“I’m not doing anything, you jackass.” She walks away very irritated.

Since Chris was waiting for me to do school, I put Mom on hold and moved on. Chris was in a terrible mood (I think he’s still sick) and he started giving me a hard time about an assignment. I gave him a solution to his dilemma, but he wasn’t looking for a solution, he was intent on complaining.

I moved on to the bathroom and started a bath. Picked up my box of bath oil beads.... empty, but not thrown away.

Oh yeah, I forgot to say that Tana pooped on the floor AGAIN. She is in a mood because I haven’t been walking her.

Ah yes, a bright new day.

Chris managed to drop the attitude while I bathed, so I got out and we finished school. I didn’t have time to fight with Mom about changing, so I took her in her dirty clothes to daycare so I could meet my caregiver buddies for a special luncheon.

We met at Mac and Bob’s in Salem and the food was delicious! It seemed like everyone had a good time socializing and eating. It ended all too soon and I headed back to get Mom.

Everything went great until after dinner when it was time to change her clothes. By now she had food (some sort of chili looking sauce) dripped all down the front of her. It was immediately evident that she was not going down without a fight. I washed dishes, hoping she would mellow with age, but no such luck. She paced like a caged lion the entire time I cleaned the kitchen. I could feel my blood pressure rise and my heart rate increase because I knew I couldn’t avoid changing her any longer. First I was able to get her shirt off, but after that, I retreated once more, waiting for her to soften. It never happened and I ended up pulling her skirt and panties off while she clutched them, desperately trying to keep them on. The whole time I am quietly telling her it’s okay. She bent over to do something and I attacked from the rear with wipies to clean her private area. I handed her some panties and she threw them up in the air and walked off. The biggest struggle came in getting a new shirt on her. Have you ever tried putting a shirt on someone who is trying to keep it off? I start with putting it over her head, then I pin her to the couch and work on the arms. It’s tricky, because I can’t let go of the neck or she’ll have it back off. So, while holding the neck in place, I take an arm and start trying to wiggle it into a sleeve. She alternates between spreading her fingers as wide as possible, to grabbing the sleeve into her fist. Somehow I manage to succeed and start the same procedure with the other arm. Oh yeah, she is cussing, screaming, and hitting me in the head the entire time. When we get to the pants she usually starts kicking me, which actually aids in the quest (her legs being up in the air enables me to slide the slacks on more easily). By the time I am finished, we are both exhausted and emotionally drained. She is unbelievably strong for a 73 year old woman. I cried for a half hour after we got finished.

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Yesterday when we were driving home, Mom pointed at a red Mustang and asked, “Is that Angela?” I was pretty impressed, since I drive a red Mustang. On the other hand, I was sitting right beside her, so of course, it couldn’t have been me. However, she constantly asks me where Angela is, so obviously she is not always aware of who I am.

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A lady from the church came over to bring Mom a poinsettia on Sunday. They send one every year to all the shut-ins. Even though we go to church every Sunday, they don’t seem to know we’re there. I don’t mind, as the flowers are lovely. ANYWAY, the doorbell rang and I ran to answer it. The lady said she had a plant in the car for Mom. I stepped outside so I could walk to her car so she wouldn’t have to come all the way back up to the house. About halfway there Mom opens the door. “Don’t let the dog out!” I yell. So she shuts the door and I say, “and don’t lock the door!” in anticipation of what she is about to do. I hear the door lock and run back up to the house and start knocking. I was barefooted. In a very irritated voice I say, “Unlock the door, Mom!” and pound on it. She opens the curtain and looks at me and says, “Get off my porch!” By this time the lady is back up to the house with the plant. She says, “Your Mom’s not doing very good, is she?” Right at that moment the door opened and I said, “I better run!” as I dashed to get to the door before it got relocked. I made it and yelled “thanks” as she escaped to her car to continue her deliveries. I wonder if ours was the most entertaining one?

Psalm 5:2 Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King, and my God: for unto thee will I pray

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