Inspection Time!

There is something wrong with the Care Facility system if the only time facilities are in compliance with all of the state rules and regulations is the two month window of time in which they will be inspected.
From what I can piece together, New Home is about to be inspected. Apparently, these inspections are a “surprise” although the term is used very loosely considering they’ve known it was about to happen since at least July, the inspection last year was in September and I suspect they are done at the same time every year.

Kind of like Christmas is a surprise when it rolls around December 25th every year.

The last time New Home was so clean was during the budget debates when a few legislators had selected New Home to visit (apparently to see where the government funding was going and what effect slashing funds would have on these types of facilities). A last minute switch meant the legislators didn’t pay a visit but New Home did look pretty spiffy for a few days.

With the inspection about to happen at any moment, there is no more talk amongst the aides about figuring out how to make a cheaper, homemade version of Ensure. Training on food preparation rules is the new focus and is all of a sudden being given to people hired since the last inspection (a year ago).

I suppose it’s a little like me cleaning my house from top to bottom before having guests over for our annual Thanksgiving Dinner.

Oh, wait.  No it isn’t because I am not getting paid by the state and a regional center to take care of six disabled adults and to give them quality care, a clean house and nutritious meals.

Although my Thanksgiving Dinner is pretty awesome!

But I May Need It Someday!

My heart races.

My stomach tightens.

My palms are moist.

Sweat drips down my face.

You guessed it – I’m cleaning out the garage! Why do I have such trouble throwing things away? I physically react as if I am in a panic (although the sweating could be from hot flashes – I can’t be sure).

My husband could literally throw away everything we own and it wouldn’t bother him a bit. I blame his military brat upbringing where he had to move every couple of years (to different countries no less). His family invented the word “minimalistic.” (Although, I think even they would admit to some regret about tossing boxes and boxes of comic books – some undoubtedly worth a bit of money today).

I look at something and think believe know that I will one day use it again. If it’s something we bought in the last ten years, why throw it away? We spent money on that so why would we want to buy it again when we ALREADY HAVE ONE? You’d think I grew up in the depression as much as I think we need to squirrel away every 25 cent item I run across (and, no, I am not that old, thank you very much. I may be old enough to have hot flashes but I’m certainly not old enough to have lived through the depression). That recession in the 70s may have really messed me up, though . . .

The point is to make room for Robert, so I can no longer conveniently keep whatever I want just because it happens to fit in the garage. I dream of buying a bigger house so I can fit all my stuff in it but realize I will keep accumulating more stuff no matter the size of the house!


How can I throw this away?



I force myself to go through boxes and file cabinets and bags full of knick-knacks that I one day will use or papers that we may have to produce if our utility company ever claims we didn’t pay them in 1995 or school papers the kids brought home in grade school. (Don’t tell hubby but I’m keeping the school items! Certainly that seems reasonable, right?). I relented and tossed a few craft projects that Daughter had created. One was a Giant “R” decorated like a ladybug. It was so adorable but even she insisted I throw it away. Before doing so, I took a picture of it which will only take up a little bit of electronic space (yay!).

Intellectually, I know it’s a good idea to purge and not keep everything one has ever owned forever. Just try telling my racing heart and upset stomach that!

Forever a Caregiver

Well, it took me ten years but I wrote a book! This is my first book and I could bore you with a gazillion disclaimers (just ask those closest to me), but instead I want to tell you about it and how I came to write it.

Mom was diagnosed with cancer in July twelve years ago and within two months had died. I think I remember every moment of that two month period of my life. I helped care for Mom during this time but it wasn’t the first time she leaned on me. She had debilitating depression when I was a teenager and I was her support then, too. There were a few times of also caring for Dad but, in my family, loyalty to both parents at the same time was not an option. As the oldest girl with two younger brothers, caring for Mom and Dad was up to me. (There are many men who are caregivers but, in my experience, if there is a girl in the family – the caregiving role goes to her.)

After Mom died, I felt the need to write about our experiences. I wanted people to know that families can be messed up and dysfunctional but it’s your family. Don't worry, this is not a book about forgiveness – there is no need for it. It’s a story about coming to appreciate my family crazy as it was (and by crazy, I mean periods of actual crazy) and also accepting my role in the family (as the caregiver).

For years, this book was bursting out of me and I wrote it the best I could. I changed the title several dozen times (I have pages of potential titles to prove it) but nothing seemed to fit.

Until I started caring for Robert.

Then it hit me – I was caregiving for Mom all those years although I didn’t even realize it at the time. I accept that as my role in the family. In fact, I have found profound fulfillment from that caregiving role so wouldn’t change a thing.

I am Forever a Caregiver.

This is my first book so forgive me if it’s not the greatest book you’ve ever read (did you think I wouldn’t slip in at least one disclaimer?). One of my favorite quotes (and I’m terrible about remembering who said it) but it is something like “I may not be able to write a book as well as Shakespeare, but I can write a book by me.”

I’d love for you to purchase my book, Forever a Caregiver (you can find it here or on the sidebar), and would love for you to tell me what you think. Have you had to forgive your family or do you accept them for who they are? Do you struggle with your family roles? I’d love to hear about your own family experiences.

Thank you so much for indulging me in this bit of shameless self-promotion.

Just Call it a Day When Even Baking Chocolate Chip Cookies is Difficult . . .

I haven’t baked cookies in a while but, by now, I have baked a few batches in my life – it’s really not that hard. Aside from the occasional (okay, always) ability to set off the fire alarm (keep in mind, with very few actual fires), I can make a pretty tasty chocolate chip cookie.

Today, the universe really tried to conspire to stop me from making these cookies, tough! (I don’t know, maybe the universe thinks I should lay off the sugar).

While at Target stocking up on essentials like milk, bread, toilet paper and erasers (hey, Target has everything), I picked up some chocolate chips. I love Target so was just leisurely going down the isles, knowing Robert was safe at home with Hubby and was probably watching television while working on his word search puzzle.

As I was nearing the end of my list, my heart stopped. Crap! I forgot to give Robert his 2:00 p.m. medication. It is now 3:00. Oh, crap! Not only did I forget but it’s in my purse because I thought I was being brilliant to take it along with us to his haircut appointment in case we were unexpectedly delayed. Now I am an hour late giving it to him and in the middle of Target with a cart full of perishables. Crap!

My idea to call Hubby and have him use tomorrow’s 2:00 p.m. meds for today fell short because his cell phone decided not to work at that moment. Ack! I’m not far from home so make the decision to check out and rush home. Once home, I leave everything in the car, run into the house and give Robert his Depakote pill. Phew. He was in the same place I’d left him which means he probably didn’t have a seizure. Hubby was oblivious to my panic because he didn’t even know I tried to call him. Darn cell service!

Once I calm down and after making dinner, I begin to make the chocolate chip cookies. Robert already had chocolate ice cream for dessert so he is indifferent to my kitchen activity. Besides, he’s busy laughing at people bonking themselves on the head on America’s Funniest Videos.