Grandparent's Weekend

Grandparent's Weekend

Being grandparents has such great advantages.  We can enjoy our granddaughters until we get tired and then we give them back.  That's the rule, right?  In practice, this doesn't always happen though.  This weekend, for example, our daughter  Dorie asked if we would watch the girls while she and our son-in-law Gregg spent the night at a lovely resort for her birthday.  No problem!  We could handle that.  Easy-peasy!

First of all I decided to take our almost 13 yr old granddaughter shopping.  I hadn't done this in a long time and thought that it would be a fun activity. I asked Skip if he would watch Lilly (our 3 1/2 year old granddaughter) while I took Julie to the mall. We got a late start which was largely due to the fact that I was making breakfasts, cleaning up, preparing for Easter, getting Lilly dressed and occupied, taking care of my mother,  and trying to keep things clean and neat.  By the time we left the house I was already tired.  Off we went to the throngs of people bustling about on a busy Saturday.  I asked Julie what stores she preferred and immediately realized that we would be visiting many different stores because Julie wasn't sure what she wanted and where she wanted to go.  I didn't want to rush her but I knew that we had only a limited time to shop before Skip would need relief.  I felt a little guilty leaving him behind to watch Mom and keep Lilly occupied.  I worried that he might be a bit overwhelmed with that responsibility.

When we got to the mall I had to make a quick decision where to go because I had no idea which stores might appeal to Julie.  I have to confess that  I have weaned myself from mall shopping and am not "up" on all of the latest trends among teens.  I do not set foot in the trendy stores.  So, as we walked into the first store I had the distinct feeling that I had somehow traveled to another planet--one filled with bright colors, loud music, sparkle on the floors and sweet smells of myriad perfumes.  Just in case I missed the labels on clothing, every single item was adorned with large print on sleeves, across the front and back with the name of the clothing line.  Every person under the age of 25 was a walking advertisement for a t-shirt or sweatshirt designer.  Furthermore they all seemed happy to pay anywhere from $60 to $200 to advertise who they were wearing.  My granddaughter was immediately drawn to one such shirt that looked like it was missing a good 10 inches off the bottom length.  Really...a sweatshirt that only covered the shoulders and part of the upper torso?  I guess no one would notice the missing fabric because the name of the singer who now had her own clothing line was so huge that was all one would see.  I began to look around to see how many labels we could combine in one outfit.  Could we combine labels to make sentences?  With wry wit I tried to play this game as Julie perused the racks.  I wondered if it was permissible to mix a sports figure label with a singer, or were we supposed to keep performing artists  together?  Could we mix two different sports figures?  Did we need to have continuity of names or could we combine themes?  I had so many questions. Unfortunately I couldn't hear the answers through the cacophony of loud music and heavy rhythms.   After five minutes I had already developed a headache.  I painted a smile on my face and muscled my way through the store trying to look totally cool while feeling like I had fallen through The Rabbit Hole.  I was too old for this.  In just a few short years I had become an  anachronism, a relic of bygone times.  Rather than admit I was feeling like an antique I waited until Julie went into the fitting room to text my daughter to ask if she approved of certain items of clothing that Julie insisted would be fine to wear.  Surprisingly, there was no need to do so because Julie had used her smart phone to take a photo of something she liked and sent it to her mother for approval.  Dorie already saw, responded, and okayed the purchase.  Hmmm...shopping had changed. Technology had become the new shopping tool.  Okay then!  I relaxed a bit knowing that the responsibility of making a decision of what Mom and Dad would allow was not on my shoulders. 

We moved on to another store and after what seemed like eight hours but was in reality only about a half an hour, we found a few other items and I even managed to talk Julie into a few things that didn't have printing on them.  I used a bribe of taking her out to a late lunch to get her to make her decisions quickly and to choose something with fewer graphics that she could wear in the restaurant.

With aching feet I limped my way out of the mall after being accosted by people in the center isles hawking their products, insisting that I try their creams, their manicure products, their hair extensions, their shampoos, candles, and fragrances...practically tripping me as I walked by.  My lips were pursed in a permanent "NO!"  My eyes were averted like I had learned to do when approaching panhandlers.  

At lunch  I texted Skip to check in with him.  He texted back that he was coloring 100 bunnies with Lilly.  I giggled at the mental image.  It was not as complete an image as the one that we beheld when we arrived back home.  Skip was surrounded by all sorts of toys and playthings.  He was sitting at the table with assorted crayons and a coloring book. As we walked in he proudly displayed a page of flowers that he and Lilly had just finished coloring.  When he turned towards me I noticed that his shirt boasted  an array of flower and princess stickers.  I walked into the family room to say "Hi" to my mother.  She was sitting quietly in her chair by the TV.  Her eyes were closed as she took a small nap.  Did she know that she too had been decorated with stickers? 

Both Skip and I had taken a step into our granddaughter's worlds. It had been  a day of adapting.   We had seen the polar opposites and both of us had been totally out of our element...our comfort zones. Fortunately we lived to tell the tale and still profess that grandparenting in one of the finest joys in life.

Dying !

"Ugh!  I feel awful!"

I look up from my computer and study my mother's face.  Her expression is a grimace.  She looks like she is dying.  I am immediately alarmed and ask what is wrong.

 She replies, "Everything."  She is looking around the room with a growing panic. 

"Oh no!  Do you have to throw up?" I ask nervously.

"No," she shakes her head blinking and looking confused.

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Are you dizzy?"

"No."

I am trying to go through the litany of medical conditions.  Hives, shaking, fever, coughing, nausea, rash, seizures, stroke, heart attack, bleeding out your eyes, uh...uh...I am running out of things to ask.  Mom is now flopping around on the sofa, gasping and miserable.  Her hand flips at her throat like there is something in her esophagus.  Suddenly it dawns on me that I have overlooked the obvious: "Do you have indigestion?"

"Yes!"

GAAAAA.   My mother's flare for drama is not missed by me as I give her two antacid tablets and tell her to chew them.   Two minutes later Mom is sitting comfortably ensconced on the sofa and when I ask her if she is feeling better she remarks that she is fine.  She shoots me a look that says I must be nuts to ask that question.  There is no memory of her recent 'brush with death' .  I think back to the biscuit she had for lunch slathered with butter.  I think about the giant cookie she ate for dessert.  Fifteen  minutes later she was back at the island waiting for food.  (She forgot that she had just eaten.)  I worry that Skip will feel sorry for her and feed her again.  I leave the kitchen and remind Skip that he is to keep Mom from overeating.  Since she has lost her memory she assumes that it is always time to eat.  The saddest part of it is that I am continuously cooking to keep her happy and occupied.  She eats snacks, little treats, has her afternoon tea, and her three meals a day. Through it all she retains a slim figure while I gain weight with each turn of the mixing bowl.  My genetic heritage skipped right over my mother.   

I retrace the activity that brought my mother to her knees.  It was her afternoon tea.  My sainted husband who possesses a strong desire to please my mother gave her a rich salted caramel brownie with cream cheese frosting alongside her tea.  Now it is getting close to dinnertime and I will probably have to wrestle Mom to the floor to keep her out of the kitchen.

Skip walks in from having run an errand.  He is carrying bags from the grocery store.  I know that there are things in there that Mom shouldn't have.  I rush to hide them away.  We are slow learners.  If food is out on the counter, Mom samples it regardless of whose it may be. Last week,  I made a lovely icebox cake.  It was a rich concoction made with heavy whipping cream, Kahlua, chocolate, lots of cream cheese, and layered in decadently rich chocolate chip cookies.  Skip left half of his over and had it on the counter.   When he went back to get it, there was nothing but  a trail of crumbs.  Someone had pilfered his dessert and upon visiting the scene of the crime we deduced that the evidence led back to Mom.  It was clear from the expression on her face that she wasn't feeling well.  She had overeaten.  

Mom challenges us on an hourly basis.  This is one among many issues. However, I consider the alternative and am grateful for who she is.  Yes...it could be worse.

Accusations

I went up to assist my mother this morning.  She calls for us every morning to let us know that she is awake (as though we didn't know with all of the ruckus she makes as she clomps about and broadcasts the din over the baby...uh...Elder monitor.)  This morning as I walked up the stairs to her apartment, I saw a note on the floor next to a hand vacuum. It was from our son, Bill. I was not wearing my glasses so I squinted slightly as I read the note.  It said, "Grandma was on the stairs this AM.  I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh no!" I thought.  Mom had exited her room and we slept right through the alarm on the door.  Bill gets off work at around 3:00 AM and found Grandma sitting or standing on the stairs.  He must have quietly ushered her off to bed.  I re-read the note one more time and then opened the door to Mom's bedroom.  "Well!" I exclaimed.  "Bill says that you were on the stairs outside of your room!"

Mom looked at me innocently and a bit confused.  I could tell that she had no recollection of the episode.I wouldn't have pushed it except for the fact that it was so dangerous for her to walk out of the 'safety zone' of her room unescorted.  The stairs were strictly prohibited.  "Mom," I continued. "I can see that you have no memory of this happening but Bill had to send you back to your room.  You absolutely MUST pay attention to the sign on the door."  I pointed at the sign we have hanging on the door that says, 'Do not open this door. Call for us to come get you.'  Mom looked bewildered as I walked her to her bed to help her get dressed.  I continued to admonish her by running through the house rules.  When I was done, I walked downstairs leaving her to put her shoes and socks on and telling her to call when she was ready to come down.  Skip was in the kitchen when I opened the door between our two residences.  I began telling him what had happened.

"I know," he said.  "I heard on the monitor."  Then he shook his head.  "I don't know what we are going to do.  I never heard the door alarm."

"Right!  Exactly!" I agreed.  "Could she have opened the door while we were watching TV and didn't hear it?"

"I don't know. Maybe.  But that would mean that she was on the stairs for hours before Bill found her," Skip pointed out.

We let the subject drop until Mom called for us and Skip went to retrieve her.  When he came back downstairs he mentioned that Bill left him a note about the handheld vacuum.  Then he asked me where his other note was--the one about Grandma.

"I told you.  It was on the floor next to the vacuum."

"I didn't see it.  The only note I saw was about Bill needing to vacuum the stairs."

(Do you see where this is going?)  I frowned at my husband trying to figure out which one of us had gone off the deep end.  Rather than arguing further I walked back upstairs with Skip trailing behind me.  I reached down and picked up the note. "See?  It's right here!" I told him.

"Right!" He answered. It was a little lighter with the sun being fully risen now and the light hitting the paper so as to make it easier for my blind eyes to read.  Skip took his fingers and pointed at the words.  "See?  It says he needs to use the vacuum."

I read the words carefully.  What I thought were initially the words, 'Grandma was...'  was actually, 'Gonna use...'  .  Bill was simply informing us that he needed to use the vacuum on the stairs in the AM and didn't want to disturb us by using it the night before.  "Gonna use on the stairs in the AM" was wrongly read, "Grandma was on the stairs in the AM."

I walked back downstairs eyes to the floor.  I couldn't look my mother in the face.  I had given her a bad time over something she had not done.  Just before I opened my mouth to apologize I thought about the dirty laundry she had retrieved and was preparing to put in her dresser drawers, the whole packet of sweetener she had dropped into her cup of tea, and the locked door she opened after finding the key and using it.  All of these little mishaps were soon forgotten and by the time I spoke of them she did not remember. So, suffice it to say I was prepared to let the entire subject drop.  Skip, however was more likely to remind me of my mistake.  I shot him a look that warned him that we would not speak of this again.  Then I promptly told our daughter, my son-in-law, our son, my girlfriend and am now blogging about it.  I am just grateful that my mother doesn't hear well and doesn't read my blog posts.  Okay, okay.  I made it up to her later by giving her a special treat with her cup of tea.  We're even now!

Taking a Break

From time to time, we dust Mom off and put her in the car.  A change of scenery is a good thing and refreshes my disposition.  Yesterday, we decided to drive to Albermarle to see our granddaughter, Julie perform in her dance competition.  I warned Mom ahead of time that there would be very loud music--modern music, hip hop, rock, dance beat, and the like.  Normally Mom would detest this.  In the past, whenever she heard contemporary music...rock 'n roll she would curl her lip in disdain.  She would tell us, "I like classical music."  I used to react angrily telling her that there is beauty in all kinds of music.  I used to council her to be more open minded, more accepting. But...something had changed. Now she was different.  She reinforced my statement that I had a different mother now.  Mom, who never watched sports, who never listened to anything but classical music, who never watched daytime TV had become my music-accepting, sports-watching, Dr. Phil-fan, game-show-watching mother. 

As we entered the loud auditorium on Saturday, we ushered Mom to a theater seat passing excited dancers, jumping children, spinning dancers practicing in the isles as they awaited their call time. I was unapologetic about us blocking the isle with her walker. Younger feet could navigate.  They could walk around.  They could manage the stairs, the aisles, the ramps far better than my mother. Mom was easily the oldest person in the audience by at least 20 years.  I looked around at the young families toting small siblings back and forth as the dancing brothers and sisters danced and performed for the judges and appreciative audience. We were there with time to spare as we sat in the darkened auditorium.  Competition performances were always exciting and you could feel the electricity in the audience as one group after another gyrated their way across the stage.  Then it was our granddaughter's turn.  We prepared Mom.  We told her where to look for Julie.  She sat up straighter, more engaged.  She smiled broadly and pointed as her great granddaughter appeared.  She watched attentively and when the dance was done, she applauded enthusiastically.  There was one more dance that Julie was in.  We waited through some good, some not-so-good performances as we anticipated the reappearance of the reason we had traveled 1 hour and 45 minutes. When Julie stepped onto the stage it was as if the sun was shining more brightly.  I looked at Mom and there was a goofy grin on her face. She was entranced, transformed by the performance.  She was oblivious to the strong beat that would have set her nerves on edge in the past.  Not today!  Sitting between us, she was attentive, appreciative, and surprisingly lucid.

When we were ready to leave, Mom maneuvered her way out of the theater without incident.  Our younger granddaughter, three year old Lilly provided some additional entertainment in the lobby as she charmed her great-grandma (GiGi) with stories, smiles, and giggles.  Mom kept repeating how adorable Lilly was.  Then Julie emerged from the dressing room still wearing makeup and looking years older than she actually is.  Mom gasped and said how beautiful Julie was.  She congratulated her on her lovely dances and smiled happily as Julie thanked GiGi for coming with a sincere hug. 

It was a good day.  Mom was silent but alert on the ride home.  I asked her if she had enjoyed herself and she replied, "Oh yes!  It was a LOVELY day!"  It was late when we returned home and got dinner on the table.  Mom did not complain.  I was thrilled to see this reversal in her behavior.  It didn't last of course.  By the end of the meal, Mom stood up to leave. This time, however, she decided to carry her plate to the sink.  I watched appreciatively as she cleared her place of her plate, cup, fork and napkin.  Before I could celebrate, I saw her open the cabinet door and pull out the trash bin.  Carefully she placed the china dish, the cup, and the fork in the trash.  I fished it out gently reminding her that dirty dishes go in the sink.  She appeared confused for a moment.  "Did I do that?!"  She looked around to see if perhaps her evil twin were standing there doing these unacceptable things. Perhaps it was the evil twin who then took my mothers napkin and threw it in the sink rather than in the trash; who took another dirty napkin and tucked it into her sleeve, and who folded the newspaper into a tiny package and placed it inside her walker.  Well...it was ALMOST a perfect day.  What I noticed was my attitude was so much better.  I was patient.  I was calm.  I guess one has to appreciate the small gifts whenever they are given.

Dance Grandma

Dance competition season has begun and our 12 1/2 year old granddaughter went to her first day of dance competition yesterday. Wild horses couldn't keep me away. You've heard of Dance Moms? Well I am a card-carrying Dance Grandma. If I could I would go to all of her competitions. I do keep myself under control though. I do not 'trash' the other dancers. I do not brag; I do not point out flaws. However, I cannot say who else was dancing. I do not see anyone but our dear sweet Julie. For me, the sun rises and sets on her little dancing toes. I cannot explain the pride and love I feel as I watch her dance. It takes me back to the days of our own children performing. As a mother I always had butterflies in my tummy just before the children stepped onto the stage. My heart would beat rapidly and I would worry, watch, and pray as they performed whatever it was. When they were finished my joy was kept in check so as not to appear too proud, too doting, too caring. I would try to be objective, to help them with small corrections. I was the stern task master always wanting them to perform to their highest level. Now, as a grandmother, I can relax a little. I can enjoy with the wild abandon allowed a grandparent. I do not have to justify uncontrollable applause. I make no apologies for hooting and hollering. I see no flaws and sit back as a totally appreciative audience.

Anyway... there we were lined up in a row. Skip, me, my mother (Great Grandma to Julie and Lilly), Dorie, Gregg, (Julie's parents) and little sister Lilly. Four generations were seated and watching as Julie stepped out on the stage. My heart did not race because there was nothing to be nervous or worried about. There was pure enjoyment as she took her turns, twirls, steps, leaps and jumps. She was brilliant. She was beyond brilliant. When her performances were done I waited to see her as she changed and emerged from the dressing room. I was glowing, smiling from ear to ear. I rushed to her with a huge hug and then looked at her face. She was upset. She was devastated. What was wrong?! Why wasn't she smiling? A moment later she told me how she missed her turn because of a prop blocking her. I barely noticed. It was nothing; but not to her. For our granddaughter it was the worst blunder a person could make. She had let her dance team down. She had single-handedly ruined the dance. UGH! Was there no convincing her that no one noticed? Couldn't she read my sincerity as I told her she was wonderful, beautiful, perfect? I took a step back. There was no need to reassure her that we loved every single thing that she did. She KNEW that. It was her parents turn to deal with the drama. We loaded Mom in the car and began our 2 hour trek home. We had come to see what we wanted to see and regardless of the outcome, we were fulfilled. Later I texted our daughter to find out how Julie was doing. Dorie told me that Gregg had gotten the performance on video and showed it to Julie. Dorie sent me the video to watch as well. There! See? The purported 'HUGE' blunder was barely noticeable. What I saw was a young girl giving her dance everything she had and then some. What I saw was a sweet young thing who had talent, charm, ability, technique, stage presence, and love of dance. What I saw was what I had waited all my life to see. A grandchild performing to my utmost unfailing joy, pride, and awe!

Yes. I admit it. I am a Dance Grandma, and proud of it!

You see her, don't you?  She is the blurry one in the middle with moonbeams dancing on her head, with sunshine illuminating her face, and with starlight lighting her smile.