My nerves are fried. I am here in Florida with Grandma Scribbler and Little Scribbler.
One almost three year old. One eighty seven year old with severely diminished mental capacity. And one supervising adult clinging desperately to the end of a rapidly fraying rope! What Little Scribbler can’t reach (because I have purposefully placed it out of her grasp), Grandma Scribbler can. Grandma is more than happy to oblige Little Scribbler in her quest for scissors, medication and breakable china teacups. In return, Little Scribbler repays the kindness by stuffing Grandma’s shoes full of popcorn and half chewed up goldfish crackers.
I took them shopping to Grandma’s favorite department store. They walked in opposite directions. One of them had to pee. One of them did not have to pee and did not want to accompany us to the ladies room. One of them was hungry. The other didnt like the food brought to her by a very kindly and extremely patient waitress. They both made a huge mess at the table.
One of them wants to spend every waking moment swimming– the other, naturally, does not. Which ever one is forced into the undesirable activity sulks, and/or throws a temper tantrum. One of them is supposed to take pills three times a day. The other one broke into the pills and attempted to swallow them instead.
The first night Grandma Scribbler had trouble sleeping and woke up in the middle of the night. She sometimes tries to leave the house on her own in the middle of the night, so this necessitated me sleeping with one eye open. The second night, Little Scribbler had a nightmare and came wimpering to my bed at 2am, where she stayed, wide awake and babbling at me, until 330am.
You see where this is going? There is only one of me. There are two of them. I am outnumbered, and frazzled. In the last 72 hours I have had a total of 9 hours sleep.
Compound this with all the talk of death and dying and who is getting what in the will, and how much money everybody is worth, and I just want to scream! The death and dying talk is something I can sympathize with– I understand that at some point everybody faces their own mortality. Grandma Scribbler is dealing with a lot of emotions surrounding her illness, and her move to assisted living. I suspect she doesnt like to discuss this with just anybody, and so I’m happy to listen if she needs someone to do so. That being said, the discussion about inheritance and how much money is being left to who (because if you marry in, you apparently dont deserve as much) is driving me INSANE! It is HIDEOUS, and unfortunately, it is something she is completely fixated on today, so it has come up about 10 million times.
I thought I had enough patience to handle this situation gracefully. I underestimated how difficult it would be. Thankfully the Auditor In Shining Armor arrives on Saturday morning to assist. I have no idea how my dad has been doing this for the past six months, completely unassisted! I am feeling rather sheepish just thinking about it…I am a big fat crybaby.