I'll begin my story as if you already know the MIL Chronicles. You likely do. Soon enough they will all be here and you can catch up.
So MIL is on hospice. The hospice I used to work for. Her nurse is a lovely young woman and a terrific hospice nurse. She knows her stuff and makes MIL feel special every time she is in the house. That makes me happy and Big crazy. He likes to be the authority, you see and it aggravates that MIL can hear the same words from myself or Big and pay no attention nor retain the information but when the hospice nurse says it, it is GOSPEL. It is and that's fine. Even someone as nutty fruit cake as MIL deserves some happiness and light at the end. She has been on for 3 months. I didn't think she would be recertified but she did it! I'm grateful. MIL loves her nurse and the home hospice aide who comes to see her 3X a week and make sure she showers safely and gets dressed, fluffed and puffed has also won MIL's heart. I am grateful for this, too. I have seen what it looks like when MIL is not over the top crazy about someone. It's painful and makes me have violent thoughts. So we have 3 more months of this great care for her.
Big and I have taken much abuse lately about the fact that we don't do anything for her. That's her view, you see. Well we have had a few go rounds. I try to do what I can, but frankly with my travel schedule Big is reluctant to let me out of his site when I am home and he is home. I'm good with that, but every now and then I need to do more for MIL. More for me than for her. Even though she is a total PIA and not a nice person and would drive Christ himself insane, she's the only mother either of us have left so I do what family does and take care of family. My friend who does my nails says I am actually Asian based on the way I take care of my family. A compliment to be sure.
This weekend was one where I felt like I needed to help MIL a little. She has arthritis (she says artharitis) in her shoulders. She from way back thinks however, that pain means stop moving rather than move more to keep mobile. Hence being 5'5" and 250lbs. I do know that when she really hurts she doesn't make food for herself other than toast or applesauce or candy or chips or pretzels (all low sodium, dontcha know) and has nothing to eat all week in the way of left overs.
Friday - me working from home:
On Friday's I work from home. When I say I work from home I don't mean I am on the couch chilling and watching TV. I mean I work for a nationwide company and Friday is marathon call day and finish up reports day and any manner of things. It is not uncommon for me to be on the phone for a solid 7 hours on a Friday with various calls. I'm not exaggerating. Whilst on one of my many calls on Friday, MIL calls me. I send her to voicemail because...working.... I text Big and ask him to call her and see what she needs.
This does 2 things. #1 it pisses Big off because he tells her every week to leave me alone because I am working. #2 it pisses her off because she calls me to try to get me to do things that she can hide from Big. She isn't accustomed to he and I being married and actually speaking to each other.
This issue was, she was eating her 2nd ice cream bar with dark chocolate coating, she dropped chocolate on the dining room throw rug. (you should know at this point that she only eats dark chocolate because it's good for you..."they" say it's good for you) This was an emergency and she wanted me to come over right away to get it out. Um, no. Because...working. Big's text message back to me went something like don't you dare go over there.
He did tell her earlier in the day to make her grocery list so I could go shopping for her when I finished working. She was put out by this request as she didn't feel like it. Isn't that sad? So anyway, Big told her I would be there between 5p and 6p depending on when I finished working. Between. He said Between. Remember that, it'll have meaning in a couple of sentences.
My marathon call day continues until around 5:45p. As I get off the last call Big texts me and says call me before you go to mother's. So I do.
Big: Do you know what that lunatic is doing?
Me: Nope...because...working.
Big: I told her between 5 and 6, right?
Me: Yes
Big: Well she called me at 10 minutes after 5 wanting to know when you were coming over because she is waiting for you downstairs.
Me: So that's unfortunate.
Big: I just checked on her on the camera. She is sitting in her chairlift with her hands flying and losing her f'ing mind bitching at something real or imagined. She's pissed you aren't there.
Me: Know what's interesting? She never says anything to me when I go over there. She only bitches about me to you.
I go over and she's a little on edge, but fine. I go grocery shopping and come back. I am weighed down like a pack mule because I don't want to have to take the cart back to the store. We live right behind the store and I walk to get groceries. Every time - I'm saying EVERY TIME she says, "Deb why didn't you bring the cart and just come in through the garage? You shouldn't be carrying all that stuff! You'll get artharitis in your shoulders like me and not be able to move them." Every time - I'm saying EVERY TIME I say, "No the way to not get stiff and cease up is to KEEP moving and KEEP lifting." And I am too lazy to take the cart back. There is that.
After the groceries are put away and she bitches about how much of this I got or how much of that I got (potato chips that are low sodium are this week's burr under her saddle. She asked for two bags. I got three because the last time I got her these chips she had blown through a bag by Sunday night) she has me come over to see the chocolate on the rug. She proceeds to tell me that it must have happened the day before. Yet, she needed me to come over at 11:30am immediately to get it off the rug. Uh huh. I tell her I will be back on Saturday to get it out with my little steam cleaner. I also offer to cook for her for the week. She graciously accepts my offer.
Saturday I go over around 1pm and cook for a solid 3 hours. 2 pasta dishes (she's diabetic but doesn't know what carbs are and their effect is, despite my telling her so I make pasta. My blood sugar is fine) 20 cookies, 3 hard boiled eggs and clean the kitchen. THEN I rev up the steam cleaner to clean the rug. She tells me why don't you just come back tomorrow and do the rug. This is code for I am tired of sitting down here and want to go up to my recliner that I live in. I tell her to go on up, I won't be insulted but that I want to get it done. As soon as she is upstairs I open the back door to the garage, prop it open and allow some cool air to come in. It's hotter than hell in the joint. Old people hot coupled with cooking hot and I'm melting. I make her the cup of juice she has in the afternoon. It's diluted with water so it's not so sweet, says she. It's really so it will last longer because she is as tight as the bark on a tree! It's grape juice. Remember that. It'll be important later. I finish and go home.
It's nail night. Every two weeks Big and I go and get pedicures, he gets a manicure and I have my nails done. It's relaxing. Don't tell anyone, Big doesn't want his friends to know. Anyway, we finish some things at home and go out to run a couple of errands and head to the nail shop. At this point I am thinking MIL is all set. She has plenty of food, plenty of milk, plenty of snacks. Now we can decompress!
I sit in my pedicure chair. My friend puts the little tin foilies on my nails to take off the polish and commence relaxing. My phone rings. The ring tone is the Scarecrow...you know the one, from that famous film about the chick from Kansas who wants to get back home and wears all the sparkles on her shoes? That's MIL's ringtone. So anyway, picking up the phone in the little foilies is hard. Answering it is harder. As soon as it starts to ring, Big looks over and says Oh COME ON, seriously?? Yes. I finally manage to pick it up:
MIL: Deb?
Me: (thinking that is who you were calling) Hi Dena
MIL: (whimpering) Oh Deb, I spilled my juice (now full blown crying) I'm so sorry!
Me: the grape juice? On the carpet? (the carpet is WHITE)
MIL: yes!
Me: Ok, well I am out running some errands right now but I will be over when I get home to clean it up.
MIL: ok, thank you. I'm so sorry. You just worked all day for me and now you need to come back.
Me: it's ok
Now I tell Big this issue:
Me: Grape juice. Spilled. On the carpet in her sitting room
Big: She has to eat and drink up stairs...has to. Can't leave it downstairs.
Me: No she can't. She doesn't want to. She is 82 and will be dead soon and wherever she wants to eat she should eat. That said...M..F! I just cleaned and dried the steam cleaner! Fuck. Now I have to get it allllllll out again.
Big: will it come out?
Me: Grape juice? Hell no it won't.
I am finishing up my nails and tell him to google how to get it out. 2 cups water to 1 tbsp of ammonia, says Dr. Google. Ok...I'll try it. First we go back to Walgreens that we have already been to TWICE today to buy her 2 cups to put juice in. Ones that actually shut. Ones that aren't going to have a stupid straw. Because she will still drink upstairs.
The stain was a big area. White carpet. I said that, right? White. Because she likes things bright. And never opens the blinds. I digress, yes white carpet. I start with the steam cleaner. Zero results. So I mix up the ammonia concoction and commence to soak it down as Dr. Google suggests. The chemical reaction turns the purple juice to blue and THEN it actually starts to come out of the carpet!!! Miracle. That's what that is. I clean it and ammonia it and clean it and ammonia it a few times. I got damned near all of it up. Seriously, call me Heloise because this tip is the shit!
I then make the decision that the steam cleaner should probably just stay at her house. I feel like it gets most of it's use there. Big, of course, never missing an opportunity, tells her on the phone later this is the reason the dog can't come over anymore. She drops things that are not good for him and can't pick them up. She just thinks Big is being an ass. Matters not, the dog isn't going over there.
Now we are alllll finished with the second stained carpet. She gets choked up...but don't worry because she has an internal switch where she can turn tears off and on like a LIGHT SWITCH and asks me how can she ever repay me. The answer on the tip of my tongue is held back and I just say oh stop it you don't owe me anything.
And then I went home. Luckily home is across the sidewalk. As I told Big when we decided to move her here...it's gonna be a PIA, I don't want it to be a PIA with a 45 minute commute in each direction.
Another relaxing weekend in the books. The End.
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