Category Archives: The Lucky Mom

The Long Goodbye

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Those who have a loved one with Alzheimer’s know what this means.

The term was made famous when Nancy Reagan described her husband’s slip into a distant world.  We all get its meaning, but only those of us who live with it truly understand it.

My father-in-law, “Gramps” to all of us, started experiencing lapses in judgment about 15 years ago. At first it was of little consequence, just slight confusion and poor decision-making.  It slipped into forgetfulness and some short-term memory loss.  Within a few years the confusion grew, and the memory loss became more profound. Simple household tasks were becoming off-limits, and driving was no longer safe.  His wife assumed the 24-hour responsibility, and the 36-hour day.  As it became no longer safe for him to be left unattended at home, Gramps became a frequent face at our house, allowing his wife a few precious hours to herself.  Then sitters became part of the routine, and eventually, a search for an appropriate facility to relocate him.

While this was happening, the impression my kids had of their grandfather changed as well. Only my oldest son has memories of Gramps when he was “whole” – when he worked, drove a car, and remembered their names. My middle son remembers him in the beginning of his decline.  He recalls going fishing, throwing a ball, going on vacations together.  But my little guy has only known Alzheimer’s Gramps.

In a way, the little guy has the easiest load to cope with, because he only remembers Gramps the way he is now.  He didn’t have to watch him slip away from us. He understands what Alzheimer’s is, and knows first-hand what it means.

In his prime, Gramps was an amazing man.  He worked tirelessly for his family.  In a story we can all relate to today, Gramps worked two jobs to rebuild his family’s losses after Hurricane Betsy.  He was generous, kind, and polite to a fault.  His wife never touched a vacuum cleaner, or pumped gas.  When his children cried at night, he paced the floor with them.  He served in the Navy with his twin brother, and served his community as a Shriner.

He currently resides at a skilled-care facility for Veterans, the third residential facility we’ve placed him in.  It’s not a VA facility, but a partnership between the state and the VA.  As a war vets home, it’s mostly men, and a place where he seems to feel comfortable with his neighbors.

Which brings me to today.

We had a lacrosse game in Baton Rouge, and stopped to see Gramps at his “home” on our way home this afternoon.  While we adults visit often, we keep our visits with the kids controlled, limited to times when we think Gramps will be receptive to visitors, and under conditions that won’t freak them out. 

We arrived in the early afternoon, and I ushered the boys to the family room, while hubby went to retrieve Gramps from the secure Alzheimer’s unit.  Some of the other residents are in states of deeper decline, and visiting the unit can be uncomfortable even for adults.   So Gramps greeted the boys in the game room, where the air hockey and pool tables waited, and other families visited with their loved ones.  We spent about an hour visiting with him, playing games, and talking.

Watching them interact with their grandfather was a beautiful thing. They played pool with patience, explaining the rules with every turn, and laughing along when things got confusing.  They reminded him of their names, what grade they’re in, and promised to visit more often.

As the rate of his decline continues to accelerate, opportunities like today will come less often.  Catching him on a good day will be a gift, and the number of times they get to make memories with their grandfather will decrease.  And when he can no longer interact with them, and no longer remembers them, they will have something to cling to.  So will I.

Monday, Monday, so good to me.

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I realize what I’m about to say will make more than a few brows furrow, but here it goes… I Like Monday Mornings.  There.  I said it.  I’ve always liked Mondays.

Maybe it’s a maternal thing.  You know, the whole renewal, birth-of-a-new-week philosophy.  A chance to get it right.  Learn from the things I didn’t do well last week, and incorporate the things that did go well into the new plan.

This particular Monday morning was good.  I got enough sleep, had the laundry caught up, and my hair looked decent straight off the pillow.  (This last thing is important, because it determines if I’m going to run errands on my way home from carpool.  Good hair=getting things done.  Bad hair=coming straight home.)  Sounds vain, I know, but it’s how I roll.  So the extra time I took de-frizzing it yesterday paid off this morning.  I fixed my son a proper breakfast (it’s standardized testing this week…) fed the fish, cleaned a bathroom, and watered the plants between my first and second cup of coffee.  After making my morning loop, I stopped at the grocery store, meal plan for the week in hand. 

The grocery store is nice on Monday mornings.  The floors are clean, the shelves stocked, and the employees are in a better mood than usual.  I got a good parking place and didn’t have wait in line to check out.  Evidently there aren’t a lot of us “Monday People” out there.  So I pretty much have the place to myself.

So here’s my Monday Morning Reality Check:

Lessons learned from last week

  • My friends don’t care if my house isn’t spotless.  They will come over if I invite them.  So I’m going to invite them more often.
  • It’s worth the effort to cook dinner.  (This one blew even my mind, and I can’t believe I’m putting it in writing.)  But a busy evening doesn’t get any better with a pizza box on the counter.  I’m going to reserve my dining dollars for times that I can actually enjoy it. 
  • My kids can be more independent than I give them credit for.  I shouldn’t hover so much.
  • I should never be too busy to stop and ask a friend how her day is going.  I will make that phone call.  I will put the card in the mail. 

Things I will do better at this week:

  • Not let laundry pile up. 
  • Spend more time with friends. 
  • Clear away the clutter in my kitchen.
  • Get to bed on time.

If I can finish the week with this much energy and optimism, there’s hope for me yet!

Spring Fever — or — If It’s Good Enough for Others, It’s Good Enough For You

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The Lucky Mom has been in a kind of weird place lately.  I’ve had things on my plate and on my mind that have been weighing heavy, and have been avoiding the keyboard out of fear that I’d be bitter.   We’ve been making important decisions about education for our kids, about elder care and nursing homes for parents, dealing with a 24/7 construction zone behind our house, handling a crisis with one of our boys, coping with declining property values and a rental market that has us barely breaking even on our previously-profitable rentals, and so on.  Small potatoes compared to the woes of some, but a load on The Lucky Mom’s mind.

Since I’m always ready to dispense wisdom to those who ask for it (and occasionally to some who don’t), today I decided to turn the tables on myself, and pretend I was one of The Lucky Mom’s friends who came to her for advice.  As I did, I had to prepare myself to be ready to take the advice I was about to give, even if it was tough.  And I made a promise that I would find the positive side of each issue, no matter how tough.

This, too, shall pass. I use this one all the time, because of its universal truth.  No matter what “it” is, “it” will eventually change.  Change is the one thing you can always count on.  Whether it’s a bad haircut, or 2 years worth of construction noise, it won’t last forever.  And hey, when the new levee is finished, my flood insurance premium may go down.  (Smile.)

Perspective:  there’s someone out there who wishes she had your problems. I didn’t have to look far for illustrations of this point.  Not long ago a friend was excited to announce that her daughter didn’t need another open-heart surgery.  Another was pondering how to help her stepson handle his first birthday without his mother.  The list is long of friends who are shepherding their kids through much greater ordeals than mine.  I can hug and kiss my boy and soften his blow.  I need to quit making such a big deal out of it.  Then he will probably do the same.

Keep the faith. Another universal truth.  As a woman of faith, I believe that God’s plan for me doesn’t skip any details.  I believe that all the experiences of my life contribute to the plan that He has for me.  Even if they seem difficult.  Even if I don’t understand.  I have an enviable life.  I need to remember that more often.

So after a little positive self-talk, I feel better.  I’ll embrace the coming Spring, noticing the new leaves instead of the pollen, the green grass instead of the weeds.  After all, we’re in the heart of lacrosse season (my fav!) and crawfish are just around the corner.  So what was I worried about?????

I’ll pray for you, you heartless jerk.

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It was up… it was down.  Now it’s up again.  My cooling off period is over, and I’ve decided I’ve got to say what I’ve got to say.

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I’m so angry right now I don’t know what to do with myself.  The kind of angry I don’t get very often.  The kind of angry I don’t understand, because it is so unlike me.  The kind of angry that makes me wish bad things on people.

I don’t get like this over a wrong committed against me.  This level of ire is reserved for those who commit a wrong against one of my peeps.  One of my kids.  The details of this will (I’m sure) come out eventually, but for now I’ll keep it vague.  Not because I’m trying to protect anyone, just because I’m certain if I start, I will spill spew vitriol the likes of which the world hasn’t seen from me in decades.  There will be words spoken – and written – that can’t be taken back.

I think you get my point now.  I’m pissed.

So here it is in a nutshell: Someone has done something that has caused one of my children pain and humiliation.  Big pain.  Big humiliation. Which leaves me with the cleaning up part.  How to teach a child to deal with anger and disappointment, how to hold your head upright in an extremely awkward situation, and how to move on. I’m thinking I’m going to have to break this thing up into manageable chunks to deal with it.

Dealing with anger is a work in progress for me.  I do it better now than I have in the past, but shrinks everywhere make a living coaching people on how to do this, so I don’t feel bad that I haven’t mastered it.  I do know a couple of rules:  1) Resist the urge to confront immediately.  A cooling-off period is mandatory.  2) It always looks different to the person on the other end, so consider this before responding.  It may change your perspective, or it may give you good ammunition for sniping later. 3) NEVER put anything in writing after having consumed alcohol.

The next part is harder: how to reenter the public eye after being humiliated.  My instinctive maternal response was to shelter the boy.  To open my wing and tuck him under like a mother duck would do her baby in a rainstorm.  Then the rain would have to roll off of me, not him.  But that ain’t how it works for us humans.  Sooner or later we have to face the world.  A friend shared a cliché with me once, “If you have to eat a shit sandwich, there’s no point nibbling.”  Good advice.  Just get it done.  Expect it to be awful, and get it done.

Then, moving on.  Ahhhh.  The other part that keeps the mental health profession thriving.  Any and all advice is appreciated.

This particular kid faces more trials than most kids.  But then, not as many as others.  As I’ve shared before, when my mama was feeling down, she’d invoke the old saying, “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” There are parents out there today crying for much greater pains their kids are feeling.  And I reminded myself of that last night.  His problems are small compared to the big, scary world.  But they are BIG to him.  They are HUGE to him.  And his perspective is the only one I care about right now.

So the person who has committed this wrong against one of mine better look out.  When I decide to say my piece, it won’t be very nice.  And while I don’t usually wish harm to others, right now I’m wishing it on you, you arrogant coward.

To use the words of the Jaron and the Long Road To Love song, I’ll pray for you, sir.

I pray your brakes go out running down a hill.
I pray a flowerpot falls from a window sill and knocks you in the head like I’d like to.
I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls.
I pray you’re flying high when your engine stalls.
I pray all your dreams never come true.
Just know wherever you are honey, I pray for you.

Family Expectations

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Note:  This post was moved from another page on the blog…  You’re not crazy.  You may have read it before.

My family has gone through a lot of transformation in the last few years.  My husband’s deployment to the Middle East, kids growing up and going off to college, little boys turning into big kids, and aging grandparents have all caused some unanticipated growing pains for us all.  So recently I felt the need to develop a new family policy.

In the “olden days,” things became law when they were posted in the town square for all to see.  It was understood that a citizen’s responsibilities included checking the designated wall from time to time to keep up with the changes, and to act accordingly.  In our house, the equivalent of that town wall is the refrigerator.  The left side of the fridge is for scheduling.  My integrated calendar hangs on that side, with each family member’s activities merged into one place.  The right side of the fridge is for policy.  When mom has a message for the family, that’s where it goes.  And the bigger it is, the more importance it bears.  And when it’s in colors – well, you just better read it and be ready to discuss it at dinner.

If I’ve learned nothing else as the only female in my household, it’s that I think differently than they do.  My girly sensibilities about being nice, sharing and the like don’t translate well to the guys.  But, still, I felt the need to restore a bit of gentility to my home, so started a list.   I pondered the lists in pop culture that state things that everyone should already know.  The one that seemed to have started it all was Robert Fulghum’s 1988 credo All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.  Simple instructions – like Play Fair, Don’t Hit People, and Don’t Take Things That Aren’t Yours – that too many people seem to have forgotten (if they ever knew them to begin with).  The list I read most recently was Gretchen Rubin’s 12 Rules of Adulthood in her book The Happiness Project.  Hers are less practical and more existential, but still strike at the heart of kindness, honesty and fairness, in an introspective way.

As I considered the purpose of my list – to promote harmony in my household – I had to keep it on the practical side.  The males who live in this house don’t really like it when I speak in code, and I don’t really like it when they don’t understand me, so I figured I’d better be direct. Thus the list entitled “Family Expectations” was born.  Printed neatly on a small poster-sized page, each item in a different color, I’d used all the tools in my bag to express to them that this was important to me.  I even taped it to the fridge about 4’ off the ground, so it would be eye level to the youngest reader.  I went further, and de-cluttered the top of the fridge, so it wouldn’t be lost in the visual chaos that sometimes creeps up.

Family Expectations:

Be happy.

Cooperate with others.

Show respect.

Communicate without anger.

Act responsibly.

Be honest.

Pick up after yourself.

Forgive.

I chose not to make the customary announcement about the new posting, but to let it come to me from each of them in their own way.  While one or two of them may have chosen not to bring it up, I knew they all saw it, so my message was delivered.  Whether it would bring about a change in behavior I’d have to wait and see.  I didn’t think any of the entries were unreasonable, and all were things that a loving family should do anyway, so I had no need to feel like this was an abusive request.

The first day went by without remark.  The second day one of the kids made a sarcastic crack, actually using one of the posted expectations to extort a desired behavior from his brother.  (NOT what I had in mind.)   On the third day my youngest son drew a picture on the list, and added a few items.  (Again, not what I had in mind.)  The dialogue I imagined never happened, but my point was made.

I get these dreamy visions sometimes, of my family having an intellectual discussion about matters that are of importance to me, taking them seriously, ending with a big group hug of confirmation.  But that never happens.  So I have to accept that we are not the uber-polite, Stepford-family in my visions.  My kids argue, don’t clean their rooms without threats, pull tricks not to eat their vegetables, and sneak electronic devices under the covers after bedtime.  But they also do their homework, eat dinner at the table with their parents, go to their little brother’s school play on a Saturday night, and are generally good kids.   And we love each other.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’m such a Lucky Mom!

The Lucky Daughter

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I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom lately.  Maybe it’s the holidays, which are so full of the memories and traditions she gave me.  Maybe it’s the growing kids that she didn’t get to share with me.  Who knows.  When I think of her I don’t usually get sad, because (1) she had an awesome life and (2) I know she’s in heaven, which must be pretty awesome!!   But the thoughts of her have prompted me to make a list of her best attributes, with the hope that I can emulate some of them.

The only baby picture of my mom.

She was old-fashioned.  But not in a backward way – she held on to traditions that added values to our family.  Believe me, she embraced modern conveniences every chance she got during her daily life.  But when it came to holidays, she baked every pecan pie just the way her mother did.  My children were the only ones in preschool with starched pants.  She prayed every day.  She held on to the things that made life meaningful.

She embraced change.  Sounds like a contradiction to the previous item, but it’s not.  She had a great career, jumped on the technology bandwagon when it rolled through, and got a toe ring when she was in her 60s.  My son and I were talking about cell phones the other day, and he commented that if Granny were alive, she’d have the coolest phone on the market, and she’d play games on it all day long.  And she’d be on Facebook.  No doubt about that.

My mom and her friend we called Mimi. They’ve been best friends from age 15, all the way through their “Red Hat” days!

She was fiercely protective of her family.  Sarah Palin may think she’s the original Mama Grizzly – but she never met my mom.  She could be a little meek when it came to herself, but woe betide the person who committed a wrong against one of hers.  That’s all I’m going to say about that.  Those who were on the receiving end of that know who they are.

She was generous.  My family was a fairly modest, middle-class family.  Our life wasn’t fancy, but we had a brick home, 2 cars and a boat.  We didn’t take extravagant vacations or buy expensive clothes, but my parents gave generously to their children, their church, and their chosen charities.  I don’t ever remember her walking past a bell ringer at Christmas or a Shriner in front of the grocery store without dropping money in their bucket.  When kids would knock at the door selling candy, she’d pay for two boxes, and then give one back to the kid to keep for himself.  She never put coins in a collection basket, or ones for that matter.  She gave generously.

She faced the end of her life with courage.  As her physical health declined, she acknowledged it.  In the final months on earth, she suffered a series of strokes, each one taking a little more from her.  She had vascular dementia, which would come and go when one of the small strokes she had would hit.  Sometimes it would last for a few hours, sometimes a few days.  But when her wits were with her, she spoke openly and honestly about life and death.  She wasn’t afraid to die.  I think it’s because her life was so well-lived.

She was a woman of faith.  No doubt inspired by her mother (who I never knew).  She lived with us when my youngest son was born, and that child never went to bed without having a Hail Mary sung to him at bedtime.  She did a good job at infusing faith into everyday activities.  She didn’t just practice her faith.  She lived it.

She was a delightful blend of love, strength, faith, and beauty.  She loved the beach, a good cup of coffee, and visiting with her sisters.  She died with a freshly done cherry-red pedicure.  She had the same best friend from age 15.  She liked to travel, but she loved coming home.