When Staying Over Your Parents House...

Lately I have found myself staying overnight at my parents house for various reasons at different times. In doing so I have come up with several rules to follow for these occasions.

Rule #1:  Do not pack and wear your warmest pajamas no matter how cold it is.

My parents turn the heat up so high I feel like I'm in the tropics when I'm over there!  The first night I was sweating so much I was crawling around on the floor, looking very much like Mr. Magoo I'm sure, since I didn't have my glasses on, looking for the floor vent so I could close it.  When I got up the next morning and looked at the thermostat, it read 80 degrees!!  O.M.G!!!  There is something seriously wrong with that.  But my dad is always cold and he doesn't like long sleeves.  So in the dead of winter, they just keep turning the heat higher and higher instead of giving dad a sweatshirt or a sweater.

Rule #2:  Do not plan on watching any of your shows while staying at your parents house because even though they assure you that there is cable on the TV in your room, the TV itself is so old the numbers only go up to 20.  The remote is wonky, the TV is weird, the numbers stop at 20.  As if I don't have enough reasons to feel like I'm 10 years old again while at my parents house, this one just drives it home!

And speaking of shows, dad watches the worst stuff on TV.   Westerns. if it's not a game show.  And if all else fails, he watches Gunsmoke or Bonanza reruns.  So Rule #2B is, pack a book or two.  Better yet, just being your Ipad, Kindle, Nook or device of your choice if you have one.

Rule #3:  This rule only applies if you are staying at your parents house when there has been a time change.  Be prepared to change many, if not all, of their clocks.  Most likely they have either forgotten, decided not to bother, don't know how to change them or didn't realize there even was a time change.

Rule #4:  Discard all old, moldy, spoiled and expired food because they never will.  There is that mindset in older people "waste not, want not" so you may have to achieve this one on the sly.  But do it.  Oh please do it!   What lead me to doing this is that I went to make a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for the nieces.  I know, I know it's gross to begin with but kids like it so what can you do?   So I grab a box from mom's pantry and go to make it.  The boiling of the noodles goes fine, I have my butter ready and once the noodles are cooked, drain them and add the butter.  Then dump in the disgusting powdered cheese.  Something is amiss.  The neon orange is not there, instead the "cheese" is red.  Not just a little off from orange, but RED.   And I'm stirring it thinking, "wow, it's really been a long time since I made one of these, I wonder why it's red?"  And I'm stirring thinking it will turn orange.  It doesn't.   I can't shake this "this is just not right" feeling so I grab the box and look at it.  The expiration date on the box was June of 2008!!!  Promptly the whole thing went in the trash.

That led me to grabbing a garbage bag and going through the pantry and refrigerator and going through everything.  I'm sure mom was horrified by all I was throwing out but it had to be done.  It's November and she still had peaches in the fridge!  Do you know how long peaches have been out of season around here?   Is it any wonder that they were shriveled into little pebbles?  And then I found the orange color that was missing from the cheese powder.  It had transferred itself to an unopened jar of pineapple preserves.   Correct me if I'm wrong but shouldn't pineapple preserves be yellow, not orange?  Yeah I thought so.  The date on the preserves was 2010!

After all this, I am very grateful my parents welcome me back.  After all, it's for their own good that I do these things.  At least, that's what they used to tell me when the tables were turned :)

Frustrated Incorporated

Joblessness aside, my frustrations are still many.  Bear with me, I'm going to vent a little (or maybe a lot, we'll just have to see how it goes as I begin writing).  Back in June right after I interviewed for the job I wanted, my mom asked me if I could drive her and my father to Chicago the weekend of August 10.  And she asked again a few weeks later.  And she asked again a few weeks later.  And she asked again a few weeks later.  My standard answer each time was, "It all depends on if I get the job or not."  This fact apparently didn't sink in, thus the continual asking.  Finally this past week she asked yet again, for the final time.  Silly me, I had just figured that since I clearly did not get the job, the answer was obvious... yes I'll take you.   I didn't want to do this.  But it's a family event and something that is extremely important to her.  And as usual, there is no one else who could do it.  Why?  I have no idea.  Lots of family from Cleveland are going.  Why they couldn't help out this once and take my parents is a mystery.  But that's besides the point.  I am now taking them.  You may or may not know that my father is handicapped and this makes everything much more difficult.  We can argue that this is why no one else wanted to take them (and frankly there would be no argument, that's the reason, mystery solved).

Two days after we establish that yes, I'm taking them, mom says to me (very casually I might add), "you do know your father's not going right?"  Um, how would I know this unless you told me?   And she hadn't.  Apparently dad threw a fit, screamed and ranted and said he was not going and she couldn't make him go.  Suddenly this trip takes on a whole different dynamic.  I'm not trying to sound cold or unfeeling but if you've ever been a caregiver (and I have), you know how difficult it can be.  My mom is his main caregiver now and giving her a weekend away from that life, that stress, sounded good.  It sounded good to her too.  That is until I asked what Dad will be doing for the weekend we're away and she said, "he wants to stay home alone."  Oh no... oh no no no that is so not going to happen!  At this point my mom just kind of shrugged and said, "if that's what he wants to do, then he can do it."  She said he was going to call his brother (my uncle duh) and ask him to come by a few times and check on him and that was that.  No.   This is not enough.  Granted my father can do a lot more for himself than he does, but I don't think 3 days alone is the time to test those waters.  And mom was just so focused on being away, seeing her extended family and just basking in the time to herself she wasn't really thinking clearly.  And she's 80.

When I went home that day I called my brother and we talked about the fact that dad should not be alone all that time and were trying to think of solutions.  All was calm, no drama.  Although I will say that I was a tad bit annoyed that my brother (and his nurse wife, hello!) did not offer to go check on dad at all the weekend we'll be away.  Remember that no help I was talking about?  A day goes by and all is quiet.  And then, it's Friday morning and at 8 am my sister calls from Alabama in a tizzy.  She's in an uproar because dad is going to be alone that weekend. I'm just waking up and I'm confused.  Everything was being worked out as far as I knew.  But as it turns out my uncle was busy and could not come by to check on him (not at all, all weekend.  Remember that no help I was talking about?).  This is the story of my life.  Everyone is too busy to help out.  I don't get that luxury.  So as I listen to her rant and rave and try to bark out orders on what has to be done, my cell phone rings and it's my brother in Florida.  I hang up with sis to talk to him and he too is in a tizzy, although his tizzies are calmer and more level headed.

Apparently all hell broke loose on Thursday and I had no idea.  Mom got in a fight with Cleveland bro, who seems to think mom is being selfish for wanting something for herself and basically told her so.  Aunt told mom "I cannot believe you would leave him alone a whole weekend," thus piling the guilt trip on her more (even though she and my uncle couldn't be bothered to check on him).  Mom in turn tries to force dad to go to Chicago and the screaming escalates to fever pitch.  Florida bro just happened to call mom after all this happened and she was upset and crying.  No one bothered to tell me any of this at the time.  Instead, Florida bro and Alabama sis spoke to each other and decided they needed to step in.  This may sound counter to what I've said previously about no one stepping up to help out but if they are going to panic every time something happens, then they need to butt the fuck out.  They do not live here.  They don't know how things are on a day to day basis.  They always end up making things worse.  Help is only good if it's actually helpful.  If they had just called me when all this shit was going down (drama drama drama!!!) things might not have escalated.  But the sad fact is, no matter how much I do for how long (I have been basically in charge of my mom and dad for 6 years now) I am still the youngest (even though I'm 46) and I am still looked upon as not being able to handle anything.  Newsflash, I handle EVERYTHING.

So as Florida bro is telling me about a call he put in to a friend who has an ill father and wondering what she does when she needs help (a good idea), I tell him that our cousin is a paid companion for the elderly and, even though he's going to Chicago as well, maybe he knows someone.  He likes this idea so I hang up with him, call my sister back and tell her.  She's down with it, and then I call mom and, although I don't yell at her I do make it very clear that I'm very unhappy that she did not call me and inform me about all the angst.  And that I had to find out from my out of state brother and sister what is going on with her and my father, whom I see every week and talk to almost every day.  Then I tell her what I'm going to do and she too likes the idea.  I call my cousin, we talk, he gives me the number of the place he works for.  I call, they are incredibly helpful and understanding.  This is what they do. They are hired.  We have someone coming in each day from 1 pm to 7 pm.  They will make him lunch, hang out with him for the day, make him dinner, clean up and go.  Lalia to the rescue yet again.  Wouldn't it just be easier if everyone could realize that I know what the fuck I'm doing.  I know how to handle stress situations with our parents.  And if they can't just fucking chill and come up with a solution without all the drama and screaming, they should all just shut the fuck up.

And PS we're all pissed off at Cleveland bro for offering NO help whatsoever.

And now that that is settled, I hope to actually enjoy the weekend in Chicago with my mom.

46 Approaches

Monday is my birthday.  I'll be forty fucking six.  I'd like to go on record as saying, I don't like it, not one little bit.  But yeah yeah, it's better than the alternative, blah blah blah.  I'm trying to get to the "it's only a number" mindset because really, I don't feel 46.  I barely feel 26.  But I'm creeping close to that number that starts with 5 and it gives me agita thinking about it.

But then again, if I look at things today... right now, where I'm at and what I'm doing.  I feel pretty good.  I love my little business.  I love my friends and going out more and feel like I might be breaking out of a many years long funk of sameness.  I feel like possibilities are looming.  And it feels really good.  Dare I say I feel optimistic?  It's a new year and it's time to make things happen. I got a candy order (referral) today which is the only way for my business to grow really, referrals.  I'm back on the diet train and fine let's just say it... 2012 is the year of Lalia!

Which brings me the Debbie Downer portion of our show.  What gives me pause more than my own aging, is the aging of my parents.  It's hard to watch, and I have a front row seat.  My parents depend on me for a lot of things and that is difficult. My mom turned 80 this past October.  My dad will be 80 this coming September.  So often I feel such a role reversal and like they are the child and I am the parent.  Since my father's health declined, he has not wanted to do much of anything other than sit in is chair and watch TV.  He has created a life of being an invalid when he really doesn't have to be.  But it's what he has chosen for himself.  No amount of talking to him has changed it in the least.  Which in turn makes life difficult for my mom because even at 80 she is pretty vibrant.  But she is too timid to do things on her own and he can't be alone for too long.

About a month ago we had a scare with her.  I took her to get a cataract out.   After the procedure she was fine.  We even went shopping afterwards.  But by the next day, when I returned to do more shopping (it was before Christmas), it was very clear that something was very wrong.  My dad told me immediately that she was off and I could see it too.  She denied any problem and would only say she was kind of tired.  She had gone to the doctor that morning before I arrived, for the follow up on her eye and they were concerned about the pressure in her eye being very high.  But otherwise she was OK.  We did go shopping but she was definitely off.  She could barely keep her eyes open and her words were slurred.  I took her home, trying very hard not to jump to conclusions and felt that maybe she was reacting the anesthesia.   It had been over 30 years since she's had any kind of anesthesia, so maybe that was it.  After consulting with my brothers and my sister we all decided that it was in fact the anesthesia.   But it nagged at me that it was something more.

I went back again, the next day because she had to go back to the doctor for another follow up and see if the eye pressure was down.  Again, they thought she was fine.  And the pressure had gone down.  But she was not fine, not at all.  She could hardly function she was so tired.  She slept all the time unless she was up making something for my dad to eat.  The next day was Saturday and I called my brother and told him we have to do something if she isn't better today.  He agreed.  I wanted to take her to the ER, but she absolutely refused.  She would not go.  And interestingly enough, by Sunday she was a lot better.  Like 75% better.  It was really bizarre.  And when she asked me why everyone was so worried it was like explaining why you don't put your hand on a hot stove to a child.  I told her she was unfunctioning, that her speech was slurred, and it was very worrisome, and I really thought she had had a stroke.  She was a little stunned by that and I said, "Mom, you're 80!  I hate that I have to keep telling you that, but you are and you can't just blow things off anymore."  Honestly, I don't really think she knew where I was coming from.

All this trauma made me feel the aging process very strongly, just not my own.  My mind went to a place where I have tried to avoid it going.  If something does happen to my mom, what will happen to my dad?  Will he expect to come live with me, because my parents lived with me for about 8 months or so when he was recuperating and it was difficult to say the least.  It's something that I guess really needs to be worked out but when I think about how I don't want him to come live with me, I feel like the worst, most selfish person in the world.  When do you feel as though you have done enough?  When is it someone else's turn to take the reins?

A Good Decision for Me

People automatically assume that, because I don't have kids, that I hate kids.  Not true at all.  In fact there was a time when I thought I wanted to have kids.  And yes, I said it that way purposefully.  I thought I wanted kids.  When I was young(er) and just married, the subject came up often.  Having kids, what would we name them when we have them (I wanted Zoe Angelina for a girl - at the time, neither name was popular.  I always loved the name Zoe and Angelina would be after my Grandmother... now?   Yikes, there's probably 3 or 4 of each in every classroom in the country!).  But I wanted time.  Time to see what I wanted to do before my life became centered around a little one or two.

When you have an Italian family, you have to be prepared for all the "when are you getting married's" and "when are you going to have kids" and my personal fave, "why don't you have a baby for your mother."  And the more these things were said to me, the more I resented the fact that this was expected.  And I'd get angry and lash out at whichever old Italian relative was saying it to me.  Why did I have to have a baby?   Why did I have to put my body through that torture and give myself up to the screaming, eating poop machine all for the sake of my mom's happiness at being a grandma?  Isn't this my life after all?  Don't I get to make that call?  More and more it became very clear to me over these years that this was not what I wanted at all.

When I was younger, I never had dreams of being a mommy.  Sure I played with dolls and stuff when I was little.  But when I got my first Barbie, it was game over.  Barbie was hip and stylish and she did not drive a mini van and take kids to soccer practice, she drove a Corvette and went out on dates with Ken (and sometimes the tramp cheated on Ken with GI Joe.  What can I say, my Barbie loved a man in uniform).  Barbie was cool.  She had the life.  I identified with her way more than little girls who were still playing with Baby Alive (if you don't recall this doll, she moved her mouth like she was eating and you fed her the baby food that came with the doll and then she'd poop it out).  Barbie's life was way more on par with what I saw myself wanting.

The thought of pregnancy, childbirth and taking care of an infant were terrifying.  The idea that this little helpless being was going to depend on me for everything brought on the panic.  Is it what I want?  Is it something I feel I need to be fulfilled?  The answer kept coming back, No.  No, it's not what I want.  No, I don't need a baby to feel fulfilled.  No, I'm not going to have a baby just for the sake of having one or because it's expected.  No, I'm not going to do this so my mom can be a grandma.  The decision was made.  My decision.  The one that felt right for me.

And then I reached 40.  And more panic set in.  Up until then, even though I knew the decision was made, there was still a little crack in the door that made it still a possibility. But 40 shut that door and locked it.  Oh sure, I know many woman have babies after 40, but I did not want to be one of them.  I shut that door and threw away the key all on my own, and then I went into a kind of freak out mode.... what if I made the wrong decision!   That's the thing about decisions I guess, you have to trust it to be right or you will always wonder if it's wrong.  I was able to make peace with my decision, again, and have never looked back.  No regrets.  I have two nieces I adore.  My BFF has three girls (one is my Goddaughter) that are like three more nieces.  Other friends and family members have kids and I love them all.  I'm glad I can be cool (or crazy, depending on your perspective) Aunt Lalia.  I would be there for any of those kids in a heartbeat.

When I meet new people and they ask me if I have kids, I reply "No, by choice" because just saying "No" was always met with a sad look of sympathy.  Not having kids does not mean I can't take care of child nor does it mean I hate kids.  Just as having kids doesn't automatically make one a great parent.

Stop It Right Now, I'm Becoming Mom!

I realized something this week.   I am becoming my mom.  It's frightening and disturbing.  Don't get me wrong, I love my mother.  We're very close.  I talk to her every day.  But she is the quintessential people pleaser, especially when it comes to my dad or any other member of the family.  She wouldn't force my dad to get off his ass and move around more because she didn't want to make him mad.  She doesn't make food she likes if it's something he doesn't like because he won't eat it.  I never understood that.  She will eat it, so???  Whenever we have a big family function inevitably I hear the words, "just go with it, don't make waves" as in if someone pisses me off, suck it up and deal.   Well I'm sick of sucking it up.

Becoming like my mom was partially explained in my blog a few days ago, that I should have called a birthday bitch.  I tend to try to accommodate others at my own inconvenience, mainly to save myself the aggravation of being bitched at.  As the youngest in the family, my needs, my wants, my opinions never matter.  It doesn't matter that I'm now 45 years old.  It only matters that I'm the youngest and therefore know nothing.  At least in the eyes of the rest of the family.   It doesn't matter that I took care of my parents for the better part of a year.   It doesn't matter that I still do everything for them.  It doesn't matter that I run my own business.  All that matters is that when I was three I put a stone up my nose because it was pretty and I wanted to save it.  That is who my family sees when they see me.  Family functions are an exercise in humiliation as my sister tries her hardest to come up with the most embarrassing memory she can and relay to all. 

I suddenly realized that I was letting them rule me.  I was letting them dictate how I react, how I behave, and how I do things.  And this stops NOW.  I got a new tattoo this week and I actually went through the trouble of blocking everyone in my family and friends of family from the posting about it on Facebook.  My plan was to keep it a secret until summer when I could no longer hide it and then just deal with the reactions.   It took a few well meaning albeit blunt friends to point out how ridiculous that is and that I'm a grown woman and can do whatever I want.  Dammit, it's true.  So one day after trying so hard to hide the new tattoo I called my mom and told her I got it.  Was she mad?  Kind of.  But not really.   There was that air of disapproval that I'm used to every time I dye my hair a new color or get a new tattoo.  But it's short lived.  She was over it all within a minute or so.

So why the drama?  Why tiptoe around it?  I don't know.  It's Mom Syndrome.  I keep telling her not to get so bogged down with making Dad mad and just do what she has to do.  If he gets mad, so what, what's going to happen?  Nothing.  So why couldn't I follow my own advice?  When I called to tell her about the tattoo I told her straight out, this is the only life I have and I'm going to do what I want.  She didn't get upset that I said that, she just said OK.  Is it possible that even if my siblings don't see an adult that maybe my parents do?

When

When?  When will my business become the success I know it can be?  When will I lose the weight I want to lose?  When will my parents realize that I can't always be at their beck and call?  When am I going to get more sex?  When will my needs be a concern to anyone, including myself?  When is there joy?  When is pain released?   When do I get to live?

The answer is within me and only me.  My business becomes a success when I work harder to make it one.  I lose the weight when I stick to the plan before me.  When I exercise.  When I do what I have to do to make it happen.  It's not a difficult concept.  It's just one that I overlook sometimes.  Taking care of me?  Why that's just crazy talk.

My parents, well that's a different story.   For the most part, I am all they've got.  My brother and sister bailed on the situation before it became a situation.  Now they are both happily out of state where they can call me and bark out orders about what they think I should be doing to help our parents and I get to tell them to shut the fuck up until they are back here again and living my life.  They wonder why I'm not doing more.  They wonder why my dad is so sedentary.   They wonder why my mom is such an enabler.  They can wonder until the fucking cows come home.  Until you are here, walking that mile in my shoes, you have no fucking say.  My other brother, the one that lives here still, he's got his hands full with two kids and a terminally ill father in law that lives with them, so I cut him some slack on picking up my slack with our parents.

The reality is, my dad lost his leg and in turn lost his interest in anything other than sitting on his magic lift chair in his living room staring at anything on the TV.  I go there every Wednesday and he's watching fucking Bonanza on TV Land!   His mind is turning to mush because he has zero stimulation of any kind and my mom would rather let him do whatever he wants to do because if she pushes him he gets angry and she can't deal.  When he got sick and was in Florida, I did everything.  I talked to the doctors, I asked questions, I prompted them for different meds, I took notes.  My mother was in shock and if she hadn't been, she would have sat there passively like she was doing anyway.  She comes from a time where doctor knows best and you just accept what they are saying.  But I come from a time where I question everything.  One thing I said over and over to my mom then was, "you have to be your own advocate" and it never sunk in.  She still needs everything explained to her, over and over again.  She cannot figure out the simplest things on her own.  She refuses to wear her glasses when I take her shopping so if I'm not there, she's buying the wrong item, she's using an expired coupon, she's buying moldy strawberries.  It's like having two almost 80 year old children in two very different ways.

My dad's three favorite words are "I can't" and "no."  He is perfectly capable of many things but he would rather not do them.  Until recently he would sit in bed and my mom had to bring him a basin, a cup of water and his toothbrush so he could brush his teeth in bed.  He refused to stand at the bathroom sink.  Why?   No one knows because he has no answer other than, "I can't."  Yes he can.   He has a prosthetic leg and he can stand, he can walk.  He does this now because he was forced back into physical therapy and was made to do it there.  But he still won't stand at the bathroom sink to shave.  He does this at the kitchen table.  My mom won't do anything to change it and quite frankly, I refuse to get involved in it.  They don't live with me anymore.  They have to do these things and figure stuff out on their own.

About a month ago, some family members were driving to Chicago to see my Great Aunt L, my Grandma's last remaining sibling.  They asked my parents to go and my mom was hesitant.  So mom's cousin says, "why don't you get Lalia to bring you guys?"  Really?  I'm just available at the drop of a hat to drive my parents to Chicago because someone else wants them to go?  Why didn't she volunteer to drive my parents, take care of my dad's needs, push his wheelchair, make sure everywhere we go is handicap accessible?   Why do people think I'll be able to just drop whatever is going on in my life and go?  It's things like this, that drive me crazy and fill me with resentment.

How does one step back from a situation that is so close to you but that is burning you out in every way possible?   In three years since this new chapter of life began, it has felt like the biggest part of my life.  When you're taken for granted, how do you get your life back without breaking all ties and hurting people you love?  I want my life back.  I want to work more, have more sex, have more fun, travel, meet people, see friends, go places.  I'm 44 years old and sometimes it feels like my life is over. 

The answers are within me.  I just have to find them.  Pity Party over.