What are you wearing???? Oscar de la Renta. . . .

July 10, 2011

My mother lost her pants.

Or rather, the nursing home misplaced her favourite navy blue, lightweight pants, the ones she wore to my wedding, and they even had her name on a label affixed to the inside, like kids have when they go to summer camp.

She was pissed.

Royally.

Apparently, the nursing home staff looked here, there and everywhere for my mother's pants.

Scouring through people's closets, women and men.

A call was made to the hospital to see if her pants had mistakenly become part of the wardrobe of a resident who had been taken in for tests.

Her pants just got up and walked away.

At some point, an elderly male resident is going to get dressed one morning and wonder whether his pants shrunk, or he grew over night.

I know they'll show up.

My mother is less convinced.






Because my mother has lots and lots and lots and lots of time to mull things over, think them through, work herself up into a lather, she was well and truly fit to be tied when she realized her pants were MIA.

Last weekend her digital picture frame remote had somehow come to find its way in between two pieces of paper and she was in a state until I found it.

So I can't imagine. . .or actually I can. . .how she reacted to her disappearing drawers.

I am SO happy I wasn't there.

Really.

I know, I know.

I am a horrible daughter.

But I have witnessed these events before, had to calm her when she is distraught, and to be able to avoid an incident is something I am not upset about.

Missing the actual meltdown, however, does not mean that I won't have to deal with the repercussions.

Shopping with Mum.






And because I was taking Mum out, it was just taken for granted that it would be raining.

I called her before leaving to make sure she still wanted to go.

Is it raining? she asks.

Yes, but just a little bit, I reply.

Okay, she says, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice, the uncertainty.

I said to Em, who was coming along with us, she's going to change her mind when we get there.

She did.

Sort of.

Again, she questioned whether or not we should be going.

We were going.

Believe me.

I asked her if she was worried about something, not feeling well, trying to assess where the reluctance was coming from.

And then she said she'd go, but she had to use the bathroom first.

I can't keep up, follow her.

I should just stop trying.






Off to Pennington's first.

She had a gift card, and I knew finding her something she liked would be much easier than it would be anywhere else.

Remember, I am still scarred from the underwear ruckus.

And the nice thing about having Em with us, apart from her wonderful company and how absolutely thrilled my mother is to have Em around, was that after I got Mum out of the car and into her wheelchair, while parked directly in front of the store entrance, Em could then park the car and the retrieve it when we were ready to leave.

THAT was nice.

Because I hate leaving my mother sitting alone while I get the car.

Em read her latest book The Help while Mum and perused the racks looking for new pants.

And they HAD to be navy blue.

Not grey, beige, black. . .

Navy blue.

Of course, there was one pair of navy blue pants, in petite length on the rack.

Size was dubious.

She was going to have to try them on.

And she resisted this, heartily.

I simply told her we weren't going anywhere until she tried them on, because after the underwear fiasco, I wasn't taking any chances.

She tried them on or we left them on the rack.

I adore my mother.

There isn't anything I won't do for her.

But having travelled the shopping road with her before and living with the repercussions of not trying things on, or returning things without her present and picking piss poor replacements, I was not budging.

Try them on or leave them.

My mother is incredibly intelligent.

She knew I wasn't going to retreat from my position.

Reluctantly, she agreed to try them on.

She was convinced they would fit.

I wasn't sure and I wasn't taking any chances.

On our way to the changing room, she also picked out two tops, once a blue v-neck tee and the other was a darker purple scoop neck with a lacy design across the neck.

Stunned, I was with her second choice.

Now to see if she'll wear it.

In the changing room, she is griping about how much she hates trying on clothes.

But I was kept moving forward, removing her shoes and slacks to try on the new ones.

And they fit.

Good.

A few minutes in the changing room, listening to her complain about how miserable she is trying things on is still better than making four trips back and forth to Pennington's because something didn't fit.

I didn't push my luck with the tops.

Instead, I just looked at the tag of the shirt she was wearing, noted it was the same size, told her and she said,

GOOD. Because I'm not trying those on!

What happens when two immovable forces are confronted with one another?

One force decided whether or not this is a battle that should be fought.

This battle I was willing to let go.

The shirts and pants were purchased, Em collected the car, and we were off for the next stop in our madcap Saturday shopping with Mum adventure.

The mall.






By this time it was 11.30 am.

Em had to work at noon.

So Mum and I were left to our own devices.

Because it was a rainy Saturday afternoon the mall was very busy.

My mother was getting hungry.

So off to the food court, where between her eating restrictions and my lifestyle change, the pickings were slim.

Although if there had of been a McDonald's, she may have indulged.

We settled on Subway.

Six inch lean turkey breast on whole wheat bread with a little cheese, a lot of veggies and just the smallest hint of mayo.

Coffee, of course for Mum.

But just a half a cup.

I don't even think the girl at the counter charged me.

Diet Coke for me.

We had a lovely lunch together.

She seemed to enjoy the change from the normal lunch time fare of the nursing home, which is always good, but I don't think they provide subs and Mum does love a good sub.

And then, of course, because she had three sips of coffee to wash down her Tylenol and her sub, she had to go to the bathroom.

The only part of going out with my mother that I find challenging is the bathroom.

Wheelchair bathrooms are designed with the assumption that the only person who needs to be in the bathroom stall is the person in the wheelchair.

Not even close.

Further, most wheelchair bathroom stalls double as changing stations for mothers with diaper wearing children.

Because my mother's bladder was begging to be emptied, there was a line up at the wheelchair stall.

Of course there was.

Already occupied with a mother changing her child, another lined up at the door waiting to gain entrance to re-diaper her child, and me and Mum.

Who didn't need diapering, but did need relief.

My mother was not impressed.

Keep in mind that she has all day access to her bathroom, in her room, at the nursing home.

Waiting to use the facilities is simply not in her repertoire.

She even ventured to see if she could manage one of the other stalls.

No such luck.

So we waited.

Or rather, I waited behind her while she stewed in her chair.

I don't think she is intentionally this impatient.

At least I hope not.

I think it just comes from not having to wait at all for much of anything anymore so when she's in a situation where waiting is necessary, she becomes annoyed.

That's my story.

Eventually we got in there, she did what she had to do and we finished.

All that was left was the washing of the hands.

Sensored soap dispensers and faucets are wonderful ideas.

If you know how to use them.

She ended up with so much soap she could have given herself a bath.

And the faucet didn't run long enough for her to get a hand rinsed, let alone both of them.

The automated hand dryer was so powerful it almost blew her right out of the bathroom.

Once we returned to the mall, she said,

Whatthehell happened to bars of soap, turning on the faucet with you damn hand and paper towel!

Progress, Mum, progress.






In her stash of gift cards was one from Sears.

A result of the unfortunate underwear incident.

So off to Sears we went.

I asked her if she was interested in getting another pair of pants, or new capris, shorts even, although I haven't seen my mother in shorts for decades but one can hope. . .

No.

She knew exactly what she wanted.

Oscar de la Renta.

Perfume.

At the cosmetics counter she says she wants to know the cost of their smallest bottle.

60 mls.

$72.00

No, she said. I can't spend that much on a bottle of perfume.

I knew she wanted it, and that she'd never spend the money so I made a bargain with her.

Mum, use your gift card and I'll pay the balance.

She accepted my deal and was quite happy with her purchase.

Then the cosmetic saleslady asked her if she'd like a squirt from the tester before she left.

Free Oscar??!!

You know it.

My mother put that tester bottle so close to her neck I thought it was going to leave an imprint on her skin.

And then she squirted Oscar ALL over her neck.

Making sure she got as much as she could.

The saleslady asked me if I wanted some.

No thanks, I replied, I think Mum has enough on for both of us. I'll just rub her if I change my mind.

And off we went into the men's section to look at the shorts on sale for Stephen and Keith, trailing a cloud of Oscar de la Renta behind us.

I was afraid to look behind us for fear of seeing a line of allergy afflicted people keeled over in our wake.






Our second to last stop was for batteries.

I selected The Source because it was right beside Sears.

Still covered with her cloud of Oscar, Mum and I wandered into The Source.

What's in here? she demanded.

Batteries, I replied.

Her wall clock had stopped at 11.21 Friday morning.

And not knowing the time agitates my mother.

As there are plenty of other things that can also agitate her, I thought it best to buy more batteries for her clock.

I just need one, she said.

Mum, I don't think they sell batteries in packages of one.

Well, what'll I do with the other ones? They'll go dead before I can use them.

I didn't answer.

I was going to let the sales person tackle that question.

And they had packages of 8 super max Energizer batteries on sale, buy one get one free.

I didn't care.

I just wanted batteries.

We can ALWAYS use batteries here so I grabbed two packages and off we went to the counter.

Mum is sitting in her chair watching the sales guy like a hawk, probably thinking he isn't old enough to feed himself let alone deal with cash.

And as he was ringing in our battery purchase, I asked him about when the batteries expired.

2017 he said.

I bent down to Mum and said, Your batteries won't expire until 2017. They'll be fine.

Oh, I'll be dead by then, she responded.

Without batting an eye, I replied, Oh no you won't! You'll outlast all of us!

And then I picked up the counter guy's jaw so he could finish ringing everything in.






Before we left the mall, Mum wanted to say goodbye to Em and hello to Keith.

Both were working, so off we went to the theater.

People coughing in our wake.

The rain ensured the theaters were very busy.

And of course, my mother ran into some people she knew.

The chaplain from the nursing home.

So they chatted for a while, we did our quick visits with the kids and she announced she was ready to go back to the Grove.

Wanting to make sure she had purchased everything she needed or wanted, I did stop in the middle of the mall to inquire.

No, she said, I'm ready to go.

And off we went back to the Grove.

I put one of her not-expiring-until-2017 batteries in her clock.

Put her purchases away.

And made sure she was back in plenty of time before bingo started at 2.30.

I parked the car in my driveway at 2.00, feeling as if I'd just run a marathon.

Mum and the wheelchair in and out of the car eight times in no small feat.

Making sure she was comfortable, got to the bathroom, was fed, entertained, is exhausting.

I napped.

Stephen and I were supposed to go into work.

Apparently he asked me if I was still going, but I don't remember.

He went in.

Wrote for a while.

Came home with Keith.

And we spent a very quiet evening.

Stephen working.

Me recovering.






And today's agenda?

Grocery shopping.

Oh.

Yeah.

No Stephen this trip.

He's going into work.

Proposal progress will continue.

Em will accompany me.

For the opportunity to drive and to ensure I return home with things she enjoys.

But no $400.00+ trip this time.

I will put my foot down.

Or Em can get her own groceries.




Title Lyric: Fashionista by Jimmy James

Down by the riverside. . .

July 9, 2011


Stephen has been working diligently on his doctoral proposal.

And it isn't easy.

In fact, at 4.19 pm on a Saturday afternoon, he is hiding in an office somewhere in Edmund Casey, writing, writing and more writing.

Dedication?

Insanity?

Commitment?

Or all three?



A trip to see Norma-the-greatest-hair-stylist-at-Klub-Soda was the first item on yesterday's agenda.

Em, Stephen and I experienced a collective pampering at Norma trimmed Em's bangs and ends, rid Stephen of his heat inducing locks, and covered my grey obnoxious for another few weeks.

Obviously, I'm not very good at taking pictures of myself.

I don't mind having grey hair.

I mind having grey hair just at the sides of my face.

Looking like two grey wings ready to fly me off to some distant land where hair dye isn't available.

Keith was also supposed to be in attendance, however, his work schedule didn't permit his presence.

The burgeoning bird's nest on his head will be massive by the time I wrangle him in to see Norma.

She won't need hair cutting tools so much as a chain saw and hedge clippers.




Two hour later, everyone was GORGEOUS and hungry.

Especially hungry.

Our next stop then, was M&T Deli.

This is the newest location for the very popular downtown eatery.

I spent many, many happy hours during my grad school days at the original M&T which was located at the bottom of Regent Street, and is now home to the Snooty Fox pub.

The moved to the corner of Queen and Regent, and more hours were spent eating one of my favourite lunch time meals, the bagel with cream cheese and dill pickle.

Oh.

My.

Gawd.

That's how good it is.

Sometimes, after a rough day negotiating through the political terrain of grad school, I'd stop at M&T for a much wanted homemade chocolate chip cookie the size of your head, and a steaming mug of peppermint tea.

I'd do the same now, but the peppermint tea doesn't seem nearly as delectable without the chocolate chip cookie.

I even had my own mug sitting atop their shelf.

And I was the only one who used it.

When Keith was much younger, the only birthday cake he wanted was a carrot cake from M&T Deli.

I'm just happy now if I see him on his birthday, let alone lavish him with luscious carrot cakes covered with sumptuous cream cheese icing.

They recently moved again, just further up Queen Street to more spacious quarters, so it seemed an ideal time to head inside for lunch.

A hungry Emily only leads to a hungry, cranky Emily.

Hungry Stephen's become miserable, headachy Stephens.

And I just needed to eat.

Falafel wraps with tzatziki for me and Stephen.

Club sandwich, no cheese, no tomato for Em.

Mmmmmmmm. . . . .

I strongly suggest you give them a try next time your downtown and feeling peckish.



Stephen and I took Em to work after lunch and then made the spontaneous decision to check out Jinglers.

A used clothing store on Prospect Street.

We go to Frenchies when we're in Oromocto.

Salvation Army store when we're downtown.

But we'd never been to Jinglers.

And of course I didn't have the camera with me.

Because only pictures could do justice to this nirvana of used clothing stores.

Located on the bottom floor, we opened the door and were immediately greeted with the largest piles of used clothing I've ever seen.

And it isn't a large space, not like Frenchies, but they have maximized what space they have.

There is barely room to negotiate around the piled-high-with-clothes tables.

Walls covered with scarves, purses and shoes, more clothes hanging up.

I've never been to a used clothing store that had so much in terms of plus sized clothing.

Because even though I've lost 81.2 pounds, I am still very much plus size.

Me and my ghetto bootie.

I actually didn't even manage to make a dent in the pile I was looking through.

Not a dent.

And next to the table piled high with t-shirts was the table piled equally high with shorts and capris.

Stephen was busy working his way through the men's section at the opposite end of the store, so I was blissfully left on my own to excavate the piles in search of things that would fit my slowly shrinking figure.

When we decided we should go, not because we were anywhere near finished, but because the invisible cord connecting us with our loyal canine companions was not-so-gently-tugging at us as we knew their need to pee was increasing exponentially, we checked out with the following items:

Me:
Two pairs of capris
A pair of shorts
Five t-shirts
Two blouses

Stephen:
Three polo shirts
One short sleeved cotton button down shirt (his favourite kind!)
Two sleep t-shirts.

All for the grand total of $46.10

Now THAT is what I call shopping.

The last time we were at the Salvation Army, we ran into someone we know, and she looked at us, shocked and amazed we were there, and said,

I can't believe YOU shop here.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

That just because I can, if I want to and usually I don't, put a Dr. in front of my name means I can't be a careful shopper?

Stephen and I have no money.

We have teenage, young adult dependents.

A husband completing an American doctorate.

Budget conscious is our real last name.

I admit.

I was insulted.

But I just smiled and said, why of course we do.

And really, if someone is constantly trying to stretch their dollars as far as they can go, why would they want to pay for overpriced clothing at the mall?

Even Em is intrigued.

We're going back Tuesday.

And this time, there will be no canine bladders calling to me.




To top off what ultimately resulted in being a no-work-all-play kind of day. . . .

. . .the kind of day we hadn't at all planned for at all. . .

. . .we spent a lovely evening with friends, eating great food, enjoying wonderful conversation along the banks of the Saint John River.

Every summer, my book club has a let's-get-together-with-our-husbands gathering.

Always at our friend, Wendy's house.

The last couple of years it was raining on our scheduled day, and we had to stay inside.

But last evening was glorious, and we were more than happy to be outside, gentle breeze blowing while the river softly lapped at the shore.

Smoked salmon. . .

. . .ribs so tender they fell off the bone, maple baked beans that most definitely did not feel like cement, cole slaw, potato salad, stuffed mushrooms, shrimp and pasta salad. . . .

Really, I should have taken more pictures, but I was simply too busy eating.

Although in the presence of such bounty, not eating like I hadn't seen food in six months was very difficult.

But I was the model of restraint.

I had to be.

Weigh in is Monday and there's still the weekend to get through.



Plus being along the river. . .

And other neat things . . .

We were joined briefly, by a group of ducks swimming lazily down the river, seemingly in no hurry to get anywhere. . .

This is as close as they'd let me get to them.

As well as some four legged friends. . .

Glorious flowers. . .

Overall, a lovely evening spent in good company.

Much needed in light of traversing the mall with mother this afternoon.

And that will have to wait until tomorrow.



Title Lyric: Down by The Riverside by Patsy Cline

I'm on the right track baby, I was born this way. . .

July 7, 2011

What have I been doing at the library all this time?

Reading.

A research study from 1933, looking at the affect of motion pictures on the criminal activities of adult and young offenders, male and female.

I am halfway through this book Movies, Crime and Delinquency, which is certainly very interesting.

Currently, I'm reading the chapter where female offenders discuss how films made them feel, in particular "love films" and how this lead to their delinquent or criminal activity.

All of which seem to centered around sex.

Yet another example of how women were punished for being sexual beings.

So I vacillate between "you're-kidding-right!!!!????" and "this-is-so-interesting!!!"

It's an exhausting place to be.






And yesterday was a bit more difficult than usual.

Typically, I LOVE my time at the library, and always lament its end.

Cool, quiet (at least most of the time), no computer directly in front of me, calling me, calling me to distractions I don't need.

Or want.

But yesterday I was tired.

Two venti cups of coffee didn't even help.

When normally they would have put me on the moon.

My concentration was off.

It took me forever to get through one chapter.

Common sense would dicate that I should go home and get some sleep.

But so far, common sense hasn't had much of an impact on what I do.






In addition, I have to read this so I can write a grant application for mega bucks to replicate/modify Blumer's research.

And it's due, in New York City, August 1st.

Lots and lots of formatting restrictions.

Time, as usual, is running out.

So I'm a bit panicked.

And, Emily had yesterday off.

About as rare as me waking up a millionaire.

When she has days off, she likes to do something.

With me.

I know.

I am flattered, believe me.

She had yesterday afternoon planned down to the last second.

Lunch at The Garrison.

Shopping, movie, shopping.

Dealing with an issue at work.

Oh if I could write about it.

You have no idea how hard it is to not write about it.

Em, however, would immediately become infused with such anger towards me that she'd morph into a female version of the Incredible Hulk and that'd be it for me.

Done for.

Shot to below the depths of hell in her esteem.

Not a place I want to be.

So, I have to keep my mouth shut, my thoughts to myself, and the words I want to write locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

But. . .

There is always a but.

I can say one thing.

Anyone, I don't care who you are, who thinks they can bully Emily at work, or anywhere, is most deluded.

Don't.

Seriously.






So, back to yesterday. . . .

Tired.

So tired.

And at the library at 8.00 am, in spite of not sleeping well the night before because I knew the afternoon was planned to the nth degree by my own personal entertainment director, Emily.

She did acqueise to me having a 30 minute nap prior to our shenanigans, but, knowing I had to be up and moving in 30 minutes prevented me from getting to that I-can-doze place.

Plus Frankie was licking himself beside my head.

Not a sound that welcomes sleep.

Fifteen minutes into my "nap" I gave up, got up, changed and we were off.

Lunch was good.

Shopping was tolerable.

Em was in search of a new bathing suit for our August trip to the beach.

In fact, she was excited.

I was not, simply because bathing suit shopping with Em has never been on the top of my list of things I want to when at the mall.

However, Em did brilliantly.

She knew what she wanted, where it was, and she was willing to pay for it.

So how could I have been do averse?

And, she looks stunning!

I really wish that Emily could see herself the way I see her.

Beautiful.

Funny.

Stunning.

Intelligent.

Gorgeous.

Brilliant.

(Ignore the poodle masquerading as hair on my head)

Instead of how she sees herself through the media saturated images of unrealistic looking young women gaze she has been inundated with.

At the corner of Queen and York, after we left the restaurant and we were waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street, a young man was giving Emily a very appreciative glance.

More appreciative than I was comfortable with, that's for sure.

In fact, he was lucky he had wheels and I was on foot, or there would be one blind young man in Fredericton today.

Once I poked his eyes out.

But Em merely said, he wasn't looking at me.

Oh.

Yes.

He.

Was.

I wish she could see herself the way I, and everyone else, sees her.






Movie?

Well, let's just say that seeing Monte Carlo with Selena Gomez was clearly, most definitely, shall always be considered an ultimate sign of just how much I love and adore Emily.

Because only love and adoration was stronger than the loathing and aversion I was experienced when Em informed me of what film we were seeing.

Parents really do things just because they love their children.

Really.






It has been so warm here.

So very warm.

Even the pets can't find much refuge and respite.

Goblet has resorted to drastic measures.

Hanging out in her travel crate.

Look at those teeth!

This is how she looks at me all the time.

Drives Frankie crazy because his access to her is limited.

I don't think she has a problem with that.

At all.






Today I'm going to try to work from home.

Partly because I want to begin leash training with Frankie.

Partly because both kids work tonight and it'd be nice to see them for longer than it takes to drive them to work.

Partly because I just want to be at home.

The only thing I've planned is the purchase of a fan for my mother's room.

I might have accidentally given hers to Meredyth by mistake.

I didn't think we had four fans, but, there are days I don't remember my own name, so I'm not completely reliable.

All I know is that Mum's room gets awfully warm, and while she doesn't notice it at all, in fact, she still gets her warm blanket every night, the rest of us certainly do.

Especially my father.

I'm surprised no one has called me about it.

He's coming in to see her today.

Meaning there'd better be a fan in her room before he gets there.




Title Lyric:  Born this Way by Lady Gaga