Parade of Spaz Part Deux

There is a special place in heaven for my sibling. I am not sure what was said to the parental unit, but some minor behavioral adjustments have come to light in the two days she has been returned to my care taking.

We geared up for a whole new Parade of Spaz yesterday, but there were a couple of surprising substitutions that made it almost tolerable. I was still the designated pack animal of the O2 concentrator, but this time, no stupid little luggage cart. So I am guessing my charming sister in her reasonable sweet way convinced my mother to leave it alone. YAY.  I still got to walk behind her like a child on a leash from a parent, but no chance of taking out heels or it falling unless I had a stroke out of the blue and lost use of my arm. The second shock was when we got to the car, and my parent climbed into the back seat. It has been YEARS since I sat next to my spouse in the car when we are going some place if all three of us are in the car. I can't explain why that would annoy me beyond the fact that there was no thought behind it, "Perhaps my daughter would like to sit next to her husband." NOPE. So again, total shock, and momentary lapse of speech. <BF>

The journey to Supermarket Sweep on a Saturday had me filled with dread. We get there, and of course, there are no little electric carts to be had, so I leave her standing in the entrance while I go to scan the parking lot for a riding cart for her, or as I like to call it, the Cart-O-Terror. The spouse has taken the car and parked, and we are about to meet up and do more looking when low and behold a woman ON one asks my husband if he can help her put some items in her car. Of course he can, and I am going to take the COT when you are in your vehicle and make the parental unit happy.

I cannot be rude to a person that is sweet and kind (and she was elderly, and not that you can tell from these rants but I have a soft spot for elderly folks). This woman was those in notarized triplicate. So the spouse takes off in this COT and leaves me to speak with this kind woman. I got the impression she was lonely and just wanted to chat the day away. I hated to say goodbye, but I had the parental unit radar going and she was getting peeved, I could FEEL IT.

I got a promise when I walked into the store that we were not going to be doing the "Fetch" thing again, which was promptly negated 10 feet later when she saw something she HAD TO HAVE and I was sent to retrieve it to the cart. Yep. By the time we were done, I was aching and cranky. And she was tired from all of that pointing.

What I learned about myself from this last little break is not that the parent is a PITA which I already knew, but that I really have to figure out a new way of dealing with her. She is old. She is not in the best of health and will not be here forever. So I really have to get my crap together and deal.

I am sure I will rant it out on here about her some more. But I am trying to be a better child. Even if this child is 43, I will always be her baby and she is always going to be crazy. I need a plan!



Comments

  1. I think whatever happened at the sibling's house, it should happen more often. Perhaps more weekenders there, where the sibling can ever-so-sweetly as only-as-she-can drive home little behavior tweaks for your mom. Sounds like the weekend away DID manage to elicit some change on her (PITA) end. Perhaps.

    I don't think it's so much that you have to deal; I dare say it's the other way around. You're the one who is aware of how finite your time with PITA is. You provide her a home and care for her. She is the one who sorely lacks awareness or appreciation of that.

    Granted, there is something to be said about changing how you respond, to prevent things from spiraling out of control. She does what she does, your knee jerk reaction ensues (because let's face it, 40+ years of cultivating that very type of response will do that to a person, then she responds by upping the ante. Do what I do, at work or with family members who attempt to push my buttons. Externally put out a flat affect. As emotionless of a face as you can muster. Make yourself as scarce as possible (even if it's a few minutes at a time). Limits. Limits. Limits.

    But yeah, it's not you. It's her. She needs to step up. As you've said she's got all her marbles. At least if she had dementia, you could think about you changing your ways.

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