My dad's pain has become increasingly worse. He's now on a lot more pain meds. I'm so grateful to the people of Hospice of San Joaquin for helping my dad have a more comfortable existence in his last days. He's finally in a hospital bed. Mom finally agreed that she needed help 24 hours a day, help that was a lot more effective than she, my sister and I can give. Visiting Angels has provided two really awesome people to help us, Anna and Eddie. And there have been additional angels in our lives who have acted on my parents' and my behalf, loving family and friends, wise counselors, additional caretakers.
It's the waiting game now. Not sure when it's going to happen, but all the signs are there. No one really tells you what it looks like as someone who's been sick for a long time approaches death. It's so hard to watch and not know what to do about it while we wait. I'm busying myself with the crossing of T's and dotting of I's. Trying to help my mother take care of herself. At least she can sleep more now that we've got the overnight care. Hoping to take her out in the sunshine later this week. It would be great if she let me schedule a massage for her. With all the right help in place, she's calmed down a lot. We've had a good talk and she seems to accept, just a little more, that she's not going to have Dad around much longer. She still wants to die first. But I'm not letting her do that.
I'm sticking to exercise, eating right, getting better sleep. I could use one of those massages too! I'm keeping up with writing the blogs, because it feels good to chronicle all this. Someday, my kids may go back and read all this and have some perspective on this period of time in our lives.
It's really hard to learn to remain at peace through this transition. Plenty of time later to go tearing around getting things done. I need to keep still and learn to accept the next stage, where I'll still be taking care of a parent, but we'll have to make more changes to her life, and quite possibly mine as well. It's hard to find a way to let my dad go when I haven't had the relationship I wanted with him. And he can't play along any more either. It's hard to bring my sons to see him when he's not even close to being the grandfather they once knew. They're frightened. My youngest is scared of seeing him die. My oldest is emotionally distant about the whole thing. It's just how he's dealing with it all. But both the boys are keeping their own lives moving forward.
I'm trying to find moments of joy in every day. The sun's out today. It's still cold (for Lodi), but there are no clouds, blue skies all around. My sweet little puppy is curled up on the bed, taking advantage of the two-square-feet of sunlight shining through my bedroom window that warms my comforter. My son Rhyan is enthusiastically killing zombies with online friends on the XBox in the living room. It's fun to listen to him interact with his friends through a headset.
I'm going to take a nap now to save up a little rest. I'm staying with Mom tonight. She needs family with her in case Dad passes tonight.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
The "Difficult" Elderly Parent
It's so sad that I am not alone in the dilemma of the difficult elderly parent...I had a rough evening. Trying to help my parents and take care of my kids. My parents have a team of people caring for them. My kids have only me. And so I picked my kids, because the team was in place. And still, I'm the bad child.
So I came home, drank wine, cried a little, did laundry, and surfed the Internet looking for answers. Instead, I found this: mind.expressions: The "Difficult" Elderly Parent. The amazing thing is that the post was written three years ago, but people are still leaving comments about the difficulties they face in caring for their difficult elderly parents.
I hope to be done with the laundry soon. And then I'm going to sleep, I hope.
So I came home, drank wine, cried a little, did laundry, and surfed the Internet looking for answers. Instead, I found this: mind.expressions: The "Difficult" Elderly Parent. The amazing thing is that the post was written three years ago, but people are still leaving comments about the difficulties they face in caring for their difficult elderly parents.
I hope to be done with the laundry soon. And then I'm going to sleep, I hope.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
How I'm taking care of myself
Okay, I was raised by a Class One Martyr. Class One Martyrs don't know how to teach their children how to care for themselves. They care for themselves in secret, so as not to mar the martyr-like illusions. Or they guilt others into caring for them. Or they take steps to care for themselves when "pressured" by well-meaning people.
So I never cultivated the whole regular-trip-to-the-salon-for-a-manicure thing. And I didn't develop my save-yourself-so-you-can-save-your-kids thing either. Not until I had a good bit of therapy. While all the other mommies were off on spa/shopping/lunch dates with friends, I was...not taking care of my kids...because at the time I had maids for that. I was in my room having a big cry over how lamentable my situation was, what with the unfaithful spouse, and being stuck in the expatriate fishbowl of life, and nothing meaningful to focus on other than bridge and quilting (hate them both!!!!!), and not trusting that I had the resources to leave with my kids and survive on my own.
Eventually the aroma of my misery stew started to really stink up my life, enough so that I understood that no one was going to care for me or anticipate my needs like I could (and this lesson was really a loooooong time coming - because I can be soooooooooo dense!). Plus, my one really dear friend, who was going through a divorce whilst holding together her professional life and raising her autistic son on her own, was looking so damn good! Why wasn't she falling apart?! Well, she was, but she was taking care of herself. Ohhhhhhhhh! Maybe those spa days she was always proposing were really worth the money...
When I was living in Indonesia, I started to indulge myself with a cream bath. It's an Indonesian thing, a deep-moisturizing hair treatment and scalp, neck and shoulder massage. Oh, I miss those so much! Everyone should get one! If the Palestinians and Israelis got these on a regular basis, they'd have worked things out a long time ago! Instead of neutral zones, there should be cream bath zones! Really, they're that good. Having the monthly cream bath convinced me to have the weekly massages. Granted, massages can be expensive, but while I lived in Indonesia, Ibu Upik would only charge me $5 for an hour massage. And it wasn't a fake little massage, it was a good therapeutic one.
When I eventually came back to California, permanently, at the start of the divorce process, I remembered how great the regular massages were. I started going to the spa up the street on a weekly basis for a massage. A damn site more than the $5, but I was worth it. Because I understood that when I cared for myself properly, I could make wiser decisions about how to run my life, my household and raise my sons with more love and compassion than my mother could ever muster for me. My health started to improve, caring for myself spilled into eating better, exercising regularly, getting adequate sleep. And I committed to going back to therapy, participated in an EBT group (I highly recommend this as well for effective self-care) and re-focused on my education. I shed the martyr mantle that Mom was trying to hand me and actively moved on with my life.
I don't get weekly massages any longer. I've stretched them out to monthly, but I've added the mani/pedi and the facial on other weeks. And when I get my hair cut/colored, my stylist gives me a lovely little scalp, neck and shoulder massage. Not quite up to par with the Indonesian version, but wonderful nonetheless. I'm due for a massage this week. Going to see either Joanne or Stephanie at Perfect Balance Day Spa a few blocks from me. Joanne does this really awesome Thai stretch massage, and Stephanie gives a marvelous deep-tissue Swedish massage. I've been working extra hard at Pilates and weight training this week, so by Saturday, a massage is going to feel really good!
And while I'm getting my massage, the Class One Martyr is going to call and leave me a message, wondering where I am, and would I please call her back because she's lonely and has nobody to talk to but me (because she didn't talk to the team of people that cater to her and Dad everyday). And when I call her back, she's going to ask me where I was, and I'll tell her how much I was enjoying my massage, and then she'll say she wishes she could leave Dad for an hour and get a massage, and I'll offer to make arrangements so that someone can stay with Dad and I can take her for a massage at the spa, and she'll say it's too expensive and that I should know that she can't leave Dad for even one minute, not even to take a shower, and I ask what her team does all day that she can't go take a shower...
Damn! I gotta go! Pilates starts in 15 minutes!
So I never cultivated the whole regular-trip-to-the-salon-for-a-manicure thing. And I didn't develop my save-yourself-so-you-can-save-your-kids thing either. Not until I had a good bit of therapy. While all the other mommies were off on spa/shopping/lunch dates with friends, I was...not taking care of my kids...because at the time I had maids for that. I was in my room having a big cry over how lamentable my situation was, what with the unfaithful spouse, and being stuck in the expatriate fishbowl of life, and nothing meaningful to focus on other than bridge and quilting (hate them both!!!!!), and not trusting that I had the resources to leave with my kids and survive on my own.
Eventually the aroma of my misery stew started to really stink up my life, enough so that I understood that no one was going to care for me or anticipate my needs like I could (and this lesson was really a loooooong time coming - because I can be soooooooooo dense!). Plus, my one really dear friend, who was going through a divorce whilst holding together her professional life and raising her autistic son on her own, was looking so damn good! Why wasn't she falling apart?! Well, she was, but she was taking care of herself. Ohhhhhhhhh! Maybe those spa days she was always proposing were really worth the money...
When I was living in Indonesia, I started to indulge myself with a cream bath. It's an Indonesian thing, a deep-moisturizing hair treatment and scalp, neck and shoulder massage. Oh, I miss those so much! Everyone should get one! If the Palestinians and Israelis got these on a regular basis, they'd have worked things out a long time ago! Instead of neutral zones, there should be cream bath zones! Really, they're that good. Having the monthly cream bath convinced me to have the weekly massages. Granted, massages can be expensive, but while I lived in Indonesia, Ibu Upik would only charge me $5 for an hour massage. And it wasn't a fake little massage, it was a good therapeutic one.
When I eventually came back to California, permanently, at the start of the divorce process, I remembered how great the regular massages were. I started going to the spa up the street on a weekly basis for a massage. A damn site more than the $5, but I was worth it. Because I understood that when I cared for myself properly, I could make wiser decisions about how to run my life, my household and raise my sons with more love and compassion than my mother could ever muster for me. My health started to improve, caring for myself spilled into eating better, exercising regularly, getting adequate sleep. And I committed to going back to therapy, participated in an EBT group (I highly recommend this as well for effective self-care) and re-focused on my education. I shed the martyr mantle that Mom was trying to hand me and actively moved on with my life.
I don't get weekly massages any longer. I've stretched them out to monthly, but I've added the mani/pedi and the facial on other weeks. And when I get my hair cut/colored, my stylist gives me a lovely little scalp, neck and shoulder massage. Not quite up to par with the Indonesian version, but wonderful nonetheless. I'm due for a massage this week. Going to see either Joanne or Stephanie at Perfect Balance Day Spa a few blocks from me. Joanne does this really awesome Thai stretch massage, and Stephanie gives a marvelous deep-tissue Swedish massage. I've been working extra hard at Pilates and weight training this week, so by Saturday, a massage is going to feel really good!
And while I'm getting my massage, the Class One Martyr is going to call and leave me a message, wondering where I am, and would I please call her back because she's lonely and has nobody to talk to but me (because she didn't talk to the team of people that cater to her and Dad everyday). And when I call her back, she's going to ask me where I was, and I'll tell her how much I was enjoying my massage, and then she'll say she wishes she could leave Dad for an hour and get a massage, and I'll offer to make arrangements so that someone can stay with Dad and I can take her for a massage at the spa, and she'll say it's too expensive and that I should know that she can't leave Dad for even one minute, not even to take a shower, and I ask what her team does all day that she can't go take a shower...
Damn! I gotta go! Pilates starts in 15 minutes!
Monday, January 24, 2011
Reading
I wish I had time to read some fiction, but at the moment, life is providing all the drama, comedy and pathos I can handle. Instead, my list of books on my to-read list include all sorts of self-help and advice.
Boundaries, by Dr's Henry Cloud and John Townsend, was assigned to me by my therapist. I haven't finished it yet. Actually, I only just got through Chapter 1: "A day in a Boundaryless Life". That alone was tough. I identified with it so much! Parts of it made me cry. I saw behaviors and decisions I've made due to not being able to keep appropriate boundaries up with family and friends. I was heartened because I'm certainly not as bad as I once was. And I was angry because some people, for whom I had been "supportive" and "dependable" and "faithful" decided they no longer needed me in their life the moment I started creating balance for myself and told them "no" a few times. I'm still healing from that. I'm hoping reading this book will help with any further estrangements caused by my "selfishly" creating more balance in my life, and I'll be able to connect in true intimacy with old and new friends and family in more appropriate ways.
I'll write more about this book later, once I've read it, and share how it's impacting me.
Boundaries, by Dr's Henry Cloud and John Townsend, was assigned to me by my therapist. I haven't finished it yet. Actually, I only just got through Chapter 1: "A day in a Boundaryless Life". That alone was tough. I identified with it so much! Parts of it made me cry. I saw behaviors and decisions I've made due to not being able to keep appropriate boundaries up with family and friends. I was heartened because I'm certainly not as bad as I once was. And I was angry because some people, for whom I had been "supportive" and "dependable" and "faithful" decided they no longer needed me in their life the moment I started creating balance for myself and told them "no" a few times. I'm still healing from that. I'm hoping reading this book will help with any further estrangements caused by my "selfishly" creating more balance in my life, and I'll be able to connect in true intimacy with old and new friends and family in more appropriate ways.
I'll write more about this book later, once I've read it, and share how it's impacting me.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
All quiet on the homefront
Quinn's all better now. He had strep since last week, and we finally went to the urgent care clinic and got a prescription last Saturday. The drugs started working pretty quickly, but it took him all week to get well enough to leave the house. Today he managed to clean the living room, where he's been camping out for the last three days. I have my bedroom back, and now the living room and dining room (I did his laundry, but he left the clean clothes on the dining table all week).
Quinn lost between 10 and 15 pounds while he was sick. All his pants are hanging rather unattractively between his crotch and his knees. He has no ass! I sent him to the mall in Stockton today to buy a few pairs of jeans to wear to school. I'm sure he'll be stopping by the Barnes and Noble to see his girlfriend. She's "studying".
You know, I went to the same community college. I too had a boyfriend while I was enrolled there. I even took "night classes".
I am laying low today. I have a lot of file boxes to go through, things to sort and put away in my bedroom, somewhere. Pandora is playing Vivaldi right now. Love it! Mournful strings. I loves me some good cello!
Rhyan is on the XBox today. He did his laundry this morning, then helped me make him some healthy burritos for the freezer, then did the dishes. He walked Chloe. Practiced bass. I'm cool with the XBox today.
Epilogue
Oh, I spoke too soon! I'm beginning to see that my mother's the one in control of under-medicating my dad. She is so busted! My sister and I are headed to speak with Hospice people tomorrow. I don't know what this means for us, but we may be finally putting Dad into Hospice House. And Mom may need to go into an elder care facility. There is nothing that my mother reports to us about Dad's condition and his care that we can take seriously. She fabricates conversations, manipulates everyone, just so she can keep Dad at home so she can feed him.
The boys and I are going to checkout for a couple hours. With the Green Hornet.
Quinn lost between 10 and 15 pounds while he was sick. All his pants are hanging rather unattractively between his crotch and his knees. He has no ass! I sent him to the mall in Stockton today to buy a few pairs of jeans to wear to school. I'm sure he'll be stopping by the Barnes and Noble to see his girlfriend. She's "studying".
You know, I went to the same community college. I too had a boyfriend while I was enrolled there. I even took "night classes".
I am laying low today. I have a lot of file boxes to go through, things to sort and put away in my bedroom, somewhere. Pandora is playing Vivaldi right now. Love it! Mournful strings. I loves me some good cello!
Rhyan is on the XBox today. He did his laundry this morning, then helped me make him some healthy burritos for the freezer, then did the dishes. He walked Chloe. Practiced bass. I'm cool with the XBox today.
Epilogue
Oh, I spoke too soon! I'm beginning to see that my mother's the one in control of under-medicating my dad. She is so busted! My sister and I are headed to speak with Hospice people tomorrow. I don't know what this means for us, but we may be finally putting Dad into Hospice House. And Mom may need to go into an elder care facility. There is nothing that my mother reports to us about Dad's condition and his care that we can take seriously. She fabricates conversations, manipulates everyone, just so she can keep Dad at home so she can feed him.
The boys and I are going to checkout for a couple hours. With the Green Hornet.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Taking an ADD break
(Not taking a break from ADD. Taking a break because I have ADD.)
The sun is shining today! It's so gorgeous outside. I know, normal people think, "Hey, the sun is shining...I know what let's do! Go outside!" But not me. I'm weird that way. I'm cleaning my bedroom.
I let things go for the past few weeks, since Christmas. And then I started squeezing my office into my bedroom because Quinn decided to abandon the studio behind our house (it was damn cold in there!) and moved into the room I was using as my office. Ishsh...I really had my heart set on keeping that as my office/sewing room. Instead, the sewing machines are stacked by my closet, the new business computer and desk are squeezed into the bedroom corner. And I just moved the bookcase (and my substantial library) next to my bed. Time to do some deeper dusting (the stuff that the Merry Maids like to miss) and vacuuming in the corners. And then there's all those electrical cords I need to tuck away somehow.
The boys are hiding from me, because they know I'm about to start making demands of them. So I thought I'd put Pandora on mix-mode, to keep us motivated with the right music, and sit down to do a little writing. Because writing distracts me. Actually, my thoughts distract me, and writing helps me to collect them all, make a plan and get to work.
"I'm movin' to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches," by The Presidents of the United States. See, it's practically spring!
(Do you think they're actually singing about peaches? I'm singing out loud and the boys have quizzical looks on their faces. I may start singing about bananas.)
The sun is shining today! It's so gorgeous outside. I know, normal people think, "Hey, the sun is shining...I know what let's do! Go outside!" But not me. I'm weird that way. I'm cleaning my bedroom.
I let things go for the past few weeks, since Christmas. And then I started squeezing my office into my bedroom because Quinn decided to abandon the studio behind our house (it was damn cold in there!) and moved into the room I was using as my office. Ishsh...I really had my heart set on keeping that as my office/sewing room. Instead, the sewing machines are stacked by my closet, the new business computer and desk are squeezed into the bedroom corner. And I just moved the bookcase (and my substantial library) next to my bed. Time to do some deeper dusting (the stuff that the Merry Maids like to miss) and vacuuming in the corners. And then there's all those electrical cords I need to tuck away somehow.
The boys are hiding from me, because they know I'm about to start making demands of them. So I thought I'd put Pandora on mix-mode, to keep us motivated with the right music, and sit down to do a little writing. Because writing distracts me. Actually, my thoughts distract me, and writing helps me to collect them all, make a plan and get to work.
"I'm movin' to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches," by The Presidents of the United States. See, it's practically spring!
(Do you think they're actually singing about peaches? I'm singing out loud and the boys have quizzical looks on their faces. I may start singing about bananas.)
Friday, January 21, 2011
The waiting game
Once more, my parents flirted with the idea to have Dad move to Hospice House. Once more, the idea was abandoned for a free but ineffective solution. I know health care costs money, a lot of money, but is all the pain, drama and trauma worth it?
Dad called me yesterday to tell me it was probably the last time we were ever going to speak. So I collected the boys and we went over to the house to have this final conversation face to face. He was in a lot of pain...A LOT of pain. I don't understand why he isn't getting more pain medication. I don't know if it's my dad's choice to not remain so medicated that he can't feel anything, or if my mom's not giving him enough just so she can feed him (because she lives to feed), or if Hospice isn't leaving enough meds. I don't know because no one is answering any of my direct questions about this. And I don't know what to do about this. Obviously, someone wants to be in more control of this situation, so I'll let them have all the control.
I was at my EBT class in Folsom earlier in the week and we talked a little about guilt. Guilt was described as the emotion we feel when we don't do something the way we wish we could have done it. That helped me to realize some things about my relationship with my parents and my role as a part-time caregiver.
And I feel guilty that is seems like we're all just waiting around for Dad to die. There has to be a balance, between actively living my life and honoring my father at the end of his life. I can accept that this is a difficult time, and the emotional roller coaster will remain in play for some time. I know there are expectations of me, because they hover, unvoiced but menacing, whenever I go to my parents' house. Sometimes I can handle it, other times, not so much.
I'm grateful to the local Hospice people. All the volunteers and the entire organization do so much for the patients and their families. We're donating a car this month, and later, I'll be donating money. They really do great works!
Dad called me yesterday to tell me it was probably the last time we were ever going to speak. So I collected the boys and we went over to the house to have this final conversation face to face. He was in a lot of pain...A LOT of pain. I don't understand why he isn't getting more pain medication. I don't know if it's my dad's choice to not remain so medicated that he can't feel anything, or if my mom's not giving him enough just so she can feed him (because she lives to feed), or if Hospice isn't leaving enough meds. I don't know because no one is answering any of my direct questions about this. And I don't know what to do about this. Obviously, someone wants to be in more control of this situation, so I'll let them have all the control.
I was at my EBT class in Folsom earlier in the week and we talked a little about guilt. Guilt was described as the emotion we feel when we don't do something the way we wish we could have done it. That helped me to realize some things about my relationship with my parents and my role as a part-time caregiver.
- I shouldn't feel guilty about how my relationship with my parents has turned out. They had expectations about what the relationship would be, but they've done nothing that supports that level of closeness. I am only responsible for my side of the relationship.
- It is inappropriate for me to step in to care for them to a degree that abandons my children and myself, or costs me money, especially if they can afford to pay for extra help for themselves.
- I am not my mother's therapist. And I can't fix her, or choose how she is going to live her life after Dad is gone.
- My parents are difficult people, despite their good hearts and religious beliefs.
And I feel guilty that is seems like we're all just waiting around for Dad to die. There has to be a balance, between actively living my life and honoring my father at the end of his life. I can accept that this is a difficult time, and the emotional roller coaster will remain in play for some time. I know there are expectations of me, because they hover, unvoiced but menacing, whenever I go to my parents' house. Sometimes I can handle it, other times, not so much.
I'm grateful to the local Hospice people. All the volunteers and the entire organization do so much for the patients and their families. We're donating a car this month, and later, I'll be donating money. They really do great works!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
How to motivate a teen aged boy
Really, I have no idea how to do that...
Oh my god! OMG!!! OMFG!!!!
I really had to get that out of my system. College boy has strep throat. He's been on meds for only two days. He hasn't eaten for three days and the first thing he managed to eat, well, that's not staying down at the moment. Okay, so, perhaps it's not the best time to get mad at him for flunking out of Japanese 101 and screwing up English 101 because he didn't read the syllabus properly and didn't complete 30% of the assignments, and somehow, with the new semester starting tomorrow, he's only signed up for one class, even though he paid for four.
It took all my self control to speak calmly to him to try to figure out what was going on. And even then, I got all sorts of attitude from him! This man-child, who keeps telling me how much more mature he is than his fellow schoolmates, plus most of humanity, is quite a bit more clueless than he realizes.
I have stepped away from helping him figure this out. He will have to learn to handle his own life. He's not spending enough time studying, certainly not even close to get him to his Plan A college (USC), and most likely not even his Plan B college (UCSC). He is not actively seeking employment. He thinks he's actively seeking employment, but really, he's not. And right now, he's sleeping in my bed, and I'm sleeping on the sofa with the dog, because his room is too close to the main road and he can't get adequate sleep from the street noise and street lamps, and he needs to sleep in order to get well. I don't want to get strep, so I won't sleep in his room until he's washed all his bedding, and he needs to wash all my bedding too now.
There's a reason why kids are supposed to go away to college...so the parents will have an opportunity to forget all their crap and come to miss them.
I think my son needs someone like Alfred the butler in his life.
Oh my god! OMG!!! OMFG!!!!
I really had to get that out of my system. College boy has strep throat. He's been on meds for only two days. He hasn't eaten for three days and the first thing he managed to eat, well, that's not staying down at the moment. Okay, so, perhaps it's not the best time to get mad at him for flunking out of Japanese 101 and screwing up English 101 because he didn't read the syllabus properly and didn't complete 30% of the assignments, and somehow, with the new semester starting tomorrow, he's only signed up for one class, even though he paid for four.
It took all my self control to speak calmly to him to try to figure out what was going on. And even then, I got all sorts of attitude from him! This man-child, who keeps telling me how much more mature he is than his fellow schoolmates, plus most of humanity, is quite a bit more clueless than he realizes.
I have stepped away from helping him figure this out. He will have to learn to handle his own life. He's not spending enough time studying, certainly not even close to get him to his Plan A college (USC), and most likely not even his Plan B college (UCSC). He is not actively seeking employment. He thinks he's actively seeking employment, but really, he's not. And right now, he's sleeping in my bed, and I'm sleeping on the sofa with the dog, because his room is too close to the main road and he can't get adequate sleep from the street noise and street lamps, and he needs to sleep in order to get well. I don't want to get strep, so I won't sleep in his room until he's washed all his bedding, and he needs to wash all my bedding too now.
There's a reason why kids are supposed to go away to college...so the parents will have an opportunity to forget all their crap and come to miss them.
I think my son needs someone like Alfred the butler in his life.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Four phone calls before noon...
After I got back from my Pilates class, my son told me that my father had called to talk with me. He wanted me to call him back. So I did, but it really wasn't Dad who needed me. It was Mom.
"Where were you!!" She sounded really frantic.
"What's wrong?"
"Norma's going in with your father now, my finger is throbbing and I can't clean anything, the oven exploded and Diana is coming in five minutes! I need you here now!"
(Norma is the Hospice home health care aide that comes in several times a week to bathe Dad. Diana is the Hospice counselor assigned to my parents. Mom cut her finger a few days ago and it's not healing as quickly as she wants.)
"What exploded in the oven?"
"I put a sweet potato in the oven so I would have something to eat for breakfast and it exploded all over the oven. I need you to come clean it for me now. Please, please, please come now."
"Mom, you know that Rhyan's got school until 3 p.m. and I can't come until he's done with his work. Can you wait until then?"
This is when her voice changes from sheer panic to whimpering. "Oh, not until 3? I guess I'll just have to live in these conditions until then...and did you order my vitamins? I'm afraid I'm going blind! Please, please, please get them to me. Call the lady. Tell her I have cataracts." And then she hung up.
(She doesn't have cataracts. The eye doctor said they need to check for cataracts. Mom want's me to order these vitamins that are supposed to prevent cataracts. They are only available online, for nearly $70 for a one-month supply.)
She called again, twice, to ask me to pick up some dish-washing liquid at Sheri's Sonshine Nutrition Center. And to look for some non-toxic oven cleaner (but her oven is self-cleaning, she just doesn't trust it). And to confirm that I'm still coming over at 3.
Okay, I don't know what to do with this behavior. I'm not going to drop everything to go clean her oven. That's a ridiculous expectation. I have a son that needs me! I have a business plan to write for my own business and clients who'll pay me as soon as I get their work done. And I have my own home to maintain. My parents can afford to hire someone to clean, but they won't. And I am not responsible to teach Mom how to manage her neuroses. Or to be her best friend. Or her only friend. Plus, she has another daughter she can call!
Okay, I think I'm done with this for now. I hope.
Epilogue
We ended up logging six phone calls that day. And by 3 o'clock, my mother had cleaned her oven by herself. It only took 10 minutes. So when I got there, I was told how difficult the day had been...all because the sweet potato exploded. My mother is under so much self-imposed stress. She's in panic-mode. Thankfully, her doctor has her on anti-psychotic meds. It really helps!
"Where were you!!" She sounded really frantic.
"What's wrong?"
"Norma's going in with your father now, my finger is throbbing and I can't clean anything, the oven exploded and Diana is coming in five minutes! I need you here now!"
(Norma is the Hospice home health care aide that comes in several times a week to bathe Dad. Diana is the Hospice counselor assigned to my parents. Mom cut her finger a few days ago and it's not healing as quickly as she wants.)
"What exploded in the oven?"
"I put a sweet potato in the oven so I would have something to eat for breakfast and it exploded all over the oven. I need you to come clean it for me now. Please, please, please come now."
"Mom, you know that Rhyan's got school until 3 p.m. and I can't come until he's done with his work. Can you wait until then?"
This is when her voice changes from sheer panic to whimpering. "Oh, not until 3? I guess I'll just have to live in these conditions until then...and did you order my vitamins? I'm afraid I'm going blind! Please, please, please get them to me. Call the lady. Tell her I have cataracts." And then she hung up.
(She doesn't have cataracts. The eye doctor said they need to check for cataracts. Mom want's me to order these vitamins that are supposed to prevent cataracts. They are only available online, for nearly $70 for a one-month supply.)
She called again, twice, to ask me to pick up some dish-washing liquid at Sheri's Sonshine Nutrition Center. And to look for some non-toxic oven cleaner (but her oven is self-cleaning, she just doesn't trust it). And to confirm that I'm still coming over at 3.
Okay, I don't know what to do with this behavior. I'm not going to drop everything to go clean her oven. That's a ridiculous expectation. I have a son that needs me! I have a business plan to write for my own business and clients who'll pay me as soon as I get their work done. And I have my own home to maintain. My parents can afford to hire someone to clean, but they won't. And I am not responsible to teach Mom how to manage her neuroses. Or to be her best friend. Or her only friend. Plus, she has another daughter she can call!
Okay, I think I'm done with this for now. I hope.
Epilogue
We ended up logging six phone calls that day. And by 3 o'clock, my mother had cleaned her oven by herself. It only took 10 minutes. So when I got there, I was told how difficult the day had been...all because the sweet potato exploded. My mother is under so much self-imposed stress. She's in panic-mode. Thankfully, her doctor has her on anti-psychotic meds. It really helps!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
I'm kinda proud of myself at the moment...
I was looking over my old posts and found one from 2009 where I talked about what my personal goals were. And as I read over them, I realized that nearly every one of them was definitely under construction! This is the first time in my life where I've experienced the realization of my goals. It feels really good!
- I am living in my dream home now. It's exactly in the neighborhood I wanted to live in. I don't own it, yet, but we did sign a lease-option-to-buy agreement. It needs work, but there are a lot of tall windows in the living room that let in light from the backyard. I'll eventually be putting in a folding glass door that leads to an outdoor living space. There's a small outer structure I'm going to convert to a studio. Only the bathrooms and kitchen need renovating (the house was built in 1952) and the entire electrical and plumbing system will need to be replaced. And the central air unit will need to be replaced as well. And I'm going to install glass doors on the fireplace. I can absolutely see my dream car parked in the driveway!
- I'm definitely on the road to better health. I'm no longer on blood pressure medication. I'm still controlling the type 2 diabetes with diet and exercise, even though I'm getting older. I'm managing stress a lot better, and all the divorce drama is over. I'm more active than I used to be, and I have to thank the Pilates classes for that.
- I am raising my sons on my own. They are happy right now, feeling safe and at peace. They have friends, activities, places to go. They are involved in their grandparents' lives, even in this difficult time. We're still working on a lot of issues, but that's all a part of the parenting timeline.
- I'm just getting back to school. The scope of my education has broadened to enhance my current career goals.
- I haven't started writing the books and plays yet. I'm still gathering life experience. But I have started my web design business, have published one client's website, have another one in the pipeline plus four more serious prospects. I have a new desktop computer and all the resources needed to get my work done, and I've even hired a business coach to help me stay focused on my goals, even when my mother calls to disrupt my life everyday.
- I have chosen to put off finding a life partner. My life is very full. I do not have time for dating and everything that goes with that. It would be too distracting. I'm still trying to get solid with who I am, a complex, non-traditional woman. They don't make men for women like me. Or at least, I've never met one. And I don't believe there are any in my small town.
Becoming impervious to guilt
Yesterday I didn't call my parents all day. I get to do that, not call them for a whole day. I didn't check in on them at all. I get to have a day off from that...this is something I allow for myself once or twice a week. I'm supposed to have Fridays off when my sister comes to town to handle my parents' requests for a day. She doesn't always make it. And she doesn't actually call them and check in on them everyday. And if she doesn't call them during the day, Mom doesn't call her to remind her of her duty. Like she does with me.
We made it to around 3 p.m. without contact. My boys and I were having a lovely, peaceful Saturday afternoon at home. We had a fire going in the fireplace. I had made turkey and dumpling for a late lunch. Nothing was going on. We get to have that, a lazy day every once in awhile where nothing is going on.
But she had to call me. And she didn't say "hello" or "how are the boys today". It was a summons.
"Hello?"
"Come over now."
"What's going on?"
This is where she mumbles in confusing disjointed statements, something about Dad dismantling the phones and not being able to put them back together and how he might cut himself with his tools and he wanted me to come over to fix everything (like I know how to fix a phone) and how he's really mad at her for telling him to be careful.
This is where I have had to start using judgment on the matter, because I get summoned like this all the time, three or four times a week. As if I'm Servicemaster. And it's never a quick trip. It's a two to three hour event. Every time. Usually for nothing.
So I turned her down.
"I'm sorry, I can't come today. I was planning to be there tomorrow."
"Why, what are you doing today?" Really, do I need to justify what I'm doing with an activity of higher importance?
"It sounds like Dad's handling whatever it is that needs handling and I don't need to come over right now."
A brief pause, then, "Okay, are you going to be at home for the rest of the day?"
Really? "In case I need to call you for an emergency."
"Mom, if it's an emergency, call 911. Then call me."
And then she just hung up.
I used to go running over when she called, but found that my household was slowly falling apart over time if I indulged her fears like that. Mom has never been able to work through her own crap. She's always used the family to manage her emotions for. And it always took its toll on us, sometimes for days, while she just moved on as if nothing happened. Once I recognized that, I would get so angry!
One time I was working on becoming a more perfect Christian woman and tried to learn about forgiveness. I studied the Bible, read other people's work, prayed and meditated about it. Eventually, I came to a state of forgiveness with my mother and knew I could walk away from all the hurt and sorrow from the past and move on with my life in love. I thanked God for the lesson. And, I swear, in the very next moment, Mom called and pissed me off all over again! Did she not know that I had forgiven her and she didn't have to go on being the person that she was, that she could move on and be a wonderful woman and not be tied to her past?!!!!!
Yeah, I had a big laugh over that one too. And once again, it was made clear that I can only change myself and that she will never, ever change. I can go on being angry and suffering the effects of that for the rest of my life, or I can learn to see her actions and behaviors for what they are and respond accordingly. Mostly I'll get it right, and I can forgive myself if I get it wrong.
After I stopped with the knee-jerk reactions to Mom's summons, I had to learn to deal with nearly unbearable guilt for not being there for her like I used to. It's definitely a process and it takes time. I don't like guilt. I don't like it hanging around my heart like a shadow. I don't like the knots it produces in my stomach. I don't like being manipulated by it and I don't care to let it motivate me. I find it a useless, damaging emotion. I refuse to be mired by it in my life any longer!
And when guilt is out of the picture, I can continue to grow with purpose into a much happier woman, at peace with where I've been and more hopeful about where I'm going.
We made it to around 3 p.m. without contact. My boys and I were having a lovely, peaceful Saturday afternoon at home. We had a fire going in the fireplace. I had made turkey and dumpling for a late lunch. Nothing was going on. We get to have that, a lazy day every once in awhile where nothing is going on.
But she had to call me. And she didn't say "hello" or "how are the boys today". It was a summons.
"Hello?"
"Come over now."
"What's going on?"
This is where she mumbles in confusing disjointed statements, something about Dad dismantling the phones and not being able to put them back together and how he might cut himself with his tools and he wanted me to come over to fix everything (like I know how to fix a phone) and how he's really mad at her for telling him to be careful.
This is where I have had to start using judgment on the matter, because I get summoned like this all the time, three or four times a week. As if I'm Servicemaster. And it's never a quick trip. It's a two to three hour event. Every time. Usually for nothing.
So I turned her down.
"I'm sorry, I can't come today. I was planning to be there tomorrow."
"Why, what are you doing today?" Really, do I need to justify what I'm doing with an activity of higher importance?
"It sounds like Dad's handling whatever it is that needs handling and I don't need to come over right now."
A brief pause, then, "Okay, are you going to be at home for the rest of the day?"
Really? "In case I need to call you for an emergency."
"Mom, if it's an emergency, call 911. Then call me."
And then she just hung up.
I used to go running over when she called, but found that my household was slowly falling apart over time if I indulged her fears like that. Mom has never been able to work through her own crap. She's always used the family to manage her emotions for. And it always took its toll on us, sometimes for days, while she just moved on as if nothing happened. Once I recognized that, I would get so angry!
One time I was working on becoming a more perfect Christian woman and tried to learn about forgiveness. I studied the Bible, read other people's work, prayed and meditated about it. Eventually, I came to a state of forgiveness with my mother and knew I could walk away from all the hurt and sorrow from the past and move on with my life in love. I thanked God for the lesson. And, I swear, in the very next moment, Mom called and pissed me off all over again! Did she not know that I had forgiven her and she didn't have to go on being the person that she was, that she could move on and be a wonderful woman and not be tied to her past?!!!!!
Yeah, I had a big laugh over that one too. And once again, it was made clear that I can only change myself and that she will never, ever change. I can go on being angry and suffering the effects of that for the rest of my life, or I can learn to see her actions and behaviors for what they are and respond accordingly. Mostly I'll get it right, and I can forgive myself if I get it wrong.
After I stopped with the knee-jerk reactions to Mom's summons, I had to learn to deal with nearly unbearable guilt for not being there for her like I used to. It's definitely a process and it takes time. I don't like guilt. I don't like it hanging around my heart like a shadow. I don't like the knots it produces in my stomach. I don't like being manipulated by it and I don't care to let it motivate me. I find it a useless, damaging emotion. I refuse to be mired by it in my life any longer!
And when guilt is out of the picture, I can continue to grow with purpose into a much happier woman, at peace with where I've been and more hopeful about where I'm going.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
How to be supportive without getting swallowed whole...
No, I don't know how to do that. But I'm determined to learn how, if its even possible. I wonder how the Hospice people do it, or if they struggle with it too.
My dad's going to die soon, I think. This week the Hospice nurse had to increase his pain medication again. The pain has now moved forward into his front rib cage. Even in his really fuzzy thinking, Dad's scared to die. He's scared to let go. He still wants to buy vitamins with his credit card over the phone and find that miracle cure. He wants to ride his bike one more time. He wants to feel like he belongs. I don't know how to make that happen for him. He calls us all to have a family gathering at the house, but he can't take all the people in the house any longer. He just wakes up, gets bathed and fed, just to go back to bed to sleep for the next round of eating.
Mom called yesterday. She's really stressed.. She's stressed when the Hospice people come to help because she has to hover to make sure they know what they're doing. She's stressed because she thinks the house is a mess, but its not, not even remotely. Cleaning is what she does to feel like she's in control of her life. She's stressed because Dad's not eating enough, and he's not awake enough to eat, and she doesn't know what she can cook to make him well (that's her dream) or just keep him alive and engaged just a little bit longer. Because she let go of living a long time ago, let go of friends and joy and meaningful activities, and when Dad passes, she won't have that in place. And she won't even listen when we offer to take her out, to go to the local senior center, because she feels she needs to stay in the house because Dad panics if she's not around.
And I'm not sure how to deal with this. I'm no longer thinking about what's my responsibility to them, as one of their daughters. I'm observing how my old tendency to swoop in and emotionally take care of my mother no longer appeals to me. I'm not responsible for walking Mom's emotional path through the end of Dad's life, through the grief that's to come, and help her construct a new life on the other side. I'm angry that she's not taken responsibility for herself. I'm angry that my parents didn't think to downsize their lifestyle so they could better manage it in their later years. They've lived with this cancer for 11 years. They knew what was coming. Neither of them stepped up for their own parents' later years, and yet the expectation hovers over me and my sister to be there for them and make everything right.
(There are times when I wish I could cry, for them, for the situation, for myself. but I think the divorce and the constant stress sucked all that out of me. I'm not feeling any tenderness any longer. So I've learned a trick. I put on Pandora's ESP [Deep Relaxation] Channel, and I sort of experience deeper emotions of sadness and pathos through the music. I get a glimpse at my heart through the music. It's how I know I still have one.)
I watched Eat, Pray, Love late last night when I couldn't sleep. I wasn't going to watch it, but there was nothing else I cared to do. I can't comment on the book, because I never read it. I don't know how closely the movie follows the book. I thought the movie was rather predictable. A beautiful, middle-aged woman (and Julia sooooooo represents us all?) travels the globe to find herself. And is rewarded at the end of the movie with what could be the love of her life. Javier Bardem...oh so yummy! She is his reward as well. Beautiful people having achieved enlightenment, moving forward with contentment into their beautiful life together...in Bali.
What I identified with was the hunger. Hunger for balance, hunger for peace, hunger for something I can't quite put my finger on. Everyday I'm hungry, for something (not pasta or pizza). Actually, contentment and peace don't seem to satiate me. That's a state that can't be maintained without effort, and usually I need fresh underwear and the dog needs a walk somewhere in between. Contentment and peace shouldn't be a state one achieves and maintains in stillness. It's something you want available in a crisis too. And I think it's something I can find as long as my actions, my choices, my breath is sincere and entirely my own. Living with intent gives me peace. I find contentment in moments throughout my day, on some days more so than others. I think that's a function of fully participating in living my life.
A larger part of me wishes I could impart that to my parents. They pray, but from what I can tell, they look at God as a magical genie who will bless them with what they want if all the conditions are right. They include in their prayers something about God's will being done, but I don't observe that they really mean it. I'd like to pray that I could recognize what his will is in my life. Maybe then I wouldn't be struggling so. Maybe we just can't accept that dying a very slow and painful death would be God's will. Because if it is his will, then who are we dealing with here?
And that's a whole other blog!
My dad's going to die soon, I think. This week the Hospice nurse had to increase his pain medication again. The pain has now moved forward into his front rib cage. Even in his really fuzzy thinking, Dad's scared to die. He's scared to let go. He still wants to buy vitamins with his credit card over the phone and find that miracle cure. He wants to ride his bike one more time. He wants to feel like he belongs. I don't know how to make that happen for him. He calls us all to have a family gathering at the house, but he can't take all the people in the house any longer. He just wakes up, gets bathed and fed, just to go back to bed to sleep for the next round of eating.
Mom called yesterday. She's really stressed.. She's stressed when the Hospice people come to help because she has to hover to make sure they know what they're doing. She's stressed because she thinks the house is a mess, but its not, not even remotely. Cleaning is what she does to feel like she's in control of her life. She's stressed because Dad's not eating enough, and he's not awake enough to eat, and she doesn't know what she can cook to make him well (that's her dream) or just keep him alive and engaged just a little bit longer. Because she let go of living a long time ago, let go of friends and joy and meaningful activities, and when Dad passes, she won't have that in place. And she won't even listen when we offer to take her out, to go to the local senior center, because she feels she needs to stay in the house because Dad panics if she's not around.
And I'm not sure how to deal with this. I'm no longer thinking about what's my responsibility to them, as one of their daughters. I'm observing how my old tendency to swoop in and emotionally take care of my mother no longer appeals to me. I'm not responsible for walking Mom's emotional path through the end of Dad's life, through the grief that's to come, and help her construct a new life on the other side. I'm angry that she's not taken responsibility for herself. I'm angry that my parents didn't think to downsize their lifestyle so they could better manage it in their later years. They've lived with this cancer for 11 years. They knew what was coming. Neither of them stepped up for their own parents' later years, and yet the expectation hovers over me and my sister to be there for them and make everything right.
(There are times when I wish I could cry, for them, for the situation, for myself. but I think the divorce and the constant stress sucked all that out of me. I'm not feeling any tenderness any longer. So I've learned a trick. I put on Pandora's ESP [Deep Relaxation] Channel, and I sort of experience deeper emotions of sadness and pathos through the music. I get a glimpse at my heart through the music. It's how I know I still have one.)
I watched Eat, Pray, Love late last night when I couldn't sleep. I wasn't going to watch it, but there was nothing else I cared to do. I can't comment on the book, because I never read it. I don't know how closely the movie follows the book. I thought the movie was rather predictable. A beautiful, middle-aged woman (and Julia sooooooo represents us all?) travels the globe to find herself. And is rewarded at the end of the movie with what could be the love of her life. Javier Bardem...oh so yummy! She is his reward as well. Beautiful people having achieved enlightenment, moving forward with contentment into their beautiful life together...in Bali.
What I identified with was the hunger. Hunger for balance, hunger for peace, hunger for something I can't quite put my finger on. Everyday I'm hungry, for something (not pasta or pizza). Actually, contentment and peace don't seem to satiate me. That's a state that can't be maintained without effort, and usually I need fresh underwear and the dog needs a walk somewhere in between. Contentment and peace shouldn't be a state one achieves and maintains in stillness. It's something you want available in a crisis too. And I think it's something I can find as long as my actions, my choices, my breath is sincere and entirely my own. Living with intent gives me peace. I find contentment in moments throughout my day, on some days more so than others. I think that's a function of fully participating in living my life.
A larger part of me wishes I could impart that to my parents. They pray, but from what I can tell, they look at God as a magical genie who will bless them with what they want if all the conditions are right. They include in their prayers something about God's will being done, but I don't observe that they really mean it. I'd like to pray that I could recognize what his will is in my life. Maybe then I wouldn't be struggling so. Maybe we just can't accept that dying a very slow and painful death would be God's will. Because if it is his will, then who are we dealing with here?
And that's a whole other blog!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Whoever invented Christmas vacation didn't consult single parents about it!
My youngest is back to school, finally. My oldest has two more weeks of uselessness remaining.
I gave Quinn a work list today. I expect him to get it all done in the next nine days. I handed him the list then walked away from micro-managing the situation. That was tough! It's going to be a daily challenge for me. I have to come up with a consequence for the things he doesn't get done. He's 18...do 18-year-olds still living at home with Mom get consequences?
I could use some suggestions...
I gave Quinn a work list today. I expect him to get it all done in the next nine days. I handed him the list then walked away from micro-managing the situation. That was tough! It's going to be a daily challenge for me. I have to come up with a consequence for the things he doesn't get done. He's 18...do 18-year-olds still living at home with Mom get consequences?
- I can't take car keys and driving privileges from him since he doesn't have is license yet.
- I can't take away the XBox, or his computer. That's just a little too juvenile.
- I can't dock his allowance, he's still working off about $400 and he's not getting any money from me.
- I can't stop feeding him.
I could use some suggestions...
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Transitioning my boys (and my parenting) to modern American life
My sons have both grown up in an overseas expatriate environment, right up till just over a year ago. It was a charming lifestyle, full of travel and adventure, daily maid service, exceptional education, instant friendships. They never had to work hard at anything, never had to develop ambitions. This lifestyle did absolutely nothing to prepare them for life in the US, as gainfully employed, self-motivated, worker bees. It's starting to take it's toll on my eldest. He doesn't understand that privilege isn't guaranteed for life. He doesn't find value in extra effort. How does one teach that?
There really was no guidance on how to raise children to later be reintegrated into their home society when we moved overseas. I've since read many books and articles on the aftermath of the expatriate child's upbringing, also known as "third-culture kids". It wasn't until we were committed to the overseas work assignment that we were told how these sorts of children have difficulty with maintaining long-term relationships later in life, never feel that they belong, frequently experience restlessness. We also didn't exactly know how to deal with the outside pressures on parenting styles from other expatriate parents while living in a small, closed community. (When one kid got a Game Boy, everyone had to get one!)
So now I'm working at helping my sons get back into modern American life, and it's no easy task! They went from school with low student-teacher ratios (5 to 1) to public classrooms of 32. Some suggested private education at local Christian-based institutions, but those schools' scores didn't show me the value in that. And then there's the provincial nature of the local population...my kids are well traveled! They came back to students spewing their parents' MSNBC or FOX News biased commentary about race-relations, economics and an isolationist world-view. (What information do 6th graders manage to collect about political views on their own? I don't even recall having a political opinion until I started getting a paycheck and voting.)
I'm not sure what I can do for my 18-year-old at this point. Community college seems very much like the TV show to me, somewhere between high school hand-holding and collegiate pseudo-independence, filled with colorful not-so-mainstream characters. Quinn's still hanging out with his high school friends, good kids with higher ambitions. I'm hoping he clings to all his goals and it all works out for him. There's a girlfriend in the picture now. She's so quiet. I have no idea who she is or what her intentions are with regards to my son...I'm so unprepared to be the mother of boy who is sexually active. I'm constantly monitoring their interaction. I'm recalling what I did when I was at the same community college...I'm visibly cringing right now!
I'm hesitant to get Rhyan into 8th grade, with a year of middle school experience before he heads into high school. Middle school is an experience that no one relishes, but I don't see how continuing home school will benefit him socially. It's time to get out there and learn how to interact with other people, how to make the right choices when it comes to friends, how to stand up for himself in certain social situations. That sort of thing is new to me. I didn't get that from my parents, who chose the ostrich method of parenting (if we don't see it, then it doesn't exist in our world and we don't have to teach you how to handle it). They only taught me how to cook and clean and be quiet...fat lot of good that did me!
There really was no guidance on how to raise children to later be reintegrated into their home society when we moved overseas. I've since read many books and articles on the aftermath of the expatriate child's upbringing, also known as "third-culture kids". It wasn't until we were committed to the overseas work assignment that we were told how these sorts of children have difficulty with maintaining long-term relationships later in life, never feel that they belong, frequently experience restlessness. We also didn't exactly know how to deal with the outside pressures on parenting styles from other expatriate parents while living in a small, closed community. (When one kid got a Game Boy, everyone had to get one!)
So now I'm working at helping my sons get back into modern American life, and it's no easy task! They went from school with low student-teacher ratios (5 to 1) to public classrooms of 32. Some suggested private education at local Christian-based institutions, but those schools' scores didn't show me the value in that. And then there's the provincial nature of the local population...my kids are well traveled! They came back to students spewing their parents' MSNBC or FOX News biased commentary about race-relations, economics and an isolationist world-view. (What information do 6th graders manage to collect about political views on their own? I don't even recall having a political opinion until I started getting a paycheck and voting.)
I'm not sure what I can do for my 18-year-old at this point. Community college seems very much like the TV show to me, somewhere between high school hand-holding and collegiate pseudo-independence, filled with colorful not-so-mainstream characters. Quinn's still hanging out with his high school friends, good kids with higher ambitions. I'm hoping he clings to all his goals and it all works out for him. There's a girlfriend in the picture now. She's so quiet. I have no idea who she is or what her intentions are with regards to my son...I'm so unprepared to be the mother of boy who is sexually active. I'm constantly monitoring their interaction. I'm recalling what I did when I was at the same community college...I'm visibly cringing right now!
I'm hesitant to get Rhyan into 8th grade, with a year of middle school experience before he heads into high school. Middle school is an experience that no one relishes, but I don't see how continuing home school will benefit him socially. It's time to get out there and learn how to interact with other people, how to make the right choices when it comes to friends, how to stand up for himself in certain social situations. That sort of thing is new to me. I didn't get that from my parents, who chose the ostrich method of parenting (if we don't see it, then it doesn't exist in our world and we don't have to teach you how to handle it). They only taught me how to cook and clean and be quiet...fat lot of good that did me!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Home schooling a 13-year-old boy
Every night it's the same battle...getting the boy into bed. At 8:30 p.m., I tell him that the electronics have to be turned off and he has to get ready for bed, and then spend at least 30 minutes on recreational reading. Then there's an argument over semantics:
"If you make me read, then it's not recreational. I don't like to read, so it's never going to be recreational. Why can't I just watch TV until I fall asleep?"
This argument goes on, down a variety of trails, until I get angry. Then the argument switches to a deeply hurt child that can't believe he was spoken to in such a manner. Bathroom cabinets are slammed, drawers are thumped, lasers shoot from his eyes.
Eventually he's in bed, by 10. Still wearing his taekwondo uniform.
Ten hours later, I send the dog in to wake him up. She's effective, but that was only Stage 1. He doesn't actually get out of bed for at least 30 more minutes. He mutters something about not being able to go to sleep the night before. I let him know what my expectations are: get out of bed, get cleaned up and dressed, eat breakfast, walk the dog. I leave for my Pilates class and don't return until 10:30. He's watching cartoons with the dog on the sofa. Sometimes he's done everything I've asked him to do, sometimes he doesn't. It depends on the tone of voice I've used before I leave the house. I still haven't identified the specific magical tone that motivates him. It seems to change daily.
If I tell him to start school, he gets angry. If I don't tell him to start school, he won't start. I'm not allowed to go over his work with him, but at the end of the school day, if he didn't complete something, it's because I didn't go over it with him. If he completely skips an assignment, it's because it wasn't a naturally easy thing for him to do. He doesn't like thinking, or writing. Or reading.
If I exert my will over him, remain in a state of anger and use it to control him, then everything gets done. I don't mind that he "hates" me, as long as it all gets done and he's learned something. As long as he's prepared to go to college when all this is done. But I don't like the stress of it all. I don't understand why I have to be a bitch in order for him to get to work and produce quality work. He's a very intelligent boy. He will become an engineer some day. It's how his brain works. He's just so resistant! An endless, bottomless well of resistance!
Next year he's going back to public school for 8th grade. I can't take this much longer!
"If you make me read, then it's not recreational. I don't like to read, so it's never going to be recreational. Why can't I just watch TV until I fall asleep?"
This argument goes on, down a variety of trails, until I get angry. Then the argument switches to a deeply hurt child that can't believe he was spoken to in such a manner. Bathroom cabinets are slammed, drawers are thumped, lasers shoot from his eyes.
Eventually he's in bed, by 10. Still wearing his taekwondo uniform.
Ten hours later, I send the dog in to wake him up. She's effective, but that was only Stage 1. He doesn't actually get out of bed for at least 30 more minutes. He mutters something about not being able to go to sleep the night before. I let him know what my expectations are: get out of bed, get cleaned up and dressed, eat breakfast, walk the dog. I leave for my Pilates class and don't return until 10:30. He's watching cartoons with the dog on the sofa. Sometimes he's done everything I've asked him to do, sometimes he doesn't. It depends on the tone of voice I've used before I leave the house. I still haven't identified the specific magical tone that motivates him. It seems to change daily.
If I tell him to start school, he gets angry. If I don't tell him to start school, he won't start. I'm not allowed to go over his work with him, but at the end of the school day, if he didn't complete something, it's because I didn't go over it with him. If he completely skips an assignment, it's because it wasn't a naturally easy thing for him to do. He doesn't like thinking, or writing. Or reading.
If I exert my will over him, remain in a state of anger and use it to control him, then everything gets done. I don't mind that he "hates" me, as long as it all gets done and he's learned something. As long as he's prepared to go to college when all this is done. But I don't like the stress of it all. I don't understand why I have to be a bitch in order for him to get to work and produce quality work. He's a very intelligent boy. He will become an engineer some day. It's how his brain works. He's just so resistant! An endless, bottomless well of resistance!
Next year he's going back to public school for 8th grade. I can't take this much longer!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
I skipped a whole year!
I have a new computer and I've migrated a lot of my files to the new desktop, which is how I stumbled upon my last entry here. Oh yeah, I used to blog regularly. I used to do a lot of things regularly. Before my parents hijacked my life, even more so this last year.
Since last we spoke, the divorce was finalized, I became a single parent (ex has, for all intents and purposes, checked out of the boys' lives and has married what I am assuming is a mail-order bride from the Philippines), graduated a kid from high school and got him going to the local community college (for which I am part-time chauffer), I've been home-schooling my younger son for the last year, we adopted a Jackabee puppy (Chloe - so darn cute, clever and wicked!), we've moved to a new house (good thing and I moved everything myself!), I started attending Pilates classes, started my own freelance web design business and just published my first website for a client, and started back at school (finally).
Things have drastically changed for my parents. In July, my dad suffered additional injury to his ribs when he reached up for a bag of ice at the local market and it came crashing down, wrenching his back and cracking a couple ribs in the process. He's got cancer, multiple myeloma, and his bones are really weak and thinning. The pain was excruciating for him and he was bed-ridden for quite some time. Eventually the doctor got him to get some radiation treatment on his ribs in hopes that the localized killing of the cancer cells would promote regrowth of the bones and help alleviate the pain. He was also started on stronger pain meds. After just six treatments, my dad decided to end all cancer treatment and opted for Hospice to commence with palliative care. I think my dad thought he was going to die in a few weeks. It's now been six months, and he's not dead yet. The problem is his organs and immune system are still in good shape and he's not going to die right away. It might be another two years. And he's really surprised by this.
This is where I've come to be disappointed by my dad. He made this decision because, frankly, he's a big baby when it comes to pain and difficult stuff like that. he'd rather spend thousands of dollars on vitamin supplements hoping to give him a miraculous cure that do nothing but deplete his bank account. He's now mentally out-to-lunch but still thinks he's functioning properly. And since my mother has never gotten up to speed on finances, etc., I've spent the last few months slowly taking over the fiscal running of their household, when my dad allows me to. He still maintains car insurance thinking he's going to drive the car, while on massive doses of morphine! Thankfully, the car's been disabled.
This is all making my mother's life really too much to take. But they refuse to hire housekeepers. Actually, they did, briefly, but decided they didn't want to pay for it. They waited for me to step in and take over the housekeeping and other aspects of their life, and for a brief time, I did, and they slowly stopped doing things for themselves. Things they were perfectly capable of doing for themselves. I recently woke up to that realization and quit doing a lot of things for them. I still run errands and take Mom to her medical appointments, and sometimes I do a few household repairs or call someone to do them. But even though Mom's 81 (or 82, or even 83, depending on who she's talking to), she can still do her laundry, make meals and do light housekeeping. Hospice sends someone to bathe Dad and do a little more housekeeping. Dad finally agreed to hire gardeners (after my sons broke both his old lawnmowers), and a very nice man that lives nearby helps out with some maintenance work around the house for free.
I still get daily phone calls. Mom whimpers when she needs me to do something for her. Or she lies and says Dad needs something, as if dropping his name will make me run over there that much faster. Whenever I tell her about something I intend to do for myself, like take my sons to the movies or host a small dinner party for friends, she does her best to guilt me out of having a good time. She wants to be invited so she can turn me down and whine about how bad the end of her life has become. She wouldn't recognize joy if it whacked her between the eyes! I am constantly offering to take her out, to find someone else to sit with Dad so she can go get her hair done or to take her out for lunch. She refuses all the offers. And she pouts when she sees that I'm moving on with my life.
And that is exactly what I must do. I must move on with my life, with my plans. Someday, both my parents will be gone, and all their gratitude for my help, their legacy of the years of emotional abuse and inadequate upbringing, and the small inheritance that they wish they could leave me but are in the process of spending on vitamins and health supplement claims that do nothing for them will leave me with nothing upon which to build a life for myself. My kids will move on, and I'll be stuck in a small town that offers little for someone like me.
I'm terrified that my vision of my future is going to be co-opted by long-standing bitterness over missed opportunities because I was a dutiful wife/mother/daughter/friend. I'm scared I'll get sick and die from the stress before I actually do something on my own, for myself. Someone keeps telling me about my reward in heaven, but I'm never going to get to that if I'm so angry about the life I've had in the present.
I'm determined to find balance, I cling to hope and exercise faith in my resilience and intelligence. I don't know what the coming year has in store for me. I hope there's a meaningful holiday in there, some good progress with friendships, a better economy that will support my business efforts. I hope my health holds out. I pray my sons are safe and that I can be a more effective parent. And I'd like to train my dog to come when called, no matter how interesting the other side of the street looks.
Since last we spoke, the divorce was finalized, I became a single parent (ex has, for all intents and purposes, checked out of the boys' lives and has married what I am assuming is a mail-order bride from the Philippines), graduated a kid from high school and got him going to the local community college (for which I am part-time chauffer), I've been home-schooling my younger son for the last year, we adopted a Jackabee puppy (Chloe - so darn cute, clever and wicked!), we've moved to a new house (good thing and I moved everything myself!), I started attending Pilates classes, started my own freelance web design business and just published my first website for a client, and started back at school (finally).
Things have drastically changed for my parents. In July, my dad suffered additional injury to his ribs when he reached up for a bag of ice at the local market and it came crashing down, wrenching his back and cracking a couple ribs in the process. He's got cancer, multiple myeloma, and his bones are really weak and thinning. The pain was excruciating for him and he was bed-ridden for quite some time. Eventually the doctor got him to get some radiation treatment on his ribs in hopes that the localized killing of the cancer cells would promote regrowth of the bones and help alleviate the pain. He was also started on stronger pain meds. After just six treatments, my dad decided to end all cancer treatment and opted for Hospice to commence with palliative care. I think my dad thought he was going to die in a few weeks. It's now been six months, and he's not dead yet. The problem is his organs and immune system are still in good shape and he's not going to die right away. It might be another two years. And he's really surprised by this.
This is where I've come to be disappointed by my dad. He made this decision because, frankly, he's a big baby when it comes to pain and difficult stuff like that. he'd rather spend thousands of dollars on vitamin supplements hoping to give him a miraculous cure that do nothing but deplete his bank account. He's now mentally out-to-lunch but still thinks he's functioning properly. And since my mother has never gotten up to speed on finances, etc., I've spent the last few months slowly taking over the fiscal running of their household, when my dad allows me to. He still maintains car insurance thinking he's going to drive the car, while on massive doses of morphine! Thankfully, the car's been disabled.
This is all making my mother's life really too much to take. But they refuse to hire housekeepers. Actually, they did, briefly, but decided they didn't want to pay for it. They waited for me to step in and take over the housekeeping and other aspects of their life, and for a brief time, I did, and they slowly stopped doing things for themselves. Things they were perfectly capable of doing for themselves. I recently woke up to that realization and quit doing a lot of things for them. I still run errands and take Mom to her medical appointments, and sometimes I do a few household repairs or call someone to do them. But even though Mom's 81 (or 82, or even 83, depending on who she's talking to), she can still do her laundry, make meals and do light housekeeping. Hospice sends someone to bathe Dad and do a little more housekeeping. Dad finally agreed to hire gardeners (after my sons broke both his old lawnmowers), and a very nice man that lives nearby helps out with some maintenance work around the house for free.
I still get daily phone calls. Mom whimpers when she needs me to do something for her. Or she lies and says Dad needs something, as if dropping his name will make me run over there that much faster. Whenever I tell her about something I intend to do for myself, like take my sons to the movies or host a small dinner party for friends, she does her best to guilt me out of having a good time. She wants to be invited so she can turn me down and whine about how bad the end of her life has become. She wouldn't recognize joy if it whacked her between the eyes! I am constantly offering to take her out, to find someone else to sit with Dad so she can go get her hair done or to take her out for lunch. She refuses all the offers. And she pouts when she sees that I'm moving on with my life.
And that is exactly what I must do. I must move on with my life, with my plans. Someday, both my parents will be gone, and all their gratitude for my help, their legacy of the years of emotional abuse and inadequate upbringing, and the small inheritance that they wish they could leave me but are in the process of spending on vitamins and health supplement claims that do nothing for them will leave me with nothing upon which to build a life for myself. My kids will move on, and I'll be stuck in a small town that offers little for someone like me.
I'm terrified that my vision of my future is going to be co-opted by long-standing bitterness over missed opportunities because I was a dutiful wife/mother/daughter/friend. I'm scared I'll get sick and die from the stress before I actually do something on my own, for myself. Someone keeps telling me about my reward in heaven, but I'm never going to get to that if I'm so angry about the life I've had in the present.
I'm determined to find balance, I cling to hope and exercise faith in my resilience and intelligence. I don't know what the coming year has in store for me. I hope there's a meaningful holiday in there, some good progress with friendships, a better economy that will support my business efforts. I hope my health holds out. I pray my sons are safe and that I can be a more effective parent. And I'd like to train my dog to come when called, no matter how interesting the other side of the street looks.
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