Goodnight, Nana Upstairs and Downstairs...

On October 9, 2009, my dear Nana went home to be with Jesus, her husband and her parents. She had been sick for the past eight weeks. On August 22, I took her out to get her nails done and we had lunch. That Monday morning she became unresponsive for about three days, then a week later we had a scary episode with her blood pressure during which she was EERILY lucid. Over the next six weeks she had good days and bad days. She pretty much was bed ridden. Only on one occasion, Labor Day weekend, did she not know me. Lindsey came to visit her the weekend before she passed. Piper had gotten to visit several times. She had been in a wonderful home, the kind of place I dreamed for her in the beginning, a place of love, light and kindness since April. They let me bring Piper to visit, they fixed her hair everyday and put lotion on every inch of her skin so that she was always so soft... They were with her when she passed peacefully in her sleep.

The day she passed I had come to visit. I read her Nana Upstairs, Nana Downstairs. She used to read it to me when I was little. The folks at the home feel that the book gave her permission to go home and she finally, gracefully exited into the next plane of existence.

My life feels surreal with out her. She was my anchor, she needed me and she was "my person." Yet I cannot just let go and cry. The reckoning is coming I am sure. Grief is a real and palpable companion in her place. Even while no longer living with me, she was always there, a presence in the back of my mind and now that space is painfully vacant...

Nana was, in my opinion, one of the sweetest, funniest, most of the wall ladies I ever knew. She had a full, amazing and love filled life.

I will miss her until the day I die and I see her again.

And I thank God for the gift that she was for the time that we had her.

Goodnight, Nana Upstairs and Downstairs.

Nanaisms...

OK, OK, I have been chastised and so I am posting. Life has been happening a bit faster than I can really stand up to lately.

The big news is that we have put down a deposit and Nana is going to a Personal Care Home on April 1st. She will be one of six ladies that live in the house. Frankly she is doing the best of the bunch physically and mentally from what I've seen. But she will get the support and supervision she needs there. I'll still be active and involved in her life (Most weekend she will come home with me to do nails, visit the dogs, go to church), but I will get the flexibility and the peace that comes with not being solely responsible for her all day, every day. Most of the time I am OK with this. It's a good place. Most of the time she is too...

This past winter when my Mom was here, she told Lindsey, "Thanks for all you do for Nana. And remember, Jesus said, whatever you do unto the least of these you do unto me..." Nana stood up and announced, "Come on, Lindsey, lets go live Jesus a shower!"

This past week I gave Nana a $10 so that she and Lindsey could go to Waffle House for lunch. Nana trilled, "Oh wow! We are rich! Come on Lindsey, let's go get drunk!"

Later that afternoon as I sat in the car on the phone (I hadn't been to work that day as Nana was too confused for me to leave her alone that morning) Nana came up and knocked on my window. She had been so clear when I left and hour previous. "Would you like to come inside and wait for Sandy there? She should be right home soon." I nearly burst into tears. Then Nana cracked the biggest smile and started to cackle! "Fooled you!" I nearly killed her!

The pie-de-resistance was on Sunday when she smiled at the woman who will be her new caretaker and said, "I'm going to miss my Sandy, she only beat me once in a while." We had to have a talk about how that joke was NOT FUNNY!

This is the right thing to do and I find comfort in the idea that this is a really good set up for Nana, but I also know this is going to kill me.

Why I haven't written

There were so many stories I wanted to tell.

When I looked up from the counter of the hotel and noticed that my van, with Nana in it, was moving. Now I knew the keys were in the car and that it was on, but there was no driver. So I swore at the clerk and went racing out the door, my heart in my throat, to discover that my brother, the big jerk, had snuck up, gotten behind the wheel and driven off expressly to scare me witless. Did I mention he's a big jerk!

That Nana had one of her loopy phases and kept announcing that she needed to get home and putting on her coat when we were at my brother's apartment, so we hid her coat. She simply put on mine.

That the young man who did that horrific thing to me got fired, or he decided to leave, or whatever, but he's gone. Theoretically I never have to see him again. He e-mailed me to tell me this was a big "miscommunication" (he wasn't let go because of me, by the way, there was another issue) and I wrote him a detailed e-mail explaining why that was the dumbest thing I had ever heard and explaining in detail how he hurt me... I stood up for myself and it was a good thing.

That one of my dearest friends is engaged and I am so excited for her.

That once again everyone around me is getting pregnant and I'm afraid I am a fertility goddess... Which just confirms that I better be careful who I choose to be intimate with, I would probably get pregnant the first time, therefore...

Anyway, I wanted to talk about all of those things and more, but I can't.

Because.

Something is wrong. I don't know what, or why, or how to explain it, but there is. Maybe it has nothing to do with me, but something worries me that it does. I have this thing with paranoia, but that doesn't mean someone isn't out to get me... j/k.

What I mean is I think there is something wrong with someone I am friends with. I don't know if I did something wrong, or if they are hurting or if it's something completely unexpected, but I feel that there is something not right. But I can't ask or push. So I have to wait and see. That is really hard. (Update: Turns out I really am just a paranoid freak... Nevermind!)

Further, I fear that I am about to hurt another friend. Something that I thought would work, now seems that it won't, and I have to tell them. I am disapointed, and I think they will be too, but I know it's the right thing. Course, I also am still hoping they will be my friend and even help me out on another, but related cunundrum. How big a jerk does that make me?

Nana will probably go into a retirement home in May and I will be alone, at least till camp, provided I go, which might not work the way I wanted it to either. Being alone terrifies me in ways I can't explain and while I know this is the right step I feel so guilty for not being strong enough to keep Nana longer.

Then of course there is the general camp politics. People never do things the way I want them to, when I want them to. There is this really terrific opportunity in the north for camp, for my assistant for three weeks, and everyone agrees that it is a terrific thing, and they want it too, willing to go the extra mile and all that, but when "they get around to it..." and I want them to take care of it now, so it's settled.

Anyway.

All this, especially the paranoia, is why I haven't written.

Post Thanksgiving Nanaism

Nana was on the phone with my brother and he was explaining that in the cold Chicago wind his face was wind burned.

Nana says, "If I told you a dirty joke your face would be really red... But I can't remember any dirty jokes anymore... Sandy, do I know any good dirty jokes? Do you know any good dirty jokes we could tell your brother to make his face even redder?"

Only my Nana!

Happy Holidays.

On a different note...

A student sent me an e-mail yesterday about how he had gone looking on the Internet looking for good essays. He found one and just had to share it with me.

The e-mail he sent was one of the most hysterical things I have read in some time. Also, how cool is it that a student of mine was interested enough in what we've been talking about to go looking for it and critique as well.

Pardon me while I polish an apple on my shirt for a second.

This week Nana and I are babysitting two dogs that belong to a really great couple I know and their son. The dogs are Jack and Simon. Simon is a very old retriever/lab mix and Jack is some kind of small fluffy lap dog. The pair of them are a hoot. Jack helped me catch another mouse. Or more specifically, I caught another mouse in a sticky trap and Jack brought it and set it up on the couch for me. Wasn't that sweet?

Anyway, so for Thanksgiving we had a canine heard. Roo is not real keen on all of this, but Piper is in Dog Heaven. It's a good thing and Nana is amused if slightly confused. Counting to two was an occasional challenge for her. Four is down right difficult.

My cold is getting better and I still have two days before going back to work.

Good Day.

Not a good night

Nana just woke up. She was in tears. She doesn't remember much of anything that happened today and she is afraid I'm going to leave her alone and also afraid that she is ruining my life. I held her while she cried. Then I tried to make her laugh and then I put her back to bed.

This is getting worse.

I keep thinking we can put off her going to a facility, but when nights like these happen I know it is closer rather than further away.

Some nights I think this might actually kill me.

It would be such a relief to not be responsible for her all the time. Then I think about my life with out her and it sounds so lonely and empty. I find myself scared and crying in the night too.

I told Nana if she went to sleep she will feel better in the morning. This is where I hope my advice is true, for both of us.

Good Night.

Mice, Mayor's and Daylight Savings Time

Yesterday I took the dogs to the kennel/groomer as they had to be there today between 8 and 9 AM for their annual grooming (I may love 'em but they have SO MUCH HAIR!!!) as they can get a bit matted this time of year without a little help. They went last night as there was no way I could get then there in that window this morning, so I simply boarded them so they would be there in the morning (Don't I sound decadent, jaded and spoiled?) The point is, they weren't home last night. It was a bit odd without them and Nana especially was seriously out of whack.

This afternoon, after getting back from all my morning appointments, I happened to notice Roo's water dish in the corner of my room. There was a dead mouse floating in the bowl. EEEP! Poor thing. It's hair was still dry and fluffy above the water, but it was quite dead. Nana saw me throw it away and became obsessed with the issue. She has announced that there is another one, "looking for it's mama," in the living room that apparently has run all over, only when I was not in the room. She's been talking to it all afternoon. I have no idea if that's her way of compensating for the loss of the dogs for the day...

The whole thing made me think of that joke about the mouse that fell into the bowl of cream. The mouse just kept paddling until it churned the cream into butter and then it was able climb out.

Further, I emailed a newer friend today and asked about their business e-mail address. They said it was OK as long as I didn't send anything I wouldn't send to the mayor... or anything a normal person would wouldn't send to a mayor, but I'm definitely not normal so... Poor person, they only just met me and I think they got my number, I am definitely not normal... but they should also be warned, they might be mortified to know what I could send to a mayor considering the X-mas present I gave to Mark, the summer before last (I think there is a blog about that some where back about it, Christmas in July, not for the easily offended).

Lastly, today is the last day of Daylight Savings. It's not that I am sensitive (well, I am, actually, but not about this kind of stuff...) or that it matters, but I so wanted to find that jerk from my WEMT class and point out to him that I was right! And no, it's not just the way of the south, but everyone in America has the new DST time! No, I'm not bitter at all.

Oh and having retrieved the dogs, looking much thinner with all the "dead hair" brushed out, and exhausted for their journey, Nana is admonishing them to swiftly excise the dreaded mouse (oh how soon she forgets the four footed furry thing that was her company all day in the light of her old friends... fickle, fickle old woman.)

Actually this past summer there was this mouse in my clinic and I could not catch it. The Director of the Nature Lodge said smart people get smart mice... now my mice are drowning themselves and hanging out with Nana... does that mean I'm not so smart anymore, suicidal or senile? Who knows. Maybe I should start putting cream in Roo's water dish.

I'm seriously going to revel in that extra hour of sleep (I think I have it coming!) tonight. It might almost make up for having to do children's musical rehearsal tomorrow after church.

Now, should I send this blog to the Mayor?

Nanaism

"So if you ever come home and can't find the dogs, it's because I ate them."

OK, Nana. Make sure to take small lady-like bites.

Blessed

Some days when I have the overwhelming urge to slap duct tape over Nana's non stop talking mouth I remind myself how blessed I am to have her.

It is nice to come home to someone.

This is not the vision I had for my life at all, and yet it is a blessing.

So today, I don't want to be a cow anymore. I am enjoying being a teacher, a BSA medic and Nana's granddaughter.

This is going to be a good year. It may be my last with Nana as my roommate and so I need to remind myself and remember how blessed I am to have her.

Oh, and I just saw the bud-light commercial with the guy who steals the beers and the barking dogs that follow him ever after and Nana just looked up and said, "Maybe Piper and Roo feel the same way about the telephone." Oh my! I am so blessed.

Nanaisms

At camp on July 4th
"Nana now, we are at camp, so you have to behave yourself."

"Oh! Don't worry. I won't rape any little boys, here."

"Wow, I feel so much safer, now. Thanks."


At dinner on July 28, 2007.

"Sex is a wonderful thing in marriage. When it's her first time and his, provided he's telling the truth..."

This morning.

"I don't want another husband, I liked the one I had and a new one would be too hard to fix the way I'd want him."

Pig Tails!

It's Thursday! I like Thursdays. It's staff night off tonight. I only get every other staff night off this summer as I alternate with the other lady here in Med Lodge. This week she took Wednesday and I took Thursday and next week we'll switch. I think I even have a date for next Wednesday, but that's another story for later.



Anyway.



It's Staff Night Off tonight and we are taking the kids to this really neat restaurant that has this thing called the Belly Bomb. It's a Sunday with 20 scoops in it and if you eat it all you get this pink T-Shirt. I don't do the Belly Bomb and I treat too many of the kids in the morning who have to indulge, but this will be the first time I get to go watch the ice cream go in...



We were all so tired last week. I think we pushed ourselves too hard and only now are we starting to catch back up and get the rest we need. I slept seven hours last night. How decadent is that! So today, I am wearing my favorite scrubs. They have a little girl with pigtails all over them. So I wear pig tails too. I've been told by someone who just doesn't understand that I look "ridiculous," but everyone else says adorable. I like it so I don't really care.



Thursday is a good day for pig tails!



I also went shooting on Tuesday. Again, I am "Lovely and Lethal." I've been told I have very nice grouping. I shot 4 out of seven pigeons too with my shot gun. No bruise this year. I fell down some rock stairs trying to go check on an idiot staffer who shall remain nameless who slept in as a temper tantrum protest to reality. My shin still hurts, but it's better.



One staffer called me a Mac Truck on Tuesday, because he thought I wouldn't mind. It was funny to fix that misconception. Why a guy would ever think a woman wouldn't mind that is beyond me.



However, on the flip side I have been hugged so much this week my back is starting to get sore.



Nana is being passive aggressive I think. She isn't taking all her pills regularly or consistently. She decides when she opens the daily compartment that there are too many pills there and so she picks and chooses which ones she will take. We think she bases this concept on their shape and color. We are working on the problem.



Nana also told me that she loves the dogs more than me because they spend more time with her. Then she changed her mind when she realized I was her ride home from the nail salon. Gotta love Nana.



So today I have on Pigtails! Nothing can go wrong, right?

Leaving Oz

This is for a good friend, but bear with me it will take a while (sometimes the yellow brick road is winding!)

First, beta-blogger is driving me crazy (yeah, I know, short trip...). I was so excited to be able to blog at work again. Now the security settings at school will let me read blogs, even beta-blogs, but I can't post or comment on the beta. OK. Also people are less able to comment on my blogs, which I was surprised to find bothered me more than I thought it would. I mean I never got a huge amount to begin with, but I guess I kind of looked forward to getting what I did have... (Don't I sound pathetic?) So that's the first reason I've been tardy.

Two, is more significant. I've really wanted to blog about something, but it's been hard. Talking to a friend today gave me the courage, for her sake, so I'm gonna try it and see if that clears up this blog constipation so to speak.

Before I go on to that, quickly, a brief update on the petty argument with brother. There is nothing to report. He never called back. Further he and his wife are having some real struggles in their life (Please pray for them if you are so inclined. God will know who G and wife are) and so while I know about those problems and am praying fervently, I am not calling right now. My brother is so stressed he would view it as an attack and the last thing I would want to do is add. He knows I love him and if he needs me he'll call. That is the best part about real family, at least to me. Arguments can be petty, they don't mean anything in terms of the real relationship... I won't go into my guilt on picking the fight in light of all this though...

Now, on to the real issue.

Leaving Oz.

There is a phrase among the family, loved ones and former loved ones of people with borderline personality disorder. It is the moment we often call "Leaving Oz." This is the point when a family member, loved one or spouse decides to get off the roller coaster. For the most part it involves leaving that person. For the most part there is no half way when you have people with this disorder in your life. The most likely way to be free is to separate yourself completely. This is hard. It is not fun. There is guilt and pain and regret and doubt. Yet for many of us it is a reality.

My mom has BPD, and to say that it hasn't affected me, my brother, my father, Nana or any of the rest of the people her life has touched intimately would be a massive denial of reality. My father, after my mother left him, chose quickly to "leave oz" and has no contact with my mother except when she occasionally calls him to try to get him to be friends with her again. My brother and I have both decided that we won't give her up to this demon of sorts, but we both have our own way of trying to stay out of oz, so to speak.

My brother mostly stays emotionally detached. He talks to mom and lets her visit him, he just makes it very not personal, almost like she is simply another mission field to him. Maybe she is. He has claimed on several occasions that she isn't really his mother anymore anyway, so he is simply doing his godly duty. I doubt he really thinks that, but if this is how he copes, it seems to work for him, anyway.

Me, I used to live in Oz with Mom. It was a very scary place. I thought I would have to live there forever. I thought that saving mom meant that I had to keep riding the roller coater over and over and over until the motor died. The ups and downs were terrible. The crying, the guilt, the self accusations, the shame, all that come with this disorder. Some days I was the enemy and some days I was the savior in mom's world. That can be quite a mind trip, to say the least...

Then came the day, March 30, 2004 when I had to make the decision to take Nana into my care. I was only 28, I had just started a new job, I was living in a tiny efficiency apartment with my dog desperately trying to make ends meet after a four month spell of unemployment and Nana needed me. So I took her home with me, no warning, no plan, making it up as I went along. I realized during the ten hour drive home that I couldn't live in Oz anymore. Honestly, my plan at that time was to never speak to or see mom again. Turns out I wasn't strong enough, brave enough or emotionless enough to pull that off. I'm not sure which. It was the right decision for Dad, but it turned out it was not how it would work for me. But I did take a break... and I moved out of Oz.

That was two and a half years ago. A lot has changed, and a lot hasn't. Mom hasn't. She is still, in my opinion, the Queen of Oz, and occasionally the Wicked Witch of The West. However I realized on that terrible day that Nana asked me for my protection that I was choosing to live in that awful land and that I didn't have to and now I was responsible for someone else and she didn't need to live there anymore than I did. So now, Mom still makes me crazy and a tear or two has fallen, but for the most part I choose now when I am going to ride the roller coaster with her, mostly I just wave as she rides by. I'm not sure if I was Dorothy back then, just trying to find my way home or The Scarecrow, no brains to realize I didn't need to be there. The point is, now I am just Sandy and I live on planet earth. There is more Oxygen here, by the way.

So to my dear friend who is currently packing her bags to leave Oz, I want to say that I am so proud of you for standing up and saying "No." It is going to be harder than ever for a while. Change always is. However, I also want to tell you that there is a much more peaceful place over here. I promise that whether you decide to never set foot in Oz again or like me decide to be only an occasional visitor it can be done and there is a better life on the other side of the rainbow.

To everyone else, I would say that mental illness is not just a TV movie of the month. Many of us deal with it everyday. Some of us eventually suffer from it because we had to live with it in others for so long. Most of us don't really talk about it. We live with it too much to want to discuss it. And, a lot of us don't even realize that so much of what we thought was normal growing up, wasn't. Coming out of Oz can be rather blinding for us. Yet it is the love and support of good friends that make it possible.

Thanks guys.

Oh My!

In the interest of pursuing the most non-heavy topic I can think of, I find myself giggling about the joy and amusement that is Nana! Nana has had a big week and as usual it was a real corker to watch.

Nana walks with a cane. It is really an extension of her hand really. She points with it. Drags things with it. She herds the dogs with it and occasionally disciplines them with it (a slight tap on the butt when they rough house too much...) She pokes me with it to get my attention. She uses it to hold the door open for company. She also uses it as an excuse.

"No, I can't walk today, my hand hurts too much to use my cane and my hip hurts so I can't walk without it." When that is really the case she refuses to let the pain get her. When she doesn't want to do something (like go to the doctor's office, see people she doesn't like or go for a walk however...). So, because of the complaints and because I do know she is hurting I've been trying for five years to get her to go see someone about getting her hip replaced. She already had both her knees replaced and was much happier afterward, so...

But for the five years she has been dragging her feet, artificial knees, thighs and bad hip on the subject. Now that I have help with Nana, in the form of the very talented Lindsey, Nana has run out of excuses and had to go get evaluated. Now understand I wasn't there, but 1) I had faith in Lindsey, 2) I have seen this doctor before during the great horse/broken humorous caper and 3) I have a lot of faith in him.

When I got home yesterday Nana was doing the geriactric equivalent of Handspring's over the house and anyone's equivalent of "The Twist" (that is not an exaggeration, she really was dancing). Frankly I was a little frightened. Then she told me about her visit.

"That doctor walked right back into the room, pulled down my pants and panties and jammed a needle in my butt and now I can walk!" She went on to explain how when the doctor entered at first she didn't even know he was a doctor. He was so young and so friendly she assumed he was the orderly and so she was very confused when he came back with needle and pulled on her clothes. Then she felt so good she didn't care. Lindsey explained later that he was the doctor, though Lindsey also said he had introduced himself very politely. Nana also insists that he remembers me from four years ago. "He said to tell you hi." I asked if she mentioned why I had seen him (that stupidity he might remember...). "Oh no, I just said Sandy is my granddaughter and she said you were her doctor and that you were nice. Then he said,'tell her I said hi' so I know he remembers you." Nana and I do not have the same last name by the way...

The only cloud in all of this to Nana is that she does have to go to physical therapy. "I hate exercise! Do I have to wear tights?" She is thrilled that no surgery is needed, though an MRI has been scheduled just to be sure.

But you can't get much funnier or silly than an 82 year old doing the twist through the house in her underwear with two Shelties dancing and barking around her. You also can't get much more non-philosophic than that either. Enjoy!

"My Granddaughter Abuses Me"

Nana is so funny. No really, she is hysterical and it's hard to breathe sometimes when I am around her... Either because I am laughing so hard or because I'm trying not to gag over the smell of her coat that she won't let me wash.

She had surgery yesterday. This is a very drawn out story. In a nut shell, 20 years ago she had the bags over her eyes fixed. A stray stitch at the corner of her eye created a situation where he eye did not fully close again. It didn't bother her or anyone else until six years ago when an ophthalmic surgeon insisted that her eye could not heal properly after cataract surgery if the problem was not corrected. However, he could "fix" it. His fixing caused Nana's left lower lid to turn slightly under so that the conjunctiva is perpetually exposed and angrily red all the time. It also made her eye droop slightly. Since then every morning she wakes up with almost a pink-eye like mess of crust and we are constantly cleaning that eye so it doesn't look gunky. Further it leaks tears non-stop. That $%!@#$%!@#$% of a doctor told her that there was nothing else he could do about it an Nana believed him. For six years. I recently convinced her that being as it has been more than five years opthamology has most likely improved enough that we can fix it. We found an excellent doctor at Emory and yesterday morning at 7:30AM they fixed Nana's eye. Even with the puffiness and bruising that accompanies surgery, you can already see the marked improvement. Nana is beside herself with joy. This brings out her playful side.

Here is where the problem starts.

Nana thinks it's funny to say I hit/abuse her. This is less funny than you think. Everyone loves Nana and takes her much more seriously that anyone in our family ever would. I am not a small or unintimidating person. People always laugh when she says this, but they take a beat and look me up and down. The black eye she now has doesn't help this issue. Thankfully all the people at the hospital knew she got the black eye there with them and just chuckled appreciatively at her humor. The lady behind the counter at Moe's (Nana's favorite lunch place and where we went after the outpatient, minimal anesthetic procedure) looked rather taken aback. (As a side note, the surgery went well, Nana's eye looks great all considered and she has very minimal pain. For the most part she's back to normal already...)

This has been going on for years. It started when Nana first came to me. I insisted she take showers regularly, not just "spit baths." I had originally shot for every day, now I settle for every couple of days, but clean fresh clothes every day. Anyway, the first few times I used to stand next to the shower with her until I was sure she could handle it and wouldn't fall, slip, etc. She would literally say, laughing, "Abuse, abuse, abuse, I'm going to melt away to nothing!" The whole time. I would laugh back and say that was only funny inside the house. Then she would tell my friends, and others about how I was trying to flake her away to nothing by washing her to death. Most laughed indulgently. I would smile and tell her (again!) privately that this joke needed to stay more private. She would nod and then next time around...

She also says that forcing her to eat broccoli is abuse too. I don't force her, for the record, though I might accept the term strongly encourage.

Anyway, with the shiner she is sporting now, I imagine this should become even "funnier". Easter church on Sunday is beginning to fill me dread. One of these days I may just laugh back and say, "Nana, you know that isn't true, shut up!" and back hand her across her favorite lunch joint (that is a joke, I would never hit her, which is what makes this so frustarating, and why she thinks it is so funny, because she doesn't see why anyone would believe it and there for must know she is kidding...)

Though I suppose this is just some form of massive payback. For when I was a teenager.

When Nana lived in Kansas and I used to visit her, we went to Blockbuster for movies. One time, Nana was trying to pay for a movie and she turned her change purse over scattering over $10 in change across the counter. Rather than die of embarrasement, I fixed my face with a smug 16 year old smile, looked the clerk in the eye and said, "Don't worry, we're taking her to the home tomorrow." The guy just nodded and said, "yeah, that's rough. You're sweet to take her out on her last night, though." Nana was seething by the time we got back into the car. My brother thought the story was so funny, he often told people we were taking her to the home in the morning when he was in public with Nana (during his middle school years) and she did anything he considered odd or funny. Nana was angry at him for taunting her, but she blamed me, I could tell. It stopped when he turned 16 and she threatened to take him out of her will.

So I probably deserve this abuse... I may melt away to nothing.

Nana strikes again

I am so not a morning person. This is a well documented (family, friend and even professionally) fact. Now, when I say I am not a morning person, that means for the first 30 minutes to an hour after I wake from a deep sleep. The longer/deeper the sleep the longer the grouch period afterward. The only person I know who cannot seem to understand this idiosyncrasy of my personality is unfortunately the only person I live with, Nana.

Every morning as I try not to poke my eye out with my mascara brush she sticks her head in the bathroom, "do you want a cup of coffee?" Then she holds out the cup of coffee she has made to me. Now in the two years we have been together I have never drunk my coffee in the bathroom while trying to poke my eye out with mascara. Every morning she offers anyway. I try not to snap, some mornings more successfully than others.

Then I'll be looking for something (keys, phone, purse, shoes, etc.) and she asks over and over what it is, but because I am moving she can't hear me when I answer. This gets old fast as a routine. Clearly she wants to help, but all it does is slow me down.

Lastly she always manages to stand right in front of whatever it is I need to get to and her reflexes and ability to discern where I am heading are not really all that good. So I end up trying to get by and end up catching her from falling over in my rush instead.

The thing is, she means well and later in the day all this stuff is endearing and I try so hard to be loving and thoughtful and she hugs on me and says how glad she is she lives with me and in the morning I am such an ogre.

This morning I was running late. Those are the really special interactions. I'm racing around trying to get caught up and she's following me around asking how she can help. I tell her I've got it so she starts making suggestions, "Can I make you an egg?" "Can I pour you a milk?" "Do you have your lunch?" "Are you wearing shoes?" "Did you remember to put on a slip?" Then we got to my favorite, "Are you sure you want to wear that?" This from the woman who is wearing a pale pink sweater over a turtleneck over pajamas with long johns, orange sweat pants and food all over it. Not to mention pantless in the back yard! (see earlier post). So again, like too often I snapped.

I don't say much, and nothing to the effect that she shouldn't be here, just "Nana I've got it, leave me alone!" It's just she gets this hang dog look on her face and you would think I just killed her dog. Then she nods and says, "I know, mornings are not your best time." I swear I could just ..... Oh!

So now I feel like a jerk and I'm sure Nana will get the ice cream that she shouldn't really have tonight as a surprise. Oh well.

Pantless in the back yard...

Saturday was a crazy day. I got the call at 8:30 AM from my co-worker and friend, Robin, that the talk that we had had the afternoon before in a kind of "possible" tone had become a "reality" and she was bringing her 3 year and 18 month old to spend the day with me while she delt with a wacky family situation.

Not that her family is all that different from mine and several other people's. The point is, her father in law is dying and her mother in law has become paranoid that her children are going to take all that she owns and leave her destitute and so last week she filed charges of trespassing and theft to keep them off her property. Robin and her husband have several vehicles and trailers (which thankfully they had the papers for) on the property and so on Saturday they hired a tow truck to do several shuttles to get all of it off. Not really a place for small children so they spent the day with Nana and me.

The three year old had a slight fever, wouldn't eat anything... Even if he said initially he would, wanted to watch movies that he then wouldn't look at but would scream and cry if I turned off and enjoyed whacking my dog on the head, oh, and is still in diapers. The 18 month old ate everything, ran laps around the van outside and babbled incoherently, constantly. They were both angels. Seriously. For kids their age they were very well behaved and showed all the ear marks of productive adults. Nana on the other hand, was really, well, let's just say she was Nanaism at her best that day.

I took the children out to play and told Nana to go to the bathroom while we were outside so she could have a little privacy. Then I asked her to come out and spell me for a few minutes so I could have the same luxury. Nana came out in her sweater, her hat, her coat, her cain, her shoes and socks and (drum roll please...) NO PANTS!!!!! I mean she had on underwear, bright blue as a matter of fact, but no pants. When I mentioned it to her. She insisted she had pants on. I went ahead and ran to the bathroom (with the fence and the position of our yard, no one could see her) and then came back where we argued about it for ten minute.

"Nana where are your pants?"
"I have pants on."
"No, Nana, no pants."
"Then what is holding on my Depends Pad?"
"Your panties. Where are your pants?"
"Well I thought you had to go potty and so I didn't have time to get new ones on."
"You came outside without your pants on!"
"The children won't remember and I'm still decent."
"Okay."
"Would you go put a shirt on over that tank top, you are obscene."
"This from the pantless woman in the back yard."

Later as the children were napping, she looked over at me and smiled.

"Aren't they precious?"
"Yeah, active, but cute."
"When did kids today get so smart?"
"Kid's today?"
"You and your brother were never as smart as these two. Are all kids like this?"
"Yeah, Nana. My brother and I were just stupid. That's why we both have master's degrees and are pursuing PhD's."

Truly, some of the more memorable Nana moments this year. When the kids went home, Nana hugged me and said,

"I know I said I wanted you to get married, but I'm glad you are not. It's nice to have you here all to myself. I can't ever leave you." Which is wonderful, terrifying and sweet all at the same time to hear.

We had the angels for 12 hours. It was a lot of fun. However, I was glad to give them back. Apparently Robin's odd family has nothing on mine. I figure now Robing owes me a day of seniorsitting. I'll send Nana with two pairs of pants.

Leaving the Pity Party

Sometime ago I had a conversation with a friend on IM that amounted to the fact that everyone I know who lived with me or was planning to live with me gets married within 18 months of that arrangement, most within one year. (There has only been one exception to this in the past 11 instances, and that friend came back and tried again and is now happily married.) She hypothesized that God was trying to bless me but I kept moving around and he would miss and hit those close to me instead. I asked her if she was saying God throws like a girl.

Some days it is easy to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Everybody can find a reason to feel sorry for themselves if they want to. Yesterday I had about decided it was a good day to wallow in self pity. The icing was a conversation I had with Nana.

"Well hello there Mary Sunshine" She says to me.

"Nana, I'm not Mary Sunshine, that's what you call Lindsey (the young woman who helps me with Nana sometimes)"

"That's right. You're Mary Grumpy." (Writing cannot express the smug grin on her face when she said this.)

"Thanks, Nana, I love you too."

Later that day someone asked me how I was getting on with Nana and the other things I had going on in my life. Because it is the socially appropriate thing to do, I said "fine." The sweet old lady pressed further and so I started explaining how good things were and even went on as to why and by the time I realized what I was saying I also realized how true everything I was saying was. I am so very blessed and I have so much to be thankful for. I thanked the delightful woman for asking after my troubles and such and she gave me a wise smile and winked. Ten bucks says she knew I was throwing a pity party and threw me the bone to help me bail myself out. Worse, I wonder if Nana called he and this is an old woman conspiracy. Either way I am thankful.

Nana'isms

Nana is a major part of my life. She is 81 and has lived with me now for two years. She came to me along with her dog, Piper, who is a littermate to my Roo, both Shelties.

She was born in the 20's, lived through the Depression in rural Massachusetts, went to Nursing School and then (even though it is not what women did back then) moved out of her parents house and moved by herself to Ohio where they desperately needed pediatric nurses and nurse instructors. There she met my grandfather a warhero college student and they lived happily ever after. Sort of. He passed away over 20 years ago, and though she was in her early sixties and could have hung it up, she kept going.

She stayed in the same house that had held their marriage and their children all those years. Only she made some changes. She got all new furniture, white carpet (can you imagine!), a water bed and bought bright flowered shirts with bright pink suspenders (well endowed women should never wear suspenders!). She began to travel, visit friends, family and she also continued to care for her parents, still in Massachusetts who lived to be in their late 90's. She continued to "talk" to her husband, her "Daley."

Four years ago, she went to live with her daughter, my mother. That didn't work so well for various reasons. So, (to be fair) against my mother's wishes, Nana and I decided she should come live with me instead. Understand this decision was made in about 24 hours, while I was visiting Mom and Nana and while my mother was "trapped" in a hospital room. I went from swinging 28 year old single, living the high life in Atlanta to being a single mother of an 81 year old (and her dog) and guilty (according to mom) of "seniornapping."

Now, Mom and I are close again and we both agree that this was for the best. I have adjusted as has Nana to the new living situation. My dog has accepted the fact that she has to share her house with her baby brother. My students have learned to listen to stories of Nana. Most importantly I have found a joy unlike any I could have dreamed and never before imagined.

Everybody likes Nana. One day at church, a friend said to me, "She is so cute!" and I laughed and said, "yeah, just like a puppy." Not really, but it is funny to hear people. Nana makes friends with everyone. When she gets her hair done each week, the other beauticians come and sit in the chairs around her and talk to her, listening and laughing with her. The nurses at her doctor's office fight over who gets to do her chart. Even my students, when I bring her to school one or two days out of the year (usually if she has a doctor's appointment in the afternoon and I don't have time to go home to get her first) the kids all stop in the hall to talk to her. Students who never speak to me and I would swear hate me. They know Nana and want to say hi. Then they brag to others about meeting her. What's worse is other teachers on staff do the same thing...

There are Nana'isms in my life.

(Said to her nurse in the doc's office) "My arms are ugly, and they look awful in those spaghetti strap nightgowns that you have to wear for your husband, but my husband died so I don't have to anymore."

(Said to me as I was walking out the door with a date) "Sister, (she calls me sister) be sure and lock the door when you leave. I'd hate for someone to break in and rape me, 'cause I'm all dried up!"

"The dogs have been having a good day, playing and running. Only I don't think Piper knows Roo is his sister."

(Said to a good male friend of mine at dinner) "Have you been to Sandy's house? Oh, you should come back, now that I live there, it doesn't look like that anymore."

(Said to a date as we were on the way out the door) "Don't you worry, if you want to marry my sister, I'm gonna move out. One woman from our family in your house is enough. And she's the prettier of the two of us..." (Oddly enough that was our first and last date...)

(When she couldn't find her glasses that were in her pocket) "Daley, someone has taken my glasses, come read this to me!"

Those are really just the first ones I thought of. There are so many more. People come to my house just to listen to her.

I hope I grow up to be just like her.