of their needs.
Again, kind of like what I hear parents say about having toddlers.
Full disclosure: I got paid to write this post by Home Instead Senior Care. They would love it if you visited BlogHer.com and nominated a hero caregiver to win a cruise (not me, for goodness' sake).
11 July 2010
The Unseen World
Please bear with me. This post is kind of about World Cup but not really. You'll see.
(DON'T LEAVE!)
(YOU CAN'T GO! WHO WILL WATER THE PLANTS?)
Thank you.
Today was the World Cup Final and of course Spain won, so I was happy, because it fell under my Suebobian rule of "If you don't really care who is playing, root for the team with better-looking players." Sorry, Netherlands. Something about wearing wooden shoes has made their faces pinched and pasty.
Except maybe their goalkeeper, Maarten Stecklenburg. Ai yi yi:
Forgive me, Father, for I have done perved.
I was never into futbol before this World Cup. (I call it futbol because everyone else in the world calls it "football," not soccer, but if I say "football," everyone thinks of NFL, so this is my compromise. Works for me.)
I don't know what synapse snapped together in my head on June 11, but suddenly I couldn't stop thinking about World Cup. And the weird thing was that I was surrounded by futbol fans, but I had never noticed it before.
It was like I had walked through a secret door into another world - like my house had landed after a tornado and suddenly, everything was Technicolor instead of black and white.
With my World Cup fandom, I joined a new club. A club that consists of about 40% of the people on earth. I gained new friends all over the place.
The Nigerian security guards and I bonded over the knockout round. My cube neighbor, Tai, discovered me during the Round of 16. I trash-talked with a German guy in line at the grocery store. A girl in my class at church gave a dissertation on the storied career of Diego Maradona.
Everywhere I went, whenever I saw someone with a futbol jersey or t-shirt, I would start talking to them. Someone once told me that God gave us weather so that we would always have something to talk to strangers about. Now I have the weather AND futbol.
When I first started the month, I didn't even know how the tournament structure worked. I had heard futbol was "boring" and "slow" because there are so few goals scored in a game.
By the end, I - a former NBA fan who had to quit watching because I was getting horrible headaches from screaming too loud at televised games - realized that futbol is the most thrilling game on earth precisely because of the emphasis on quality of play, NOT on just scoring more than the other team.
Today, when I watched the finals, I was among the 25% of the people on earth seeing the game at that moment. It felt amazing - like I was suddenly a citizen of the world, bonded by this crazy love of the Beautiful Game, wishing for nothing more in that moment than to see some great play.
If you didn't watch the game, you can see all the highlights here.
Olé, Olé, Olé. I'll see you in Rio in 2014.
(p.s. My mom gave me money to buy a cute outfit for my birthday. She said "I hope you got something nice with your birthday money," and I had to admit "Yes, I did, Mom. I bought LA Galaxy tickets.")
(DON'T LEAVE!)
(YOU CAN'T GO! WHO WILL WATER THE PLANTS?)
Thank you.
Today was the World Cup Final and of course Spain won, so I was happy, because it fell under my Suebobian rule of "If you don't really care who is playing, root for the team with better-looking players." Sorry, Netherlands. Something about wearing wooden shoes has made their faces pinched and pasty.
Except maybe their goalkeeper, Maarten Stecklenburg. Ai yi yi:
Forgive me, Father, for I have done perved.
I was never into futbol before this World Cup. (I call it futbol because everyone else in the world calls it "football," not soccer, but if I say "football," everyone thinks of NFL, so this is my compromise. Works for me.)
I don't know what synapse snapped together in my head on June 11, but suddenly I couldn't stop thinking about World Cup. And the weird thing was that I was surrounded by futbol fans, but I had never noticed it before.
It was like I had walked through a secret door into another world - like my house had landed after a tornado and suddenly, everything was Technicolor instead of black and white.
With my World Cup fandom, I joined a new club. A club that consists of about 40% of the people on earth. I gained new friends all over the place.
The Nigerian security guards and I bonded over the knockout round. My cube neighbor, Tai, discovered me during the Round of 16. I trash-talked with a German guy in line at the grocery store. A girl in my class at church gave a dissertation on the storied career of Diego Maradona.
Everywhere I went, whenever I saw someone with a futbol jersey or t-shirt, I would start talking to them. Someone once told me that God gave us weather so that we would always have something to talk to strangers about. Now I have the weather AND futbol.
When I first started the month, I didn't even know how the tournament structure worked. I had heard futbol was "boring" and "slow" because there are so few goals scored in a game.
By the end, I - a former NBA fan who had to quit watching because I was getting horrible headaches from screaming too loud at televised games - realized that futbol is the most thrilling game on earth precisely because of the emphasis on quality of play, NOT on just scoring more than the other team.
Today, when I watched the finals, I was among the 25% of the people on earth seeing the game at that moment. It felt amazing - like I was suddenly a citizen of the world, bonded by this crazy love of the Beautiful Game, wishing for nothing more in that moment than to see some great play.
If you didn't watch the game, you can see all the highlights here.
Olé, Olé, Olé. I'll see you in Rio in 2014.
(p.s. My mom gave me money to buy a cute outfit for my birthday. She said "I hope you got something nice with your birthday money," and I had to admit "Yes, I did, Mom. I bought LA Galaxy tickets.")
10 July 2010
Meet the White Trash Neighbor
It's time for a new feature on Red Stapler: Meet The White Trash Neighbor.
Here's his back yard, just to give you an idea of what we are dealing with:
His back yard that abuts MY back yard, which is not going to win the Garden Club grand prize either, but at least there are no rusting hulks out there.
He bought the house and IMMEDIATELY began filling up the yard with trash and rusting metal things.
This post is sponsored by Ativan, which is what I may have to take if Terry, for that is his name, doesn't stop driving me INSANE.
It is Saturday. A warm day. A day when one might conceivably wish to have one's windows open. But no.
Terry has some old 1960's, pre-emissions-control truck and he has been out there for 2 hours revving his engine, producing clouds of noxious fumes. I should leave, you might suggest. Oh, yes, I would if I could. But I need to work.
Ah well. At least he's not doing his other hobbies - welding, shaping sheet metal, or chasing his pit bulls around.
I almost want to stand on my front steps and yell "STOP BEING SUCH A STEREOTYPE." Maybe I'll just take him a case of Bud Light instead.
Here's his back yard, just to give you an idea of what we are dealing with:
His back yard that abuts MY back yard, which is not going to win the Garden Club grand prize either, but at least there are no rusting hulks out there.
He bought the house and IMMEDIATELY began filling up the yard with trash and rusting metal things.
This post is sponsored by Ativan, which is what I may have to take if Terry, for that is his name, doesn't stop driving me INSANE.
It is Saturday. A warm day. A day when one might conceivably wish to have one's windows open. But no.
Terry has some old 1960's, pre-emissions-control truck and he has been out there for 2 hours revving his engine, producing clouds of noxious fumes. I should leave, you might suggest. Oh, yes, I would if I could. But I need to work.
Ah well. At least he's not doing his other hobbies - welding, shaping sheet metal, or chasing his pit bulls around.
I almost want to stand on my front steps and yell "STOP BEING SUCH A STEREOTYPE." Maybe I'll just take him a case of Bud Light instead.
A waste of our tax dollars
Leaving the street festival, I was waiting at the crosswalk near a family of four.
"Wait," the crosswalk voice chanted. "Wait."
"Mom, the pole is talking to us," said the boy, about 9 years old.
Just then, the light changed.
"Walk...walk...walk," said the pole.
"How stupid is that?" the mother ranted. "The government is spending our tax dollars on that stupid thing telling us when to cross? I can't believe they spent money on that! What is the point of that?"
"Um...it's for the blind," I mumbled.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" The woman covered her face in her hands. "Oh, that makes sense...I thought..."
"Not everything is a conspiracy to waste your tax money," said her husband, smirking.
"Wait," the crosswalk voice chanted. "Wait."
"Mom, the pole is talking to us," said the boy, about 9 years old.
Just then, the light changed.
"Walk...walk...walk," said the pole.
"How stupid is that?" the mother ranted. "The government is spending our tax dollars on that stupid thing telling us when to cross? I can't believe they spent money on that! What is the point of that?"
"Um...it's for the blind," I mumbled.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" The woman covered her face in her hands. "Oh, that makes sense...I thought..."
"Not everything is a conspiracy to waste your tax money," said her husband, smirking.
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