The Hidden Joys and Needs of Caring for Old People

Old people are an interesting group of people. I'm not speaking here of people who have reached a particular age, but rather those who mentally can't keep up at the speed of life; the ones who have mentally checked out, such as my chidlren's great-grandmother.

There are those whose physical bodies are quite old, but their mind has not yet followed. My great-aunt for instance at the current age of 97, can hardly see or walk, but when I talk to her on the phone, it's hard to believe she's past 50. Great-grandma Hodges is no longer troubled with a youthful mind, and is thus the more interesting person.

I've noticed that she wears a blank pleasant expression at all times. Great-grandma will sit maybe 8 feet from my general person carrying on a monologue while I do various household chores. I've burned my hand, cut a finger, tripped over a basket of laundry nearly falling to my death or at least 2 months of traction- yet her flow of thought and conversation remains uninterrupted and her pleasant expression unchanged.

In the mind of the old, memories become repeat buttons triggered by things such as sitting down to dinner. "That reminds me of the time..." We all nod enthusiastically and pretend we aren't hearing the story for the hundredth time.

Old people think more deeply on simple things they didn't have time to muse on back when they had responsibilities and schedules. At Fernbank in the Great Hall, while I took care of handing out food and managed the general chaos of 7 people having lunch, great-grandma's mind and conversation was consumed by the Brachiasaurus skeleton positioned in all its immense glory before us. What did it eat? How long did it take to digest its meal? How many pounds of food would it consume in any given day? How far would it travel over the course of a life time? I'm not sure that I ever actually looked at the monstrosity beyond it being a general background to the larger scene of field trip chaos. But I responded with what I hoped was a sufficient acknowledgement. " Gee, Mormor (that is her name in the family) I never thought of that," then in a hiss," Oliver do not pinch Gabriel," back to Mormor, " Well I'd imagine they traveled far with legs that big," followed by " no more chips until your sandwich is gone, Gabriel," more in the fashion of ping-pong, than a conversation.

Old people have a very original method of dealing with personal complaints. Foremost in their mind is the desire to be no trouble. Thus, if the food is too salty, one story follows another about once in another time and world there was a salty meal. Or if they're parched, no beverage will be requested, but a long story comes forth, the moral of which is, 'I need a drink.' Rather than say the music is too loud, hands are silently held over ears.

The ultimate joy in being with someone whose mind has gone to a better place-well, there are two of them really-First, great-grandma decides after long hours of exposure that my children are truly perfect. Second, table manners officially become a thing of the past. Conversation continues around bites so big, a truck driver would be proud, while boulder size particles are shot across the table in a fashion reminiscent of bird shot scattering across the bullseye. I find myself covering food under the pretense of freshness, but really so I won't be utterly grossed out by the extra seasoning. Then it hits me, no pun intended, that we have an immediate and urgent need for a bigger table- a much bigger table so great-grandma will have plenty of elbow room on the other side.

Family Circus

The other day, after lunch, Gabriel asked to go outside. At first I said no because he was still in his pajamas, and I needed to dress him. As I looked at him and his downcast expression I reflected on the condition of his pajamas- an orange juice stain from breakfast, a few odd shaped stains from snack and some jelly smeared across one sleeve. "Gabriel, i've changed my mind. You can go outside." He was overjoyed. Not wanting to run to the nursery for shoes, I grabbed his rainboots from the laundry room and put them on him. He clomped out the door happily and i headed to the school room. A little while later I went out back to check on him. He was in the far corner of the yard, in his socks, digging through dirt. "Gabriel, where are your boots?" I exclaimed walking toward him. " I took them off all by myself, mommy!" He was so proud, what could I say to that. So I sighed and went back in.

Daily Diary

As I suspected, as I started feeling better, I had much to catch up on and haven't posted! I think that I'm 100% now, or very close and over this flu and debilitating effects.

Yesterday early in the morning, I hit the floor running. One of those days where knowing what a busy day it's going to be, you luxuriate for a couple extra minutes in your warm comfy bed.But I soon got busy sorting through laundry, unloading the dishwasher, straightening the downstairs and cleaning the kitchen. The cleaning lady was coming. Lest you think that I'm a spoiled suburban wife who never cleans perhaps I should clarify that she cleans the downstairs and my bedroom every other week. What I need? Someone to clean the entire house, twice a week. Then my cup would definitely "brimmeth over".

I packed Jonathan's sack lunch (Classical school on Fridays) and then a picnic lunch for the remainder of us. I checked the kitchen clock and was running about 20 minutes behind schedule. However, I was determined and resolute that I would not don clothes (I was in my bathrobe) until I had showered. Racing to the nursery, I changed diapers and got the four younger kids dressed meanwhile barking out to Jonathan to brush his teeth, feed the dog, put his books in the car, etc., and correcting Caroline's cello mistakes. She was practicing and making horrible timing blunders. Then I raced to the shower- quite literally. 18 minutes later we were packed into the suburban and backing out of the driveway. Which leads me to why I permed my hair two weeks ago- I don't have to fix it anymore! Wash, comb, a little hair gel- wullah!

After dropping Jonathan off at Classical and taking some minutes to chat with some fellow moms, we headed to Dunwoody to pick up Jon's grandmother, Helen. I had failed to feed the three "middle kids" and got everyone biscuits at Chik-Fil-A. Come to think of it, I bought one for Caroline too, and she had already eaten two bowls of cereal. Wow, she ate a lot of breakfast.

The kids ate their breakfast in their Mormor's kitchen- scattering crumbs and happily accepting large glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice from their Mormor. Then they went off to play for a few minutes while Margaret and I discussed my sewing project- summer clothes for all the kids. Realizing that the directions to Fernbank were in my old Directions Diary and thus not with me, I also called and got directions.

After being there for about half an hour I felt that all familiar pang. You know, the one where you wished that you were Mary Poppins, and had not only a fabulous custom tailored dress on, perfect makeup, a sunny disposition, and amazing smile, but that you could snap your fingers, sing a spoonful of sugar and magically all the messes and skirmishes would hop to and put themselves away. Not being in possession of a golden lamp or genie to wish for such a thing, I fell back on the tried and true method. Bark clean up orders to the kids, sweep up the crumbs, wipe off the highchair and table, and hear the "Spoonful of Sugar" music in my head.

10 minutes later, everyone was strapped to carseats, Helen was settled in the front seat, and we were off to Fernbank.
We arrived to a packed parking lot, a front lawn covered with small children and lunch sacks, and no parking spaces! We could have gone to the overflow parking lot down the road, but I ask you? Is this really an option with 5 small children, grandmother, picnic lunch, stroller, and diaper bag? I think not. So I breathed a prayer and decided to hunker down and find something. I just happened to spot a lone place off in a secluded corner that wasn't visible to the normal flow of traffic. Yes, I got my great big suburban in that spot beautifully. I was a little disappointed that the children could not fully appreciate my car parking technique. I put the car in park and under my breath said, "Thank you Lord". You never can tell what Helen will hear as she's 90 and wears a hearing aid, but she heard that and echoed the sentiment laughing.

We piled out of the car and were soon walking toward the building, Vivian strapped to my back, Gabriel with dolly in the stroller, picnic bag and diaper bag "jimmied" to the stroller (it is a small economy umbrella stroller), and the remaining three children happily climbing the usual parking lot parafenalie (mmm- clearly that wasn't spelled right) and leaping off various and asundry items designed to keep Egleston in business.

The front desk lady was great. She took my membership card, did not cast dark looks at Helen who is clearly not listed on the membership card, and quickly printed out the tickets. After getting through the elevator fiasco- really fun. All talking children fight over the privilege of pushing the stupid buttons, jostling each, while I hiss that if they don't want a spanking they better knock it off, elevator doors open, load of people and strollers exit pushing aforementioned obnoxious children into the hall, where some of them get distracted and examine stuffed birds, I get on the elevator with some of the children, and then try to find the wanderers while an annoyed museum employee sighs from the corner realizing that they should have taken the stairs. Very fun. It could very well be my favorite part of the whole outing, but bathroom breaks are the next runner
up-but more on that later. Anyway, our first "stop" was the reptile exhibit which is really quite nicely laid out. I enjoyed it a lot and the crowd of teenagers were very well behaved. After admiring everything with only a modicum of problems, we ventured forth to the grand hall, home to massive dinosaur specimens, and lots of noise. The place was packed with sack lunch patrons covering every flat surface, floor and exhibit bases included. I herded the tribe through to the shells exhibit in the hopes that the crowd would thin shortly so I could get the lunch project tackled.

The sea shells are great, main reason why? They are housed at the back of a large dark room, the ceiling of which is covered in twinkling electric lights (stars). It has a general calming affect on the children, but is the perfect spot to race around without bothering anyone:the mother's best kept Fernbank secret.

After that, we found a table in the clearing (first I gave up on a table, found a chair for Helen, ordered everyone to sit on the floor, got Gabriel out of the stroller, took off the backpack carrier containing Vivian, found my purse and went to buy drinks- after all that, I found the table and relocated everyone). After resituating the clan, I want to buy drinks through the din and sandwiches for Helen and myself. I had run out of sandwich bread- of course!- while packing the picnic. WHile in line behind a bunch of teenagers and a cashier that has not yet taken the cashier training course, Oliver, Caroline, Charles and Gabriel took turns running over to see- was I getting them a drink, would it be soda, someone touched them or pinched them, could they have chips with their sandwhich, did I bring apples- and other sundry questions. Helen sat happily at the table, oblivious to all, gazing in awe at the massive dinosaur. Once weighted down with poorly prepared sandwhichs and drinks, I made my way back to the table, set things down and then went to get the accoutrements to dining with lots of little people. Cups, lids, straws, napkins, extra mustard, mayo, etc. That done I attempted to lay out lunch for each kid, partially unloading the picnic bag on a table too small for two people to eat at, much less 7, and pausing to reprimand someone, give Vivvie her toy back, clean up a mess, or some other thing involved with this chore. Mormor waited, and waited and waited. Finally I realized the problem. "Mormor, you need to just eat because there isn't going to be a pregnant pause for prayer since there won't be a moment of calm in the course of this meal." Her face was unchanged- happy and a bit blank so I wasn't entirely certain that she heard me, but after a few more minutes, she opened her lunch. Once I got the kids "settled", I opened my sandwhich, doctored it with mayo/mustard, and was about to take the first bite ( I was STARVING, having failed to eat breakfast) and Mormor asked for mayo. I dropped the sandwhich and rushed off to get it, then sat down again. Suddenly all the drink cups were empty and the children were sure that death by thirst was right around the corner. So I looked around for a pitcher of water on the waiter table, and refilled cups. This done I again sat, picked up my sandwich- "Mommy," It was Oliver. I looked at Oliver and thought about my options and my need to eat this sandwich, so I responded in my hissing voice slightly modified so Helen wouldn't think I was a complete demon of a mother, " I'm not getting you anything until I've eaten this
sandwhich." Maybe it was the evil look in my eye, but he sat quiet and dejected and waited for me to finish.

This Diary update being sufficiently long, I will give you the Readers' Digest version of the rest. We packed up lunch, went to the kiddie play land, spent some time in the bathroom, drove to pick up Jonathan, went to Costco, went home to put groceries away, drove to Dad's office where I switched cars with Jon and happily bid my family adieu, I raced to a muscular therapy session that I was 25 minutes late for, then met up with my girlfriends for dinner at Maggianos. Aaaah. The joy with which I sat at that Maggiano's table, enjoyed wonderful conversation, and ate dinner without getting drinks, wiping up messes and solving problems.

My children- A portrait in words

Jonathan arrived a perfect first born: beautiful, robust and content. Since we lived in total poverty with the all time bonus of having no heat all winter, it was forty degrees in the house, he was a wonderful gift. He gratified our ego by responding early to commands, learning to read before the age of three, and rarely getting into trouble. The present finds him in possesion of an ample ego, a marvelous sense of humor, an intense interest in history and languages, and an ardent love and admiration for his teacher at Classical School. His two greatest childhood wishes, declared before the age of four, came true in February of this year. They were, to play the Star Wars theme music in an orchestra and to meet President Bush.

Caroline arrived two years later: red, wrinkley and howling. She distinguished herself quickly talking in sentences by age 9 months, and in being the snootiest, most stubborn Queen of the Bad Attitude. Although quite ugly when first born, by six months she was blond and beautiful, and continues to be skinny, petite and prissy. She shook our confidence as perfect parents, seemingly unwielding and unbendingly rebellious. As a two year old her goal was to meet Satan and drive a motorcycle. Not that one goes with the other, those were just her interests. Fortunately around the age of four she asked Jesus into her heart and was utterly transformed- it was miraculous. She is now sweet and mostly sunny, tends toward self-pity, is a good helper and adores her sister. Her sense of humor remains non-existent and she rarely delivers a witty, repeatable comment. She enjoys learning languages and will probably remain a cellist in adulthood.

Now I come to Charles. Charles arrived sweet, content and fat. By age 2 1/2 he still was not talking. He has always been the patient observer and has never liked the taste of most meat. Usually in a good mood, he can be exceedingly stubborn and obstinate if his ire is raised. Charles has decided to be a doctor and takes immense interest in anything related to the human body. Last year he went to the Bodies Exhibit twice. He progressed slowly through the exhibit with his audio tour, listening, observing and constantly concerned that he might have missed something. He plays the viola with equal attention to detail when he is in the mood to play, though on occasion he becomes obstinate and lazy about it. He responds very well to rewards and sticker charts with regard to chores or viola practice. Charles has the special distinction of having a large square head of which he is very pround. His greatest hope is to one day be tall and fat. If he ever sees a tall fat man (fat to Charles just means a thick build) he goes boldly up to him and introduces himself.

Oliver arrived sweet and content, but at 12 months he learned to walk and has enthusiastically terrorized the household ever since. He has a dreadful habit of waking around 5:30 or 6 in the morning and singing at the top of his lungs from his bed whatever song happens to be in his head. His greatest joy continues to be riling up Gabriel. He's passionately in love with Maya our dog. But over the past year this has diminished a bit since Maya has barked sharply at him a couple times. He believes himself to be an amazing violinist and insists on playing with the rest of us- a sound best enjoyed on mute.

Gabriel arrived quiet and easy. He loves to be at home, playing with his toys, and far away from Oliver. He's the first kid to rebel against my musical brain washing plan. I tell each of the children from birth what instrument they will play. Gabriel is going to play the cello, but he insists that he will play the violin. He doesn't get into trouble much, but he whines and screeches often and loudly- a rather annoying habit- and he tends toward self-pity. He has a rather odd penguin walk and is very clumsy. He first crawled at 12 months and finally began to walk at 19 months. He's sometimes called Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde because he can go from happy to screaming tantrum instantly and vice versa. When he is in the "mood", he is charming, sweet and the dolliest of dollies.

Vivian is the exact opposite of her sister. She's big, fat, more a goober than beautiful, at 10 months has no teeth (Caroline got her first 2 teeth at 3 months and had a full set of choppers by 10 months) and she is always laughing and extremely happy. She looks like her daddy in almost every way- her dad is not a goober and has his teeth. If she crawls out of the nursery, she makes a beeline for Caroline's room. Vivian adores her sister and will laugh and clap her hands when she sees Caroline. She is quite the perfect caboose.

Family Circus

This morning at breakfast Jonathan was reading to the kids from the back of a cereal box. Charles suddenly jumped up from the table, and said, " Jonathan, would you please pause your mouth because I really have to go potty!"

Flu

This is truly the most miserable bout of illness i've experienced in at least a decade. I think I did more right after having a baby. At least than I was taking care of a new born. Sinusitis leaves me pathetic for a day or so, then I can at least function with enough over the counter meds.

One thing I've found to be very pleasant is this: When heating a can of chicken noodle soup, I turned the flame to high and sipped from the broth as it was heating. The heat from the flame beneath the pot, warmed me quite nicely and kept the chills at bay as long as I stood thus. I would be thrilled to hear of any other advice.

I've been in bed almost constantly for two days now. When I've taken lots of Nyquil or Advil, I feel good enough to write in this blog, or to catch up on some reading. But with the meds come nausau and dizziness. So then I cut back on the meds and have been listening to a narration of David Copperfield. Should you listen to the story, it is really quite charming. But I would recommend not doing as I have done. Once the story was complete, I decided to google short bios on Dickens which left me feeling rather low and depressed. It would seem that authors lead childhoods of misery, not of their own making or fault, and adulthoods of misery, of their own making and fault. They fix their childhood in their stories, or vindicate their woes in some way (which I certainly don't have a problem with), but seem oblivious to the suffering they could be causing their own children. Mmmm. Back to bed....One things for certain. Once I do get out of bed, my housework will be so backed up that I won't be posting for awhile...

Marriage

Marriage is an interesting source of sanctification. I greatly enjoy watching other people's marriages and always come away with the same opinion. Married people deserve each other. Yes, I've heard it too: "My spouse is so much better than me, I don't deserve her." But this is hogwash said more for the benefit of the hearer than any sort of sincere feeling on the part of the sayer. How do I know this? Tell me, have you ever seen a couple in which one party is completely deferential to the other? Where one spouse shows himself to be the lesser of the two (I say himself as also encompassing herself- the male pronoun includes the female unless the context states otherwise) ? I could enjoy this sort of marriage very much for were my husband to think himself inferior to me- ah, the possibilities- never to lose an argument, always to be waited on hand and foot, never to be the cause of frustration or agitation in my beloved. What a bunch of nonsense. My husband and I definitely deserve each other, to the extent that we are glad we didn't bind ourselves to innocent people in the population, but found each other at a tender age and saved two other people a heap of trouble.

Have you heard it said that opposites attract? I'm not so sure that this is a good long term basis for a relationship. My husband and I have very similar interests, similar moral code, similar love of discipline, structure and schedule. However, our gifts are not equally apportioned. My husband does not multi-task. Let me offer an example: This comes out most strongly when he is driving. Picture this visually. First, he makes his way onto the highway and with no particular impulse or reason chooses a lane. Then he chooses a speed based on I know not what. Certainly not based on the car in front of him or any other car for that matter. He progresses oblivious to the fact that clearly his speed is at least 10 mph. faster than that of the car in front of him. Right before we are on the verge of making our way into the unfortunate driver's backseat, my husband slams on the brakes and looks right and left to see if he is able to pass. Most of the time he is not able to pass, and thus we are reduced to riding the bumper of the car in front of us, enjoying their movie on display for several miles before changing lanes. It is in this way that I learned people do not only play children's DVD's in their cars- because the last DVD I saw was quite inappropriate for children, and I think inappropriate for adults. But back to driving with my husband. I've learned the fine art of looking out my side window and should I direct my gaze anywhere else, it is definitely not out the front window. My husband's driving techniques are best enjoyed blindly. After taking a road trip with my sister and his cousin, the two passengers declared that they were driven practically mad at his methods and would never make the mistake of riding with him in the driver's seat again.

What my husband is very, very good at is focusing his attention on the most intricate or detailed job for literally hours. For me, unless I'm reading or writing a paper, I only undertake jobs that can be done within an hour, and I first reflect on the absolute best and most efficient way to do them so as to limit wasted energy. Perhaps this is because nearly all the duties of housewife fall under things that I'd rather avoid doing. When our laptop crashed and needed a new hard drive, my husband ordered the part and decided to install it himself. I knew that this was a marriage building sort of activity- after our last one which was wallpapering 6 years ago, we decided that we could not possibly afford the marriage counseling those sorts of activities required in the aftermath, and have not done one since. This in mind, my husband's cousin came over to assist. It was incredible. The laptop was taken apart entirely. Little screws and bits littered the dining room table. I passed by a couple times feeling quite sure that at the end of this $200 experiment, we would be buying a new $1800 laptop. After many hours, the laptop was reassembled and turned on in the audience of breathless anticipation. Whallah! It worked. Oh, the look of satisfaction and "I told you so" on my husband's face carried him through right to the end of the week.

The life of a housewife is, shall we say, very predictable. There are weeks where I feel quite sure that I am in groundhog day- and they could have saved themselves a heap of trouble setting up a video camera in my house rather than hire all those expensive actors for the movie. At home, I'm going to change lots of dirty diapers, wash dishes, fold laundry, teach math (Oh, how I detest math), fix meals, and mete out discipline to Oliver. I think this is where my love of camping comes in. Anything can happen. The question is: What did you not prepare for? The sudden catastrophe is a thing of joy for my capable mind (besides the fact that there is a greater limit to "household" chores). Stand aside, I can solve this problem. My husband, on the other hand, likes to be in Ground Hog Day, and dislikes the unexpected, and especially the unexpected catastrophe. He throws his hands in the air and settles into depressed musings.

The magic between us, my husband and I, is our love of the sarcastic, our love of order, our tendency to be completely unimpressed by the other person, and our sense of duty. We both are in the care of an immense ego, which stands out when rebuking one another. If I happen to be in a snit for some unspecified reason and get all huffy, my husband simply says, "Fine, be a brat, see what I care." With the delivery of this phrase, I'm awash in warm fuzzies for this wonderful man of mine. When he is upset about some little thing, all I have to say is, " so be a catered to Hodges brat. Maybe mommy will come take care of that for you," and he quite entirely snaps out of it. When we are really upset about something, we agree in a quite manly fashion, to be silent on the subject until we can discuss it rationally and quietly. We used to average this sort of transaction once a year. Now, we don't entirely remember our last argument, which was nearly two years ago. Perhaps after 11 years of marriage, you've mostly worked the kinks out. I think that our lack of arguments stems from the fact that we both believe ourselves to be the superior of the other, and are thus willing to be a bit generous and accomodating with the other person. Also, because we are the better creature, firm rebukes are not taken too hard but are rationally digested and applied.

The next time you hear someone complain of their spouse, remember- they deserve each other. I guess it is possible that this is not always the case, though I've yet to see the exception. You can tell a lot about a person by the spouse they chose and the spouse they complain of. I have no complaints. I've married a man who deserves me entirely, and I'm quite certain that I deserve him.