a moment of clarity

I don't think about my life a lot and it's really not that unintentional. It's more about survival. Tonight was one of those nights that I have the rare opportunity to see my life the way it is and the surprising part is that I chuckled. I didn't feel sad or hopeless that we take care of my MIL and how limiting it is, difficult and the future way unknown. I didn't feel stressed or overwhelmed by the responsibility of my job. I just laughed. My life really is bizarre. Funny bizarre.

Although I can't say much about my job as a therapist. Confidentiality and all that. I can say that I work with at-risk youth, emphasis on the RISK. It's the total opposite population in which I ever intended to work with but as things work out, I LOVE IT. It's demanding, challenging and often heart breaking. It's rewarding too. It's a bunch of things and often I leave the day thinking about sessions wondering how I heard all that and I'm still standing. Enough said.

Then, I often help my husband take care of his mom. My mother-in-law (MIL) or as I like to call her, "Ms. Magoo", "Trouble", "Silly" or "Mommasita Bonita". It just depends on my mood...and hers. Anyway, for those who need a refresher on the condition of the MIL, she's what we call in the caregiving world, TOTAL CARE. She can't really do much for herself although 50% of the time I can convince her to help me in some capacity. The quick and dirty is that we change her diapers and provide medication through a tube she has in her stomach... among other things...well everything for her comfort and survival. Again, total care. She can use one side of her body but the other is still paralyzed hence she can't walk and, oh, she still can't talk.

The moment came tonight when I finished up a progress note. I'm thinking about a case and what's going on....blah, blah, blah...tough, difficult, worry, etc. and then I get up to go change my MIL's diaper, give her medication and put her bed for the night...like without skipping a beat. As I was proceeding to begin to convince my MIL to help me by removing her blankets and beginning to undo the side of the diaper in which she can access with her own hand, I had this moment of clarity in which I realize how bizarre a day in my life really is. By day therapist to at-risk youth trying to assist them (convince, beg, plead!) in making different choices and by night changing my MIL diapers, I mean who freaking lives a life likes this! This is when I chuckled. I mean, seriously, my life is rando!

Then again, I am married to a magician. My name is unsual and I still have never had the chickenpox. It looks like I may have been destined for the rando and bizarre.

Friendly Family Mail

Today I got a piece of mail from my mom addressed to both the husband
and I. You may be thinking why would lifegirl be posting such a boring
sentiment on this here blog. Well, it's because one, we didn't ask my
mom for money this time and two, we never get email addressed to both
of us by my mom. Nothing wrong with it but usually the mail from the
mother is addressed to me. But I digress...

In the envelope was a note addressed to the husband and I and again
I'm struck at the oddity. The content of the note revealed all,

"Thought you would enjoy seeing what you'd be in for if you were ever
able to move to Ohio. Love you! Mom"

Ah! I understand. The mother move to continue to sweeten the deal to
move to the OH.

Enclosed were two articles.

The two articles enclosed were about people hanging pairs of shoes on
a tree for good luck and big black bears wandering up to people's
houses in search for food.

This is supposed to convince me to want to move to the Midwest. Crazy
shoe tree worshippers and bears knocking on my window. I think I'll
stick with my gun shots, road rage, cement parks and high prices
thankyouverymuch.

All sillyness aside, little things like that make me wonder if really
I could make the move in order go be close to my family again. The
cool part is that they are out here for vaca next week! Yipee!!!

Marriage Moment #184

Double check that when you are on the phone with your husband, that he
isn't also working on a project. This will save you ample amounts of
time by avoiding those long pauses after questions and the emotional
stress of arguments in which he swears you never told him that key
piece of information that you most certainly did tell him.

This has been a public service announcement. Thank you.

Test

This is a test of the emergency broadcasting system...err, the Zoey
email blogging system. This is only a test...

Routines, routines...the beauty of routines...

Last Thursday night, I decided I had enough of the foul odor coming from the dogs. You see, I have a thing about smells. I smell everything. I often enter the house and remark to my husband, "What smells? Do you smell that?" He mostly replies, "No".

Well, enough was enough with these little doggies. I was hell bent on giving them baths.

The funny thing that occurred to me while I was in the process of the giving them a bath is that there is a specific ritual/reaction/routine that each dog exhibits. It can really be broken down into three stages.

Pre-Bath/Bath/Post-Bath

Roy, the older dog, doesn't see the bath coming. He ends up in the tub and doesn't seem to mind the bath much except, "DON'T even come close to trying to wash my mouth area because I will BITE YOU!" This dog being almost 100 years old in human years (that's 14 years old in dog years) is all the time cranky and unfortunately his little mouth is painful to the touch. Then he emerges from the bath looking like a drowned rat. He then proceeds to run to the first available carpeted area of our house and rub his face against the carpet as if to say, "It burns. It burns. It burns. Why? WHY? Why does she have to use the water and the soap on me? IT BURNS."

Scoti smells the idea coming from the first time I think it in my head. I grab for the soap. Then I call for him and he's underneath my MIL's bed almost impossible to reach. I've wised to this so I hunt him down and he goes first in dog bath mania. After securing him by means of brut force, I proceed to the bathtub and use the shower curtain liner as a mock wall on the left and shove the other half of my body against the right shower wall edge. The water has already been turned on (this comes before I try to locate the dog) because I have to use one hand for the shower head and the other to keep the dog in the tub. I've moved to turn the shower on after putting the dog in the tub but that ends up with the dog exiting the tub. Not good. Anyway, after fighting with the dog in the tub, he gets washed. After drying him off, Scoti proceeds to run around the house like a psychotic loon. Up and down the hallway. Around all pieces of furniture. It likes the shower gives him a burst of energy only a psychotic break can give one.

Lastly, they beg me, BEG ME to go outside. I try to hold them off as long as possible but succumb to their need to get dirty again. "I CAN'T stand to be clean. I must get dirty. NOW. NOW. NOOOOWWWW."

It tires them out so much they then take a nap. I mean if you had the traumatic experience of taking a bath once every two weeks, I'm sure you'd display these same reactions.

a day in the life...

James came into the house from working the garage.

Z: Your mom was hollering. I guess she wanted the fan on.

J: I just turned the fan off. She wanted the fan off.

Z: Well, I don't know because turning the fan on made her happy.

J: Oh. Ok.

A day in the life of caring for an aphasiac person.