My friend Michelle says that we are the Sandwich Generation...people caught between their aging parents and young children. And I have to say quite frankly that that is how I feel a lot of the time...caught.
The past few weeks have been exhausting. The kids are back at school and are starting piano lessons and swimming lessons and Tuesday night church stuff, and all of that makes for a busy week. But then you factor in a few appointments for the parents, to say nothing of taking them to the ER, picking up prescriptions at the drugstore, doing their grocery shopping or updating bankbooks (all of which we have done in the past 7-10 days), and you have yourself a whole different ballgame. Mom really hates to drive now, and Dad has told me that he actually doesn't like to drive with her. (Apparently Mom likes the outside lane A LOT, to the point that she's driving on the shoulder from time to time.) So I have become their designated driver and official senior-citizen-hauler to their various appointments. Except that sometimes it fees like I'm out with my kids, rather than my parents.
Yesterday Dad had pulmonary function tests here in Oshawa. So I had to go out to Bowmanville and pick them up, and then bring them back in for the appointment. I dropped them off at the entrance and gave them specific instructions about taking the green elevators down one floor. I dashed off to park the car, telling them that I would meet them downstairs. When I found them in the waiting room, I was relieved to see that they'd made it, and asked whether they'd had any trouble. Turns out they had been up to the floor where the babies are, and then somewhere else before finally making it down to the basement level WHERE I TOLD THEM TO GO.
So we're sitting in the hall waiting for Dad's turn, and Mom keeps making references to what we did when we were here last time, and whether this was the same place we went to the last time, etc., even though Dad and I kept telling her that we hadn't been to this place before. She finally says "Well, I'm sure we HAVE been here before, because that door (pointing at it) looks VERY familiar to me!" At which point I was fed up and said "Maybe it just looks familiar to you from when you saw it 5 MINUTES AGO when you were taking a grand tour of the place."
But then we're finally done and on our way out. I tell them that I will run on ahead and get the car and then meet them at the MAIN ENTRANCE. I say to Mom "Follow this green line to the blue elevator over there and take it up ONE FLOOR ONLY. Then go around to the main entrance." So of course, I end up sitting out front waiting and waiting and waiting for them. After zipping around to the other entrance to make sure that they weren't waiting at the wrong door, I come back just as they are coming out the front doors. I asked them where they'd been and Mom said "Where HAVEN'T we been?". Appparently they rode the elevator for a few minutes, got off again in the basement and then somehow managed to make it to the main floor, and eventually to the front entrance. I'm exhausted just thinking about it all over again.
Two minutes into the drive home, and Mom gets her keys out...jingle jingle jingle. We still have a stop to make along our 20 minute ride home (jingle jingle jingle), but let's get those keys out so that we're ready to unlock the front door the instant the car rolls to a stop in the driveway. Here's something you should know about me: I have a really low tolerance for fiddly noises like that. You can ask my kids...we have coined the word fissiling, as in WHO THE HECK IS FISSILING THAT PLASTIC BAG BACK THERE???
I don't know which was worse...the jingle jingle of the keys, or Mom psyching herself up to change her PIN number at the bank (our last stop before home). Every 2 minutes, I'd hear some variation of the following:
"OK, so I just say to them (jingle jingle jingle) that I need to choose a new PIN number for my card."
"Yes, Mom."
"And then I just choose my password." jingle jingle jingle
"Yes, Mom."
Lather. Rinse. Repeat. OH MAN. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or just grab those keys and hurl them out the window.
I love my parents dearly, and I realize that getting old can't be much fun, especially when you lose your independence. Dad would love to be able to drive himself wherever he needs to go, and to have the energy and abilities that he used to have. Mom has a whole anxiety thing going on that we haven't figured out yet, and she doesn't want to do a lot of the things she used to do. So I find myself talking to them like I do my kids...reassuring them, comforting them, encouraging them, and occasionally nagging at them to stop their squabbling or put on their seatbelts. Some days, the sandwich seems like a nice turkey with mayo, lettuce and tomato on a yummy croissant. Other days it's more like the one I found in Will's lunch box last week (left there since the end of June)...green and fuzzy and totally gag-inducing. I guess I'll settle for somewhere in between.
The past few weeks have been exhausting. The kids are back at school and are starting piano lessons and swimming lessons and Tuesday night church stuff, and all of that makes for a busy week. But then you factor in a few appointments for the parents, to say nothing of taking them to the ER, picking up prescriptions at the drugstore, doing their grocery shopping or updating bankbooks (all of which we have done in the past 7-10 days), and you have yourself a whole different ballgame. Mom really hates to drive now, and Dad has told me that he actually doesn't like to drive with her. (Apparently Mom likes the outside lane A LOT, to the point that she's driving on the shoulder from time to time.) So I have become their designated driver and official senior-citizen-hauler to their various appointments. Except that sometimes it fees like I'm out with my kids, rather than my parents.
Yesterday Dad had pulmonary function tests here in Oshawa. So I had to go out to Bowmanville and pick them up, and then bring them back in for the appointment. I dropped them off at the entrance and gave them specific instructions about taking the green elevators down one floor. I dashed off to park the car, telling them that I would meet them downstairs. When I found them in the waiting room, I was relieved to see that they'd made it, and asked whether they'd had any trouble. Turns out they had been up to the floor where the babies are, and then somewhere else before finally making it down to the basement level WHERE I TOLD THEM TO GO.
So we're sitting in the hall waiting for Dad's turn, and Mom keeps making references to what we did when we were here last time, and whether this was the same place we went to the last time, etc., even though Dad and I kept telling her that we hadn't been to this place before. She finally says "Well, I'm sure we HAVE been here before, because that door (pointing at it) looks VERY familiar to me!" At which point I was fed up and said "Maybe it just looks familiar to you from when you saw it 5 MINUTES AGO when you were taking a grand tour of the place."
But then we're finally done and on our way out. I tell them that I will run on ahead and get the car and then meet them at the MAIN ENTRANCE. I say to Mom "Follow this green line to the blue elevator over there and take it up ONE FLOOR ONLY. Then go around to the main entrance." So of course, I end up sitting out front waiting and waiting and waiting for them. After zipping around to the other entrance to make sure that they weren't waiting at the wrong door, I come back just as they are coming out the front doors. I asked them where they'd been and Mom said "Where HAVEN'T we been?". Appparently they rode the elevator for a few minutes, got off again in the basement and then somehow managed to make it to the main floor, and eventually to the front entrance. I'm exhausted just thinking about it all over again.
Two minutes into the drive home, and Mom gets her keys out...jingle jingle jingle. We still have a stop to make along our 20 minute ride home (jingle jingle jingle), but let's get those keys out so that we're ready to unlock the front door the instant the car rolls to a stop in the driveway. Here's something you should know about me: I have a really low tolerance for fiddly noises like that. You can ask my kids...we have coined the word fissiling, as in WHO THE HECK IS FISSILING THAT PLASTIC BAG BACK THERE???
I don't know which was worse...the jingle jingle of the keys, or Mom psyching herself up to change her PIN number at the bank (our last stop before home). Every 2 minutes, I'd hear some variation of the following:
"OK, so I just say to them (jingle jingle jingle) that I need to choose a new PIN number for my card."
"Yes, Mom."
"And then I just choose my password." jingle jingle jingle
"Yes, Mom."
Lather. Rinse. Repeat. OH MAN. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or just grab those keys and hurl them out the window.
I love my parents dearly, and I realize that getting old can't be much fun, especially when you lose your independence. Dad would love to be able to drive himself wherever he needs to go, and to have the energy and abilities that he used to have. Mom has a whole anxiety thing going on that we haven't figured out yet, and she doesn't want to do a lot of the things she used to do. So I find myself talking to them like I do my kids...reassuring them, comforting them, encouraging them, and occasionally nagging at them to stop their squabbling or put on their seatbelts. Some days, the sandwich seems like a nice turkey with mayo, lettuce and tomato on a yummy croissant. Other days it's more like the one I found in Will's lunch box last week (left there since the end of June)...green and fuzzy and totally gag-inducing. I guess I'll settle for somewhere in between.
2 comments:
Welcome back...so good to have you...glad to be updated on Emma's surgery and recovery ( and Darren's). Okay I hope you don't mind that I was laughing hysterically at this post...you and I are living the same life, minus the real kids!! As we speak, my parents just walked in from a visit at their friends. They were given an old photo of my mom from 1947 with her friends at church. I commented how cute she looked in her hat and glasses...her and my dad proceeded to argue that she wasn't wearing glasses in the pic...so they got out the magnifying glass and low and behold they saw the glasses!! i took a pic as I couldn't resist!! It is tough seeing our parents age and having to care for them so a sense of humour is definitely in order! have you tried writing the instructions down for them? maybe that will work:) isn't it interesting how the cycle of life puts us right back at infancy. take care and hope to see you tonight at the choir bbq
Loved, loved, loved this post!!!! Was killing myself laughing at it! Great writing, Carolyn! Glad to have you back!
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