Moms Can Do Anything 2/31

It's Saturday night, and I just got out of the bathtub. I am settled on the couch eating Troll jellybeans and playing a game on my phone. My son is home for the weekend and is upstairs in his room talking on his phone to his girlfriend.

I get a call, and it is him.

"Yes???"

"Are you in the living room?

"Yes???"

Can you go downstairs and get the WD40?"

"Yes??? Where would it be?

"Either on Dad's workbench or in that open cabinet."

"And why do you need that?

"My bed is squeaking, and if I move, I might not be able to find the squeak again."

I get up, go the basement, fetch the can of WD-40, and go upstairs to his room. He is lying in bed squeaking away. 

"Can you get down there and look under the bed and see if you can find where it's squeaking?"

"I can't do that! My knees won't let me. Here, let me try something."

I go over to the top of the bed and pull it away from the wall just a little. The squeak stops. I look at him and laugh, "Moms can do anything!"  And I walk back downstairs to my jellybeans.

 

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating 
a space for me and other teacher-writers to share our stories.

Three Simple Words

Tree. Table. Book. 

These three simple words lead me on a journey full of emotions. Tree. Table. Book. is a book written by Lowis Lowry where one of the main characters is in the beginning stages of cognitive decline. Her name is Sophie, and she has young 11-year-old friend also named Sophie. When young Sophie overhears a conversation about her friend moving closer to her son because of her dementia, she sets out to help.

Young Sophie thinks if she can help her pass the three-word test, then she won't have to move. Young Sophie tries to get her to tie stories to the words to help her remember them. But this leads older Sophie to tell stories of her childhood in Poland during World War II, stories untold until now.

It is a beautiful story, but that's not the story behind this slice.

My mother also had dementia, and she was given this same cognitive test. The doctor gives three words and tells the patient to remember them. Then a series of additional questions are asked. At the end, the patient is asked to recall the three words.

We would sit beside mom and wonder how in the world she continued to pass this test. But as time went on, and my mother's cognitive ability declined, this part of the test became more difficult. I found myself, just like young Sophie, willing my mom to say those...

three simple words.

 

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating 
a space for me and other teacher-writers to share our stories.

A Literary Hug

When a writer sends words out into the world, she never knows upon whose heart they may land.

A comment on my mom's online obituary began a serendipitous trail. 

Let me back up to March 24th, where I was wrapping up my slice of life challenge. My writing group had a journal club meeting, and one of the prompts was about a hiding place. I wrote about a mulberry tree that I used to play in with my childhood best friend. I turned that entry into a poem and posted it as a slice the next day.

As I was reading the comments on the obituary, I saw one from this childhood friend. She wrote about how my mom always included her even with all my mom's responsibilities. I was touched by the comment because I have not seen this friend since we graduated high school over 40 years ago.

A few days later, my sister sent a text showing me a post by my friend. Apparently, she Googled me and found my blog.

And found the poem I wrote about her.

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating 
a space for me and other teacher-writers to share our stories.

All Because of a Diet Coke 25/31

In December we placed my mother in a memory care facility. At that time, she was addicted to Diet Coke. Many times, she would forget to eat, but she always had a can of Diet Coke in her hand.

Diet Coke was also the reason she was placed in a behavior unit. She was in her room with her recliner and her mini refrigerator stocked with her own Diet Coke. As she was getting up to get one, a nurse told her to sit down.

I know you don't know my mother, but no one tells my mother what to do. She has been too independent for far too many years while working in a male-dominated field for someone to tell HER what to do. 

That command didn't sit too well with her, and she became "violent." That started a downward spiral in which my mother has never fully recovered from and sadly never will. To this day, she can't walk on her own, she can't feed herself, and she can't carry on a full conversation. All because of a Diet Coke.

Today on my way to see her, I thought, "What if I take Mom a Diet Coke today? Would she like that? Am I starting something I shouldn't be?"

I pulled into the McDonald's drive-thru, still debating on whether this was a good idea or not. As I approached the speaker to order, I almost pulled out of line. But at the last minute, I decided to order her a small Diet Coke and me a Diet Dr. Pepper.

I pulled up to pay, and the cashier said, "Did you order the drinks?"

"Yes, I did."

"No charge today. The man in front of you paid for them."

When I gave Mom her first drink in almost three months, her face lit up, and she smiled and said, "That is good."

That man will never know how much joy he brought into the world today...all because of a Diet Coke.

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

Friday Night Donut Bust 17/31

Before I became a teacher, I was a stay-at-home mom. I loved staying home with my children and although we had to make sacrifices, I would not have changed those years for anything.

I had four years with just my daughter before we had our son. When Megan started school, I had "mom and son" time for almost six years. 

We live in a small town with a small-town donut shop--a little hole in the wall as many would say. Ethan and I would drop Megan off at school, and he and I would stop by the donut shop at least once a week. He would always get a cake donut, and I would get a yeast donut with chocolate icing and nuts. 

Every time.

On Friday nights, the donut shop would open up, and my husband would stop and get donuts to eat after our pizza that night. Sometimes, Mrs. Lancaster, "the donut lady" would have a box of donuts ready for him. Because he went every Friday, she knew what he would order. Plus, she didn't want to run the risk of running out before he got there.

On one particular Friday, my husband was off from work and took Ethan with him to pick up the donuts a little earlier than usual. When they walked in, she recognized Ethan from our morning visits. 

My husband ordered, and she looked at Ethan a little surprised. "Well, that's not what your mom usually orders," she laughed.

Uh-oh...busted!

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

A Gathering of Grandkid Goodness 7/31

I am delighted to once again be joining other bloggers for Spiritual Journey Thursday. I missed February (this post is part of the reason why) but I am glad to be back this month. Today's journey is hosted by Ramona at Pleasure from the Page. Please feel free to join us!

Before I became a teacher, I was a stay-at-home and a quilter. I quilted with my husband's grandmother and sister. We spent hours laughing and talking at the quilting frame while my daughter Megan played underneath. 

About 25 years ago, we began making picture quilts where we had pictures transferred onto fabric and then sewn into quilt blocks. Our first one was for the 50th wedding anniversary of my in-laws. It was beautiful.

We also made one for my grandma. This one featured a baby picture and a current picture of each one of her 18 grandchildren. That was such a special Christmas as no one had ever seen a quilt like this before.

Many years later, dementia took over my grandma's life, and she moved in with my aunt. I assumed she took the quilt with her. Sometime after she died, I asked about the quilt, and the search began.

My aunt looked all through Grandma's things. 

Nothing. 

My aunt looked all through her closets and drawers in her house. 

Nothing.

The quilt could not be found. We assumed that sometime during the move to my aunt's house, the quilt must have been accidently thrown away. It was probably stored safely in a box or bag, and someone had mistaken it for trash or a donation. 

After many years now, I have come to accept that it was gone.

Over President's Day weekend, my siblings and I packed up my mom's house because we had just recently put her in a nursing home. We each took a room, and I was in the back bedroom with my nephew. Going through a closet that had extra bedding in it, I looked down and I saw corner of a blanket.

"No, this can't be!"

I pulled it out and started screaming. The quilt was at my mom's house all these years. My mom now has dementia, so I will never know how or when she got it.  I am assuming that since my mom is the oldest of her siblings, she took it and didn't remember.

I now have the quilt, but what a day it was:  a gathering of grandkid goodness!

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

 

Will we get snow?

 Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating a space to share our stories.

We began hearing whispers of potential snow a few days ago. My husband has been glued to the weather app and sends us updates regularly...many more than we need. I think sending them helps him to believe that we really might get some. He is just like a kid anticipating that first big snow of the year.

"Looks like some snow next weekend."

"1-3" Monday and dropping to around 10 degrees that night."

"Maybe 1-3 on Sunday too."

"Now they are calling for up to 8 inches."

"Now it's all rain."

"Negative 4 on Tuesday morning now."

"1-3 back in play Friday night winds up to 40mph." 

"Who knows...apparently they don't."

I think I will just wait and wake up and let my own eyes be my weather forecaster while my husband dreams of a snow like the one we had a few years ago!

The Plan

We had the perfect plan. All our Ts were crossed and Is were dotted. My sister took Mom and her caregiver out for lunch while my brother, husband, daughter, and I quickly packed. We had very little time to move Mom's things to the memory care unit before she unknowingly arrived.

The men loaded the love seat and tables, while Megan and I packed pictures and a few personal items. Her clothes were already moved the day before. In under 30 minutes we were packed and ready. The plan was on schedule.

As I looked back before shutting the door, I saw the opened can of diet coke and the honey bun wrapper from the morning's breakfast still sitting on the counter.

And then it hit me. The realization that she was never coming back home.

I wasn't quite ready for that part of the plan.

 

 Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating a space to share our stories.

Tea Party

 A little girl sits at her table with her "friends." The table is set with four little white plates with delicate pink flowers and a yellow butterfly, four cups and saucers, and a tea pot complete with a sugar bowl and cream pitcher.

The little girl slowly pours the Hi-C or Koolaid from the pot, carefully holding the lid tightly so it doesn't fall and break. She places a Chips Ahoy! chocolate chip cookie on each plate, and the tea party begins.

Fifty-five years or so ago, that little girl was me. I received this toy China tea set when I was around four or five years old, and it is one of the things I still have from my childhood.

There was a time when I had the tea set on a shelf on my bedroom wall. My little brother was jumping on my bed, hit the shelf, and broke one of the plates. I was devastated! 

Over the holiday weekend, I was telling this story to my brother and sisters. He, of course, remembered none of it. He asked me to send him a picture of it because "he didn't remember what it looked like."

Today, I received a big surprise.

With some sleuthing from my daughter, my brother searched Ebay until he found another one of these exact tea sets. My set is now complete!

Would anyone like to have to tea with me?

 Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating a space to share our stories. 

A Simple Melody

My mother has dementia. As more of her memory fades with each passing day, we come closer and closer to making tough decisions. Lately she has mentioned how she just wants to go home. She still lives at home, so we are assuming that she is remembering her childhood home, as driving through that area of town seems to bring her joy.

It seems the childhood memories are the ones she keeps tucked away in a safe place.

Music also seems to bring her joy. When she listens to Dean Martin or Elvis Presley, it's like I have my mother back. This is when I wish time could stand still. 

Annotated Playlist

Each month I participate in a writing challenge with my Teach Write writing group. This month we were challenged to write an annotated playlist. 

For me, songs take me back to certain places and time spent with special people. I chose three songs for this challenge although I could have chosen so many more.

My Annotated Playlist

Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus—Dancing in the kitchen with 6-month old Megan in my arms, my heart was anything but achy or breaky. It was filled with motherhood joy.

Remember When by Alan Jackson—June 12, 2010, I sat in the church with tears streaming down my cheeks as this song played. Aunt Pam’s “remember whens” were cut short at the age of 52. 

You Raise Me Up by Josh Groban—This song marks one of my most significant life decisions. Could I do this at the age of 40? While contemplating the decision, this song came on the radio several times. I knew it was a sign to say yes. Yes, to returning to school to become a teacher.

Marilyn Miner, who is in our group, made a comment about how music can not only take us back but also move us forward. There is so much truth in this statement. Music has such power.

 After participating in the Slice of Life March Challenge by Two Writing Teachers, I am continuing to write my stories with other teacher-writers as we share a slice of life on Tuesdays.

Between the Lines {2}

 

It is April, and I am joining many others in celebrating National Poetry Month by reading, writing, sharing, and celebrating poetry each day this month. I have chosen to combine my love of reading with my love of writing. I will be writing poems using all things bookish--from titles to quotes to characters. So, come turn the page and write a little poetry with me.

Gogyohka is a five-line poem with one phrase per line created by Enta Kusakabe. He created the poem to "find freedom from the restraints of Haiku and Tanka poetry" (Writer's Digest).

I took the title of Nikki Grimes' book, Between the Lines, and wrote a Gogyohka poem about my mother and her struggle with dementia.

A memory lies

tucked between the lines

of the past and present

blurred and obscure

just out of her reach.

Check out the Kidlit Progressive Poem, which is being organized by Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche. A different poet adds a line each day for the month of April. You can find the poem's trail below.

April 1 Mary Lee Hahn, Another Year of Reading
April 2 Heidi Mordhorst, My Juicy Little Universe
April 3 Tabatha, The Opposite of Indifference
April 4 Buffy Silverman
April 5 Rose Cappelli, Imagine the Possibilities
April 6 Donna Smith, Mainely Write
April 7 Margaret Simon, Reflections on the Teche
April 8 Leigh Anne, A Day in the Life
April 9 Linda Mitchell, A Word Edgewise
April 10 Denise Krebs, Dare to Care
April 11 Emma Roller, Penguins and Poems
April 12 Dave Roller, Leap Of Dave 
April 13 Irene Latham Live You Poem 
April 14 Janice Scully, Salt City Verse
April 15 Jone Rush MacCulloch
April 16 Linda Baie TeacherDance
April 17 Carol Varsalona, Beyond Literacy Link
April 18 Marcie Atkins
April 19 Carol Labuzzetta at The Apples in My Orchard 
April 20 Cathy Hutter, Poeturescapes
April 21 Sarah Grace Tuttle at Sarah Grace Tuttle’s Blog, 
April 22 Marilyn Garcia
April 23 Catherine at Reading to the Core
April 24 Janet Fagal, hosted by Tabatha, The Opposite of Indifference
April 25 Ruth, There is no Such Thing as a God-Forsaken Town
April 26 Patricia J. Franz, Reverie
April 27 Theresa Gaughan, Theresa’s Teaching Tidbits
April 28 Karin Fisher-Golton, Still in Awe Blog
April 29 Karen Eastlund, Karen’s Got a Blog
April 30 Michelle Kogan Illustration, Painting, and Writing

Popcorn Night #SOL23

A bowl. 

A snack. 

A memory.

Popcorn was a favorite family snack when we were growing up. It may have been because money was tight, and this snack was inexpensive and stretched a long way. It may have been because it was my mother's favorite.

Mom always popped the corn on the stove top and placed it in glass bowls, served with hot, melted butter and a dash of salt, tapping the bowl with her hand to distribute it. I still remember sitting beside her on the couch and the sound of her wedding ring hitting the side of the bowl.

My little sister was born when I was nine years old. As she became a toddler and when it would be popcorn night, mom would nibble off the end pieces, leaving the soft, round pieces for Crissy. Mom would hold them cupped in her hand on her lap and give her a few pieces at a time. 

I still eat my popcorn this same way.

A bowl.

A snack.

A memory--I wonder if this is one Mom remembers.

 

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

Remembrance For My Grandmother #SOL23

In my classroom, I use Linda Rief's book, The Quickwrite Handbook, to spark writing for my students. And sometimes I use them for myself. For today's slice, I use this quickwrite and share my grandmother with you.

Remembrance For My Grandmother

I remember...I was with you the first time I ate a fresh peach,

Sitting in a swing at the cabin on the river

Juice running down my chin.

And I was with you when Janis and I

spent the night at your house

so mom could surprise us

with our new bedroom furniture.

And I was with you when you taught me 

how to make homemade noodles

and apple pie and cocoa fudge

but they were never as good as yours.

And I was with you when you held 

Megan in your arms

the start of the 4th generation.

And I was with you when I made you a quilt

for Christmas

with pictures of all 18 of your grandchildren

hand-stitched with love.

And I was with you when you smiled at me

when I came to the nursing home

not knowing my name

but knowing I belonged to you.

I wish I was still with you today.

 

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

Not your typical Saturday #SOL23

It was a typical Saturday:  no alarm, Wordle, and breakfast. Because of the challenge this month, I grab my computer, link my slice, and dive into the world of commenting before getting ready for the day.

But this Saturday was different. 

As I snuggled under the blanket on the couch, my husband asked me if I would follow him to Walmart to get the oil changed in our son's car since he was home. We usually don't use Walmart's automotive services, but Ethan is only home on the weekends, so we did what we had to do. 

That turned into a big mistake.

We dropped the car off, and I returned home to shower before I ran my Saturday errands. Since I was going to Walmart to do some shopping, my husband asked, "Could you check on the car while you are there and let me know if it's ready. I'll bring Ethan and pick it up."

Sounded like a good plan. I approached the service area and asked if it was ready. The technician seemed a little confused, but I didn't think anything about it. When he said it had already been paid for, I should have known something was up.

I called my husband to ask him if he had paid for it when he dropped it off. Nope.

The tech kept looking in the service pouches, going out into the service area, and looking at the printed service tickets on the counter.

I knew then that something really was up; I just didn't know what.

He finally said, "It's ready. Just tell him to come and pick it up, and I'll have it figured out by the time he gets here."

I left and was finishing some more errands when my husband texted me:  "They lost the fob...it's a mess."

Long story short. They "lost" the fob (we actually think someone took it). Our oil change was never done. Another Chevrolet that was there at the same time got our oil change and never received the service they needed. Ethan's extra fob was at his apartment, one hour away. The car was locked, and we had no way of getting in.

They called in two managers, and they watched the security cameras to see if they could determine what happened to the fob. This is the same car that was stolen about a year ago, so my husband wasn't leaving until he had that fob in his hands. 

Almost four hours later our car was towed to our dealer where it will be kept in a secured service bay until Monday. They will have to order new fobs and reprogram them. My son received a loaner car that he will drive home, and we will have to trade cars with him once his is done.

What should have been a thirty-minute oil change turned into an all-day nightmare...that isn't even over yet.

So much for a typical Saturday, huh?

Edited to update:  Walmart management was very nice about the whole thing, and yes, they are paying for it. However, after all this happened, we have heard other similar stories. Some even worse than ours. We are grateful that even though our situation was frustrating, ours could be fixed.

 . 

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

He knows; he always knows #SOL23

"He knows; he always knows."  is a line from the movie, A Christmas Story. My family watches the 24-hour marathon starting on Christmas Eve and running through Christmas night and can recite most of this movie.

But these words have taken on a different meaning over the last few years.

The other night my husband made a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up just a few items. He comes back with a large bag of Oreos--one of my daughter's favorite cookies.

They talk about Oreos, laugh about Oreos, put Oreos on their eyes. You know, those stupid little things "adults" do.

It wasn't long after the Oreos were eaten that Megan was scrolling through Facebook. And what should appear, an ad for Oreos. She never searched for Oreos or typed in Oreos on her phone, but there they were.

So yes, he knows; he always knows, and to me, that is very worrisome.

 

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

A Losing Battle #SOL23

Today, I lost a battle. Again. A battle with the Tupperware cabinet. I am not even sure why we still call it Tupperware because I am sure I haven’t owned a piece of Tupperware in the last 25 years. But the Rubbermaid cabinet just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

When I open the door of the cabinet, I have my hands up, ready to fight. I open the door carefully because I know the lids and containers are strewn every which way, and I anticipate them striking first.

My family members are traitors; they help the enemy by throwing the plastic pieces haphazardly like they were throwing candy in a parade. I have drawn a line in the sand by labeling the shelves with “circle” and “rectangle” expecting them to place the items on the correct shelf, but they continue to sabotage me. 

No matter how hard I strategize to conquer the enemy, they outmaneuver me. When I have lots of leftovers and need a large container, I only have small ones. When I need small ones to pack my lunch, I only have large ones. And I consider myself lucky when I win a round of “who can find the lid.”

This morning, as I was fixing my lunch for school, I waved the white flag. I surrendered and took my 1/2 cup of taco meat in quart container and threw my shredded cheddar cheese in a baggie because I couldn’t find a simple lid.

Surely, I am not the only one who loses the battle with the Tupperware cabinet. 

 

Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we 
share a slice of life during the month of March. 

Lost Memories #TeachWritetober22

I walk into a room, and I forget why I am there.

I see someone I know and can't remember her name.

I am in the middle of teaching, and I grasp for a word floating around in my mind, just out of my cognizant reach.

I know this is a regular part of aging, but when dementia grows two generations deep, I feel fear. A fear that I will be next.

My writing life has become even more important to me because I want to remember. I want to keep my thoughts and my stories safe. 

We've been making difficult decisions with my mom since last May. Parenting a parent is not easy, especially when we have to take things away from her. As she continues to decline, her memory loss makes it easier at times. Simply because she doesn't remember.

This week for our #TeachWritetober writing challenge, our prompt was to write a haiku about something that scares us. I am living that fear each time I walk into my mother's house, afraid that she will not remember who I am. I know that day is coming.

with faraway eyes
her present becomes my fear
of lost memories