There are many books out there that will tell you what to do IF your parents become demented. But really, do you need to fork out the $29.99 for a self-help book if you don't even know if you will need it? Do I buy the book, or not?
Here's a quick quiz to determine your odds of becoming a Panini.
I. My parents are:
a. Really great. They're 80 years old, and have done all their estate planning and are cheerfully ensconced in their retirement community.
b. Really pretty ok. They're 65 years old, and have done some wills and medical forms, but they are still living in that funky house.
c. Really not too bad. They are 75 years old and are only now becoming aware of their impending demise.
d. Really a mess. They are 80 years old and I haven't spoken to my dad ever since he was convicted.
II. My siblings and I:
a. Get along great! I'd have no hesitation about taking a walking trip across Nepal with all of them, and their spouses, too!
b. Sometimes have our differences, but we always work them out.
c. Do o.k. as long as we don't have to spend too much time together.
d. Left home at 18 and only occasionally exchange Christmas cards.
III. My parents (family) possessions:
a. Mean nothing to me, just stuff.
b. There are a few things I'd like to have, but mostly I don't care.
c. I think it should all be divided up evenly.
d. Are all exquistely imbued with deep emotional meaning, and my siblings would steal them all if they could!
IV. My children and my husband:
a. Are united together as a loving group, through thick and thin.
b. Have our ups and downs, but we all love each other and work hard together to work it out.
c. Are mostly a burden, but this is the path we're on for the present.
d. If that asshole doesn't get up off that sofa and take these little brats out of here I swear I will start screaming!
V. I find it stressful:
a. I never find it stressful, I am serene and relaxed all the time.
b. When things get super busy, but I am good about handling my self-care.
c. When things get too busy for me, and I get stressed if I don't get it all done.
d. See quiz IV, answer (d).
If you answered mostly (a) you will probably never be a Panini, or if you are you will sail through it with Martha Stewart like aplomb. Don't bother spending the 29.99.
If you answered mostly (b) you have a greater chance of becoming a Panini, but it probably won't bother you greatly. If you see a good eldercare book on sale, you might buy it for informational purposes.
If you answered mostly (c) you will definitely be a Panini, so go to amazon.com, order 3 books and devote a weekend to reading them and taking notes.
If you answered mostly (d) you already are a Panini, skip the books and go directly to the Alheimer's Hotline for help.
Thanks for taking this quiz. One final word of caution: Very few people die instantly of a heart attack while doing kickboxing class on the Lido deck of a Caribbean cruiseship. It's probably not prudent to plan your end of life around that scenario.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
That's A Housecoat!
This evening as I splayed my exhausted body on the sofa, blearily eyeing my two boys' creative re-working the Playmobil Firestation, my mind wandered over the change in my career status. I am now a "householder." A friend alerted me to this newest term in family member definition, formerly known as "housewife." It's an omni-sexual term for the member of the partnership that steps away from their job/career/passion to raise the family and maintain the home fires. I like this term. It makes me think of a Medieval chatelaine, capably bringing in the castle's wheat harvest, not a hair out of golden fillet, while the lord of the manor is off quelling the Scots. Terribly romantic.
As I splay there, the belt on my fashionably low-cut jeans digging uncomfortably into my lumbar area, my second thought is: What should I wear in my new position? It needs to be something that is comfortable and flexible to move in. It must be easy-care, with a patterned cloth to hide the stains. It needs to camouflage the lumps and bumps of the 20 extra pounds I'm carrying. Then it hit me! I am pretty much describing the muumuu-style housecoat my mother wore in my youth!
My mother was quite an attractive woman. Fanini was tall and curvy, with dark hair and a strong face. She dressed to suit her shape, in tailored skirts and dresses; fashionable, with an eye to subtle details. At least she did in all the photos I've seen of her. When I first knew her, she mostly wore a short sleeved, vaguely Hawaiian, dark blue and green housedress. In fact, in all my Kindergarten portraits of her, she is wearing that dress.
So looking back and doing the math, my mother would have been 44 years old. She would have been out of her career for 5 years. She would have had 4 children and a non-participating husband to care for. She would have canned, cooked, shopped, nursed, drove, and cleaned for all of us in our huge, unreconstructed victorian house. No more career to pursue--out went the Pendleton wool suits. No more evenings at the swank nightspots--out went the low-cut petal pink silk cocktail dress with black edging. It was during this muumuu time that I recall her butt getting pretty wide. I don't recall her ever complaining about it.
So here we go again. Things are both better and different forty years later. My husband is extremely considerate, and really wants to be a good father and supportive husband. I have a small easy-care house. I have lots of conveniences and entertainments to ease my daily drudgery. So what does it mean, this contemplation of the housecoat ? Is it merely because I am middle aged and have finally accepted that now I am, no longer, hot? That I cannot identify 75% of the stars in People magazine? And I don't care? Do I finally realize that this is not going to be just another in a string of personal adventures? That I'm probably going to be doing this until I die? Never again will I attend a New Year's Eve party in my famous black to silver strapless mini-dress. I guess it is time to send it on to the thrift store. Maybe some other fabulous babe will get some mileage out of it. I hope she can appreciate it.
As I splay there, the belt on my fashionably low-cut jeans digging uncomfortably into my lumbar area, my second thought is: What should I wear in my new position? It needs to be something that is comfortable and flexible to move in. It must be easy-care, with a patterned cloth to hide the stains. It needs to camouflage the lumps and bumps of the 20 extra pounds I'm carrying. Then it hit me! I am pretty much describing the muumuu-style housecoat my mother wore in my youth!
My mother was quite an attractive woman. Fanini was tall and curvy, with dark hair and a strong face. She dressed to suit her shape, in tailored skirts and dresses; fashionable, with an eye to subtle details. At least she did in all the photos I've seen of her. When I first knew her, she mostly wore a short sleeved, vaguely Hawaiian, dark blue and green housedress. In fact, in all my Kindergarten portraits of her, she is wearing that dress.
So looking back and doing the math, my mother would have been 44 years old. She would have been out of her career for 5 years. She would have had 4 children and a non-participating husband to care for. She would have canned, cooked, shopped, nursed, drove, and cleaned for all of us in our huge, unreconstructed victorian house. No more career to pursue--out went the Pendleton wool suits. No more evenings at the swank nightspots--out went the low-cut petal pink silk cocktail dress with black edging. It was during this muumuu time that I recall her butt getting pretty wide. I don't recall her ever complaining about it.
So here we go again. Things are both better and different forty years later. My husband is extremely considerate, and really wants to be a good father and supportive husband. I have a small easy-care house. I have lots of conveniences and entertainments to ease my daily drudgery. So what does it mean, this contemplation of the housecoat ? Is it merely because I am middle aged and have finally accepted that now I am, no longer, hot? That I cannot identify 75% of the stars in People magazine? And I don't care? Do I finally realize that this is not going to be just another in a string of personal adventures? That I'm probably going to be doing this until I die? Never again will I attend a New Year's Eve party in my famous black to silver strapless mini-dress. I guess it is time to send it on to the thrift store. Maybe some other fabulous babe will get some mileage out of it. I hope she can appreciate it.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Short Order Kitchen
If you have small children, you know that feeding them can be a challenge. One child doesn't like cheese. The other child wants her sandwiches cut diagonally, and without crusts. Neither child will eat seafood. Some days I feel like a short order cook in my own kitchen. Now Fanini is beginning a strange new stage of AZ, the not eating phase. On a scientific level, watching Fanini's brain disassemble is fascinating. I can watch sections of memory and function stop working in real time. Not eating is part of the whole sensory input section of the brain. Physical stimulation becomes harder and harder to process for Fanini. Like a tiny infant, she cannot understand what to do with that physical sensation. Suddenly food flavors and textures "do not compute." Anything spicy, sour, crunchy, or otherwise distinctive to the taste buds is left on the plate. But, like a child, she always will eat sweets. Sanini tells me that this is an evolutionary remnant--sweet foods are not likely to be poisonous.
So now I am left with a diminishing repertoire of recipes. A cursory search of the AZ websites recommends feeding the foods of their youth, those deepest in memory. I talked with Fanini's doctor about this, and she basically said, "if she'll eat ice cream, give her ice cream with nutritional additives." We're not talkin' healthy building blocks here. So what I need need is the 'End of Life' cookbook. Just imagine the recipes! 50 Ways To Sneak In Protein Powder! Steak Shakes! Lasagne A La Mode!
So I'm at yet another bizarre intersection in great chart of human life progression. My children need foods that are tasty and supportive for growing bodies, since I'm shaping their future food preferences and physical health. Fanini's food needs are more akin to hospice care. The Trader Joe's last sacrament chocolate truffle. I suppose there are worse ways to end your days.
So now I am left with a diminishing repertoire of recipes. A cursory search of the AZ websites recommends feeding the foods of their youth, those deepest in memory. I talked with Fanini's doctor about this, and she basically said, "if she'll eat ice cream, give her ice cream with nutritional additives." We're not talkin' healthy building blocks here. So what I need need is the 'End of Life' cookbook. Just imagine the recipes! 50 Ways To Sneak In Protein Powder! Steak Shakes! Lasagne A La Mode!
So I'm at yet another bizarre intersection in great chart of human life progression. My children need foods that are tasty and supportive for growing bodies, since I'm shaping their future food preferences and physical health. Fanini's food needs are more akin to hospice care. The Trader Joe's last sacrament chocolate truffle. I suppose there are worse ways to end your days.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Twofer
Today we had a Twofer. 1. My boy got pottytrained. 2. Fanini got her own bathroom.
My 2 1/2 year old, Ganini has been flirting with the potty for months, and finally today used it on his own initiative for the whole day. I never really minded the diapers, and baby-poo is less disgusting than adult-poo, but it does get tiresome.
When Fanini first moved in with us, I bought a pottychair to put in Fanini's room, because she often felt uncomfortable walking through the house to the bathroom. So I've been emptying chamberpots for the last 6 months. I don't know if you've ever had to empty chamberpots, but it is not nice. Consequently adding on to our (tiny) 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house was pretty much a requirement. Now, $80,000 later, we have a swell bedroom/bathroom addition for Fran.
I checked a book out of the library, "how to alzheimer's proof your home" or something. If you want the title, ask me and I'll look it up. I got a lot of good ideas from looking at other assisted living buildings, in addition to research on the web. I took all that information and incorporated into the plan the bits that I thought would be most helpful to Fran and her caregivers. Speakers in the ceiling pipe Fanini-friendly muzak into her room. The bathroom floor is a very groovy cork mosaic tile that is warm to the touch and soft on the foot. The bedroom has radiant floor heat so there are no heaters to worry about. A french door exits to the backyard so we could later add a wheelchair accessible entrance. The toilet has a warmed bidet toilet seat. A towel warmer pre-heats towels and PJs, very important for the AZ patient's comfort. It is all very posh.
All day Fanini has been very happily sitting in her room, looking through her possessions and listening to the muzak. This evening when I heard the new toilet flush, I smiled and considered a future with less poop and more elbowroom. It looks better.
My 2 1/2 year old, Ganini has been flirting with the potty for months, and finally today used it on his own initiative for the whole day. I never really minded the diapers, and baby-poo is less disgusting than adult-poo, but it does get tiresome.
When Fanini first moved in with us, I bought a pottychair to put in Fanini's room, because she often felt uncomfortable walking through the house to the bathroom. So I've been emptying chamberpots for the last 6 months. I don't know if you've ever had to empty chamberpots, but it is not nice. Consequently adding on to our (tiny) 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house was pretty much a requirement. Now, $80,000 later, we have a swell bedroom/bathroom addition for Fran.
I checked a book out of the library, "how to alzheimer's proof your home" or something. If you want the title, ask me and I'll look it up. I got a lot of good ideas from looking at other assisted living buildings, in addition to research on the web. I took all that information and incorporated into the plan the bits that I thought would be most helpful to Fran and her caregivers. Speakers in the ceiling pipe Fanini-friendly muzak into her room. The bathroom floor is a very groovy cork mosaic tile that is warm to the touch and soft on the foot. The bedroom has radiant floor heat so there are no heaters to worry about. A french door exits to the backyard so we could later add a wheelchair accessible entrance. The toilet has a warmed bidet toilet seat. A towel warmer pre-heats towels and PJs, very important for the AZ patient's comfort. It is all very posh.
All day Fanini has been very happily sitting in her room, looking through her possessions and listening to the muzak. This evening when I heard the new toilet flush, I smiled and considered a future with less poop and more elbowroom. It looks better.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Complaining is easy
Its easy to write a blog and winge about life. Over the past days, I've been thinking and stewing how I can put my own life experience with children and parents to better the lives of others. This is inspired by three events: The arrival of a new presidental administration of hope; Seeing materialism and greed cause a Great Depression; Watching my parents lose all recognition of any physical acheivements in their lives. I'm feeling a calling to change the world for the better before I croak. And I don't mean to become Saint Janini. But what else is life about? A friend sent me around a copy of the "bucket list" things to do/see before you die. So I'm making my own bucket list of one item: Leave the world a better place for others.
Sounds a bit like a combination Mid-life crisis/Religious calling. I'm looking for information on other people who have found alternative ways to care for their family and extend this care to their community.
Sounds a bit like a combination Mid-life crisis/Religious calling. I'm looking for information on other people who have found alternative ways to care for their family and extend this care to their community.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Would You Call Childrens' Services?
The Child's Story
My mom and dad had to go out of town for a week and they couldn't take me with them. So they sent me to Playhouse. They just left me there! I was very confused and frightened. I didn't like the food and there was something wrong with the people that were staying there. The teachers tried to make me take off my clothes and they acted so phoney! I knew they were up to no good. I wouldn't eat their strange food, and I got really mad so I threw my dinner on the floor. Then I went to my room and locked myself in my room. but the door wouldn't lock, so I had to push and shove and move my dresser in front of the door. I stood there watching the door, I couldn't sleep because I had to stay on my guard. Finally my mom came and took me back home. I was so glad, but I was exhausted and slept all the next day.
The Parent's Story
My daughter had to go out of town for a week and she couldn't take me with her. So she sent me to Respite Care. She just left me there! I was very confused and frightened. I didn't like the food and there was something wrong with the people that were staying there. The Caregivers tried to make me take off my clothes and they acted so phoney! I knew they were up to no good. I wouldn't eat their strange food, and I got really mad so I threw my dinner on the floor. Then I went to my room and locked myself in my room. but the door wouldn't lock, so I had to push and shove and move my dresser in front of the door. I stood there watching the door, I couldn't sleep because I had to stay on my guard. Finally my daughter came and took me back home. I was so glad, but I was exhausted and slept all the next day.
My mom and dad had to go out of town for a week and they couldn't take me with them. So they sent me to Playhouse. They just left me there! I was very confused and frightened. I didn't like the food and there was something wrong with the people that were staying there. The teachers tried to make me take off my clothes and they acted so phoney! I knew they were up to no good. I wouldn't eat their strange food, and I got really mad so I threw my dinner on the floor. Then I went to my room and locked myself in my room. but the door wouldn't lock, so I had to push and shove and move my dresser in front of the door. I stood there watching the door, I couldn't sleep because I had to stay on my guard. Finally my mom came and took me back home. I was so glad, but I was exhausted and slept all the next day.
The Parent's Story
My daughter had to go out of town for a week and she couldn't take me with her. So she sent me to Respite Care. She just left me there! I was very confused and frightened. I didn't like the food and there was something wrong with the people that were staying there. The Caregivers tried to make me take off my clothes and they acted so phoney! I knew they were up to no good. I wouldn't eat their strange food, and I got really mad so I threw my dinner on the floor. Then I went to my room and locked myself in my room. but the door wouldn't lock, so I had to push and shove and move my dresser in front of the door. I stood there watching the door, I couldn't sleep because I had to stay on my guard. Finally my daughter came and took me back home. I was so glad, but I was exhausted and slept all the next day.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Flossing for the whole family
I never thought I'd floss another person's teeth. Now I floss four sets of teeth, only one of which is mine. Flossing the boys' teeth is rather sweet. They've got these tiny little teeth, all white and new. Their mouths are soft and pink and fresh.
Flossing Fanini's teeth on the other hand is a tad unnerving. For one thing, Fanini's teeth have seen a lifetime of chewing. They are somewhat crooked, full of fillings and caps, and a color I can only describe as ochre. When I run the floss between the teeth, large chunks of the day's meal flick out from between the teeth, often landing on my face or clothes.
Right now you probably are making a kinda "gggarrg" sound, and I understand. I always try to focus on a quote from a book I read a long time ago. It said essentially that love negates disgust. At the time I read the book, I was thinking of it in more of the "sicko erotic requests" category. But now I understand it in more of a "wiping up the bodily excretions of your loved ones without gagging" kinda thing.
So I floss. And I wipe bottoms. And I fall asleep with puke in my hair. Does this make me a good person? Probably not, but I'm learning to be a more tolerant person. Certainly I can talk disgusting with the best of 'em at the Mom's Group.
Flossing Fanini's teeth on the other hand is a tad unnerving. For one thing, Fanini's teeth have seen a lifetime of chewing. They are somewhat crooked, full of fillings and caps, and a color I can only describe as ochre. When I run the floss between the teeth, large chunks of the day's meal flick out from between the teeth, often landing on my face or clothes.
Right now you probably are making a kinda "gggarrg" sound, and I understand. I always try to focus on a quote from a book I read a long time ago. It said essentially that love negates disgust. At the time I read the book, I was thinking of it in more of the "sicko erotic requests" category. But now I understand it in more of a "wiping up the bodily excretions of your loved ones without gagging" kinda thing.
So I floss. And I wipe bottoms. And I fall asleep with puke in my hair. Does this make me a good person? Probably not, but I'm learning to be a more tolerant person. Certainly I can talk disgusting with the best of 'em at the Mom's Group.
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