Just watching Dr. Christian Northrup's most recent special on PBS this morning (instead of going to Pilates) and she said something that has seized my brain, and my heart. She said she realized sometime after turning 50 and getting divorced that she had to become the man she wanted to have in her life.
Damn, I think I want that too! I have to think about that for a bit today and then come back here and record what that means for me.
(I might need to get one of those Home Improvement bathtubs, "...seven adjustable jets, three speeds - low, medium and who-needs-a-man...")
Okay, here's my list, so far:
Financially savvy and fiscally responsible and balanced
Very handy around the house
Supports my goals
Very smart and a deep thinker
Healthy and takes care of himself
Respects women
Good sense of humor
Genuinely self-confident
Honest
Real integrity
Has solid, long-term healthy relationships
Not overly self-indulgent
Spiritual
Good listener
Good conversationalist
Enjoys travel
Loves family and is an active participant in family life...but not to the point of melding with everyone
Loves to read a variety of books, from modern to the classics
Loves a broad range of music
Loves art and cultural pursuits
Emotionally available
Hmmm, I need to be all these things for myself.
I hear a question out there...if I do all these things for myself, then why would I need a man? Well, wouldn't a man equally want a woman who embodies all these characteristics? I want a solid companion with whom I can share a life!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
It's been two days...
My kids are now lying for me. When my mom calls, they answer the phone and tell her I'm otherwise disposed.
"She's in the shower..."
"She took Chloe for a walk..."
"I think she's in the bathroom..."
"I'm not sure where she went..."
It's been two days since I saw her, but we've chatted several times since Thursday. Today she said she missed me. And I could hear her pouting over the phone. She wants Greek yogurt and fresh spinach from Raley's. Maybe tomorrow I'll go get it. I wasn't planning to go anywhere today. I was planning to get all the laundry done, change the beds and get some work in for a couple clients. Stick to the plan!
Right now, I've got and archived episode of Blue Dog Jam playing quite loudly on my computer. Attempting to crowd out my mother's presence from my brain. I'm off to make waffles for my boys.
...Six hours later, Mom calls again.
"Are you waiting for the milk to sour?" (She's referring part of the yogurt-making process.)
"I'm sorry Mom, I couldn't get to the store today."
"Why not?" (Now we commence with the guilt-creating process.)
"I'm working and couldn't get away. What do you need the yogurt for? Are you making spanakopita?"
"No, I have itching. My feet are itching."
(Is she applying this topically?)
"Well, I can't make it till after Pilates tomorrow."
"If I'm still here...sorry to be a big bother..."
An isolated incident such as this would not even create a blip on my radar, but there's a lifetime of emotion that's dragged along with every encounter I have with my mother. I don't exactly know what to do with that. I'll have to stick to my guns...I'll only go over there twice a week, and only talk to her once a day. If I'm her only "friend", then hopefully she'll figure out that she needs to reconnect with old friends, rebuild some bridges and make some new acquaintances. And she'll have to figure this out on her own.
And I have to learn how to emotionally separate myself from her process, because even though I was "working" all day, I didn't get much done. My entire day was a struggle between trying to be creative and trying to stop being nagged by guilt. And guilt is a tremendous zapper of creativity!
"She's in the shower..."
"She took Chloe for a walk..."
"I think she's in the bathroom..."
"I'm not sure where she went..."
It's been two days since I saw her, but we've chatted several times since Thursday. Today she said she missed me. And I could hear her pouting over the phone. She wants Greek yogurt and fresh spinach from Raley's. Maybe tomorrow I'll go get it. I wasn't planning to go anywhere today. I was planning to get all the laundry done, change the beds and get some work in for a couple clients. Stick to the plan!
Right now, I've got and archived episode of Blue Dog Jam playing quite loudly on my computer. Attempting to crowd out my mother's presence from my brain. I'm off to make waffles for my boys.
...Six hours later, Mom calls again.
"Are you waiting for the milk to sour?" (She's referring part of the yogurt-making process.)
"I'm sorry Mom, I couldn't get to the store today."
"Why not?" (Now we commence with the guilt-creating process.)
"I'm working and couldn't get away. What do you need the yogurt for? Are you making spanakopita?"
"No, I have itching. My feet are itching."
(Is she applying this topically?)
"Well, I can't make it till after Pilates tomorrow."
"If I'm still here...sorry to be a big bother..."
An isolated incident such as this would not even create a blip on my radar, but there's a lifetime of emotion that's dragged along with every encounter I have with my mother. I don't exactly know what to do with that. I'll have to stick to my guns...I'll only go over there twice a week, and only talk to her once a day. If I'm her only "friend", then hopefully she'll figure out that she needs to reconnect with old friends, rebuild some bridges and make some new acquaintances. And she'll have to figure this out on her own.
And I have to learn how to emotionally separate myself from her process, because even though I was "working" all day, I didn't get much done. My entire day was a struggle between trying to be creative and trying to stop being nagged by guilt. And guilt is a tremendous zapper of creativity!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Has it been a month already?
The last month has been a jumbled mess of trotting after my mother's bipolar needs in the wake of her widowed status. I haven't had time to miss my dad, much less, mourn him. There was one moment, at the supermarket, when I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye, pushing a cart in the organic produce section. And then a few days later, I dreamed he was laying in bed, waiting to die, but he looked better than his final hours. Somehow I felt very conscious in my dream, knowing I was dreaming, and that he wasn't really there. He didn't have anything to say to me, nor I to him. And then the dream was gone.
When I go to my mom's house, I don't feel Dad's presence lingering. Mom says she still feels him, like he's in the other room, or he's coming down the hall to see her, but he never arrives. The first few days she didn't know how to stop worrying that he'd fall out of bed. Then she didn't know what to cook for herself. I told her that she probably forgot what she really likes to eat, that now was the time to get to know herself all over again.
After a week, Mom had people out to the house moving the huge collection of junk at the side of the house that Dad had collected over the last 20 years. We know it's a 20-year-old collection because that's the last time, according to Mom, that side of the house was painted. It's a different color than the rest of the house. Three truck-loads. Some very nice men came to haul it all away. Then Mom had the last of Dad's caregivers stay for another week or so, and Anna brought her sons over to do a little yard work. Actually, a lot of yard work, and the front yard looks really nice again. The old fence is gone in the front yard. I designed that fence when I was in high school, drew up the plans in my mechanical drawing class and Dad built it. It hadn't been maintained so it slowly rotted and fell apart. Damn! That fence was 32 years old! Damn!
Next Mom started taking things out of the closets. All evidence of Dad's infirmity is gone. No pills, no hospital paraphernalia, no paperwork, no pamphlets from Hospice...like it never happened. And this last week, his clothes have been removed from the closets and drawers and are ready for Goodwill. Quinn kept my dad's socks, of all things! Plus, since he's mad for coats, Quinn's got Dad's raincoat. A really nice one too. Plus a wool sports coat that will need a little altering to fit properly, but it's nice. Rhyan got Dad's red plaid flannel shirt jacket. He wears it everyday when he takes Chloe for a walk. He tried to use his charms on my mother to make off with Dad's leather recliner, but Mom's not ready to let that one go just yet. He thinks it'll look nice in his bedroom.
So, after some really vigorous work and a lot of people buzzing about the house, Mom's decided to let everyone go. I had to spend nights with her for a week, but then I eased out of that because my kids were really missing me...or that's what I told her. The first night alone was rough, but she's fine now. I started taking her to get a regular weekly massage with Joanne at Perfect Balance Day Spa. Mom never got a regular massage before, but she's now seeing the benefit in it. I get a treatment at the same time, so it's not a complete waste of time for me. My nails are looking pretty good these days!
Mom's grateful for all the time I spend with her, but I have to say, I'm not getting much benefit from it. Her house is looking pretty damn nice, and mine is absolute bedlam. All her bills are paid and her life is in order, and I can't seem to get any of my school work done, I'm not spending enough time with Rhyan on his school work, and I am way behind on my paperwork for my business. I have two clients who's work I am so grateful to have because when I tell her I have to get to work, she refrains from calling me more than once a day. I still see her three times a week, and we talk at least once a day. And I have to keep reminding myself that we are NOT BFFs.
In 10 days, the traditional Greek mourning period of 40 days will be up. I'm thinking that's when Mom is going to start venturing out to meet new people at the senior center. If I can get her to be brave enough to use the local public transportation, she'll be able to get herself to where she wants to go. But then I should probably start expecting surprise inspections.
When I go to my mom's house, I don't feel Dad's presence lingering. Mom says she still feels him, like he's in the other room, or he's coming down the hall to see her, but he never arrives. The first few days she didn't know how to stop worrying that he'd fall out of bed. Then she didn't know what to cook for herself. I told her that she probably forgot what she really likes to eat, that now was the time to get to know herself all over again.
After a week, Mom had people out to the house moving the huge collection of junk at the side of the house that Dad had collected over the last 20 years. We know it's a 20-year-old collection because that's the last time, according to Mom, that side of the house was painted. It's a different color than the rest of the house. Three truck-loads. Some very nice men came to haul it all away. Then Mom had the last of Dad's caregivers stay for another week or so, and Anna brought her sons over to do a little yard work. Actually, a lot of yard work, and the front yard looks really nice again. The old fence is gone in the front yard. I designed that fence when I was in high school, drew up the plans in my mechanical drawing class and Dad built it. It hadn't been maintained so it slowly rotted and fell apart. Damn! That fence was 32 years old! Damn!
Next Mom started taking things out of the closets. All evidence of Dad's infirmity is gone. No pills, no hospital paraphernalia, no paperwork, no pamphlets from Hospice...like it never happened. And this last week, his clothes have been removed from the closets and drawers and are ready for Goodwill. Quinn kept my dad's socks, of all things! Plus, since he's mad for coats, Quinn's got Dad's raincoat. A really nice one too. Plus a wool sports coat that will need a little altering to fit properly, but it's nice. Rhyan got Dad's red plaid flannel shirt jacket. He wears it everyday when he takes Chloe for a walk. He tried to use his charms on my mother to make off with Dad's leather recliner, but Mom's not ready to let that one go just yet. He thinks it'll look nice in his bedroom.
So, after some really vigorous work and a lot of people buzzing about the house, Mom's decided to let everyone go. I had to spend nights with her for a week, but then I eased out of that because my kids were really missing me...or that's what I told her. The first night alone was rough, but she's fine now. I started taking her to get a regular weekly massage with Joanne at Perfect Balance Day Spa. Mom never got a regular massage before, but she's now seeing the benefit in it. I get a treatment at the same time, so it's not a complete waste of time for me. My nails are looking pretty good these days!
Mom's grateful for all the time I spend with her, but I have to say, I'm not getting much benefit from it. Her house is looking pretty damn nice, and mine is absolute bedlam. All her bills are paid and her life is in order, and I can't seem to get any of my school work done, I'm not spending enough time with Rhyan on his school work, and I am way behind on my paperwork for my business. I have two clients who's work I am so grateful to have because when I tell her I have to get to work, she refrains from calling me more than once a day. I still see her three times a week, and we talk at least once a day. And I have to keep reminding myself that we are NOT BFFs.
In 10 days, the traditional Greek mourning period of 40 days will be up. I'm thinking that's when Mom is going to start venturing out to meet new people at the senior center. If I can get her to be brave enough to use the local public transportation, she'll be able to get herself to where she wants to go. But then I should probably start expecting surprise inspections.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Billy G. Lewis (1933 - 2011)
Billy G. Lewis, age 77, of Lodi, passed away peacefully at home with his family at his side on February 1, 2011. He was born in French Camp, California on May 20, 1933, to George H. and Goldie (Vasiliou) Lewis. Billy graduated from Lodi Union High School in 1951 and served in the Radio Corps in the United States Army. He was an electrical contractor by trade for over 40 years, and he owned and operated Lewis Electric. Billy was a peaceful man who was known for his dry sense of humor. He enjoyed making things and tinkering in his garage, watching the stars, sitting under trees and eating fruit, and riding his bicycle around town. Billy was a longtime member of the Grace Communion International Church of God where he served as a deacon and participated in the Spokesman's Club. He was a loving husband, father, grandfather, and friend and will be dearly missed.
Mr. Lewis is survived by his beloved wife of 51 years: Dimitra Lewis of Lodi; daughters: Georgia Lewis and Goldie (Skip) Hineman; grandchildren: Quinn and Rhyan Daugherty and Lacey, Delaney, and Marcus Hineman; and brother: Leo Lewis of Acampo.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Transitions
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.
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.
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)