Elizabeth goes to the allergy/asthma specialist once a year. LAST year, after I made her appointment, I noticed they had a way to make appointments ONLINE. There was a big sign up on the wall about it. I couldn’t believe I’d used the phone like a SUCKER, and was very excited to use the new system the NEXT year.

So this year, first I stressed about needing to call to make the appointment. THEN I remembered the online option! I logged in to my account. I clicked “Make an appointment online!” I selected our preferred doctor. I filled out a form selecting a best day of the week, second-best, etc., along with times. I filled out the free-answer area, saying I actually had even more days/times we could do, and clarifying what those were. I added a comment saying that I was so happy they had online appointment-booking now, because I always got flustered trying to make appointments on the phone. Last, I selected “email” from the area that asked if I wanted my appointment time sent to me by phone or email.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, my phone rang. I let the machine get it. It was the receptionist at the allergy/asthma place. She said she’d received my online-appointment form, and they could totally set up an appointment for me, just call her back at the office number.

Imagine my face. Imagine it.

Here are my two choices for making an appointment, apparently:

1. Call the office and make an appointment.

2. Log into my online account, fill out a form with all our available days/times, select our doctor, specify that I would like to be contacted by email, and then call the office and make an appointment.

WHY IS THE FORM EVEN THERE. WHY.

We’re going to be staying at someone else’s house for a couple of days. All of us. I’m looking for some activities to keep children Busy and Good. Last year, this was a huge hit for Elizabeth and her girl-cousin:

(image from Amazon.com)

Melissa and Doug Jewelry and Nails Sticker Pack. I think I am just going to go ahead and bring that same thing again, along with the Sweets and Treats pad that was so successful on another trip:

(image from Amazon.com)

I wanted to decorate cookies and cupcakes MYSELF. And fine, I’ll get this faces one, too, even though I personally dislike this kind of thing (I don’t know how to put a finger on what “this kind of thing” is—maybe “making things ugly on purpose, in a giddy way”?):

(image from Amazon.com)

Some of the children LOVE this kind of thing.

I’m also buying another Garfield book:

(image from Amazon.com)

All three younger children will read it at least one time each on the trip alone, and then many more times over the following years—if previous purchases are any indication.

And the next book in each of the two self-published Minecraft series the kids like:

(image from Amazon.com)

Diary of a Minecraft Zombie, Book 4. Have low expectations, is my suggestion if you buy any of this series. Though it will look GREAT if you’re accidentally fooled into buying the look-alike series by Alex Brian: it’s astonishingly bad, like a third grader wrote it on the computer at home and printed it out, and a proud but dim parent failed to figure out the self-publishing options that would make it look like a book (page numbers, cover art that isn’t surrounded by extra-book-cover margins, normal font size, etc.). The Herobrine Books ones should be more like $2.99-3.99 instead of $6.99, but at least they look like real books.

(image from Amazon.com)

Confronting the Dragon: Book 3 in the Gameknight 999 Series. Again, I suggest low expectations. And I wouldn’t buy it if you’ll have to read it aloud. And this should be $5.99-6.99 instead of $9.25.

I realize I’m not exactly SELLING these. And yet, notice how many of these I have bought already, despite disliking them. This says SOMETHING.

Target has in the Dollar Section (but for $3) some 8-packs of 8×8-inch blank paperback books (all those eights are pretty satisfying, and then each book has 8 sheets of paper in it). These are not the same thing, and much more expensive, but similar enough if you can’t picture what I’m talking about:

(image from Amazon.com)

I bought a pack, and a new box of 64 crayons on sale at Target for $2. If I go back to Target and they still have the blank books, I’m going to buy a second pack of them; I was a little uncertain when I bought them, but then Paul reacted VERY FAVORABLY to the purchase and it made me sorry I hadn’t bought more! Also I want to buy some colored pencils.

We’re bringing a couple of games with us:

(image from Amazon.com)

Whoonu, which I see I bought in 2007, for $4.50, on some sort of Christmas special. Do not pay $76, as it is now ludicrously listed for. See if Goodwill has it for 99 cents. Or you might find it at a yard sale. It’s a super-simple game, but I find it really fun. The gist is that each person (except the person who is “It”) has, say, four cards, and they say things such as “t-shirts,” “popcorn,” “detective movies,” and “balloons” (or “sky-diving,” “crafts,” “root beer,” and “restaurants”). You have to guess which of those four things the person who is “It” would like best—even if as far as you know, that person has never tried some of those things, or even if the person dislikes ALL FOUR things. Everyone else is doing the same with their cards. Then the person who is “It” has to put everyone’s guesses in order, and you get points based on how high your choice was ranked. It’s quite fun, I think, and it goes quickly, and it’s a good one for kids and adults to play together.

(image from Amazon.com)

Munchkin. This game appeals to me ZERO, and also it takes a couple of hours to play. PASS. But Paul and the kids love it. Paul says it’s like a silly version of Dungeons & Dragons, for children. I find SOME of the game terms A Little Inappropriate, but most of them seem to go right over the younger kids’ heads (and the older kids LOVE it, and feel super sophisticated).

Would you think it possible that there would be a disagreement on Facebook about whether a SPAM ACCOUNT should be allowed to stay in a group? I know people can fight about nearly anything, but I would not have expected that one. And yet here we are. I’m in a Facebook group for residents of my town; there are some “members” that are not in fact people but are actually those revolting fake accounts that post nasty links; and when I suggested the administrator remove those fake accounts from the group, a man explained to me that “all I had to do” was “just” block the account, and then I wouldn’t have to see the links. THANK YOU OH WISE ONE. Yes, yes I DO realize I can make those fake accounts invisible to me, and that each and every one of the members of our group can do the same! But does it not make MORE SENSE to REMOVE THE FAKE ACCOUNTS from the group in which they DO NOT BELONG? JEEpers. So now people (including me) are arguing about it.

Anyway, I started out a little riled up, because I just finished this book:

(screen shot from Amazon.com)

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, by Maggie O’Farrell. I almost didn’t check it out, because the cover of the hardcover version, which is what my library has, did not look promising. But the author had several books on the shelf, and that meant that if I liked THIS book I’d have more books to try, and I was having one of those library trips where nothing looks good, and the plot sounded okay, so I took it.

I was annoyed for about the first 30-40 pages, because I dislike scrambling to figure out what on EARTH is going on. But the writing quality seemed good, so I gave it 50 pages—and by then I was starting to get my footing, and wasn’t annoyed anymore, and was only feeling the pleasant suspenseful feeling that makes me want to get back to a book when I’m away from it.

There are a lot of ISSUES in this book. That is, some people find certain issues upsetting, and this book contains an unusual number of access points for those upsetting feelings. But it isn’t the kind of book where I can warn you without spoiling the plot. I suppose if there are certain subjects that, if you were to encounter them in a book, you’d experience trauma, it would be better not to risk this book—or to find a spoiler online that can tell you more about it. Or you can email me and say “Does it deal with THIS subject?”

I was not so upset by anything that I wished I hadn’t read it. I found the issues upsetting, but not traumatizing—and interesting enough to be worth the upset. I had a particular interest in the character who saw things through an Alzheimer’s lens: it gave me more insight into some of my clients.

I wish there had been MORE of it. That is, I would LOVE a sequel. I also wish the ending had been a little different. But I definitely want to read more by this author. (Especially if there were a sequel.)

I’m so sick of writing about work, I don’t even want a post about work at the top of the blog right now. Let’s talk about something else. ANYTHING else. And ideally something where it’s not just me talking, and the only thing for anyone else to say is Something Supportive, do you know what I mean? Like when someone is on new diet or fitness program or has a new baby (OR HAS A NEW JOB) and they blog ONLY ABOUT THAT, and how many times can you write something supportive about it without feeling like you could just cut-and-paste your comment? You guys have been so kind as I obsess and adjust and agitate, and I can’t say I’m going to stop doing it, but at least I can write about ANYTHING ELSE once in awhile.

A list I keep meaning to make is “Things I Miss About Summer/Winter When It Is Winter/Summer.” So that I can use it in the OPPOSITE season: that is, so that in summer, when I am missing things about winter, I can look at the list I made in the wintertime and remember what’s good about summer.

I know ONE thing I miss about summer when it’s winter is the ability to just walk out the door without boots, jackets, etc. I also miss the feel of air conditioning, which is totally different than winter-chilliness and which I love. I know some people hate the feeling of air conditioning, but I find it delightful. So cool and dry, like the exact opposite of hot and sweaty! I also like having the windows open, especially when it’s hot in the daytime and surprisingly chilly at night. I like the feeling of all that FREE air-conditioning coming into the house and starting us nice and low at the beginning of the day, so that we’re even a little shivery. And I miss eating ice cream: I realize it CAN be eaten in winter, but what happens all winter is that I think I don’t really LIKE ice cream anymore. Then it’s summer again and I realize I DO like it.

But right now I’m mostly noticing the pissy things about summer. Like, we have a LOT of motorcycles that ROAR past our house: we happen to live right at a good roaring place. I can try to empathize about how nice it must feel to…—but that’s as far as I get before I end the sentence with uncharitable things such as “…deafen/annoy the whole neighborhood just because you think it sounds rad.”

And the bugs. THE BUGS. They are nuts. Why bugs. Why.

And I hate sweating and being hot. Haaaaaaaaaaate it.

And I hate sandals, and I hate dusty feet, but I also hate how it looks when I wear sneakers with short pants / long shorts / I don’t know what to call this length but it’s below the knee and above the ankle. I hate having to shave my legs so much. I don’t like skimpy clothes.

The expense of the air-conditioning. That deserves a mention.

Having the kids home is not as oppressive as it used to be, AT ALL. And there are upsides to having them home, like not having to deal with homework and catching the bus and other school stuff. But. I’m still putting them on the list, Grinchily, with that wrinkled-face headachey look about the noise noise noise noise NOISE. And they want ice cream, too, so everything is always sticky.

Going to the grocery store when it’s hot. Dragging everything to and then from the car when it’s so hot out, and everything is melting.

Taking the kids to swimming lessons and BAKING outside while they splash and shiver and then they don’t want the air conditioner on in the car and I’m DYING OF HEAT.

Something good happened, something I wanted to tell you, and now I can’t remember what it was. Honestly, my mind is like a butterf—OH! I remembered! It was that someone asked me what I did, and I had an answer other than “I’m home with the kids.” That question, with its “home with the kids” answer, was one of my many reasons for GETTING this job. Whatever I personally think of the job of stay-at-home motherhood, it’s an instant conversation killer.

Saying “I do in-home elder care” is AWESOME. Everyone wants to talk about it. EVERYONE! They want to know what sorts of things I do, and they often have a reason for asking, such as aging parents/grandparents. People ask if insurance covers it, if we do hospice care, if I, like, have to, you know…change diapers.

And it seems to give a very positive impression—like if I said I was a teacher, or a nurse: it strikes people as A Good Thing To Do.

And it’s something that even if people don’t know precisely what I do, they get the GIST of it right away, so can immediately make comments and ask questions. It isn’t like “I’m an accounts receivable clerk” or “I’m an HR analyst,” where people aren’t even sure enough to ask a starter question or make a starter remark. It’s the sort of job people are aware of, and may have wondered about.

It has been so pleasing to be asked, and to have a good answer, that it seriously enters into my decision-making process about whether to keep the job.

I am having a day where I don’t think I can keep the job. I woke up at 3:00 and couldn’t get back to sleep, lying there hating everything about my job one detail at a time. The physical care (I CAN do showers and wiping, but I dread it), the housework and cooking (I don’t like those activities even in my own house doing them my own way), the constant shift-filling emergencies and the implication that we’re all expected to “do our share” of extra work, the heat, the dealing with so many new unknown situations that take so long to get familiar, the confusing out-of-date paperwork (so that I go in expecting a client who is new to us and still has trouble accepting care, and I find someone we’ve been helping for three years—with two large barking dogs who weren’t mentioned).

But then I think about how when I wasn’t working, I was seriously starting to go crazy. I don’t want to go back to that either.

So then I think, well, I’ll have a job, but a DIFFERENT job! But this was the only job I thought of that seemed worth the sacrifices and inconveniences. I didn’t think of ANY OTHER good possibility, not in literally YEARS of thinking about it and talking about it.

I feel stuck. But I also felt stuck before. But before, at least I didn’t feel so agitated. And I didn’t have so much trouble figuring out how to manage the schedule.

And when I LEAVE a shift, I often feel pretty GOOD. That is, the anticipation is the worst part. Once I’m there, working, I sometimes feel agitation/horror, but something I think it’s going fine. I have two clients I’ve been to repeatedly by now, and when I’m working in their houses I usually feel pretty okay, and sometimes even feel relaxed and competent with only periodic feelings of agitation/horror. One of the two clients is exactly what I had in mind when I took the job: very little physical care, quite a bit of reading aloud, helping to write letters, finding things that are lost. But even that one makes me upset. Sometimes I can’t understand what she’s saying: her medications make her a little confused sometimes, and she’ll call a dustpan a hairbrush and be upset that I can’t find it. And the thought of them asking me to do one of the bedbath shifts makes me feel like running away.

I’m getting quite a bit of comfort from the thought that a decision doesn’t have to be made right away. My inclination is to make the decision and get it over with, but there’s no need for that: it can wait. Doing one more shift doesn’t mean I can’t quit after that.

Here are some ways in which experience in caring for people who are children can be helpful/applicable when caring for people who are elderly:

• noticing when someone is cranky and snappish because they’re tired and/or hungry and/or in pain, and not responding the same as to regular crankiness/snappishness

• the “two choices” method, saying secondly the one YOU’D prefer they choose

• pee and poop are not particularly surprising or upsetting

• messes related to eating and bathrooming are not particularly surprising or upsetting

Here are some ways in which experience with children doesn’t help/apply, or can even work against the caregiver:

• babies and small children are generally not self-conscious; adults generally are

• tone of voice: I find if I’m doing Care Activities, my Mom Voice (which until now has always been appropriate when I’m doing care) can click in automatically

• things that are supportive and cheerful to say to children (“Good job!” “You did it!”) can sound patronizing/infantilizing when said to an adult—but it’s hard to know what to say instead

• I find it easy to give instructions to a child, harder to give instructions to an adult

Here are some ways in which experience caring for people who are elderly can be helpful/applicable when going back home and caring for people who are children:

• it’s common for people to like to get a say in how they’re cared for

• people’s preferences can be respected even if they can’t be honored: that is, if someone wants something they can’t have, or wants to do something they can’t do, ideally there can be a regretful explanation rather than a brusque dismissal

• it’s common for people to like to feel included—in the conversation, in the plan, in any incoming news/information

• with physical care, there can be a fine line between “efficient” and “brusque”

I talked about this a little back in March, when I wrote about the COST of having wisdom teeth removed, which varies widely. That was a post where the comments were too different to be helpful: they ranged so VIGOROUSLY. “Absolutely under no circumstances should you get general anesthesia!”/”Absolutely under no circumstances should you skip general anesthesia!” “DEFINITELY go to an oral surgeon!”/”DEFINITELY don’t go to an oral surgeon!” “It was EASY!!”/”It was HELLISH!!”

There was some hand-wringing, and then I decided to stay the course: we were going to go with an oral surgeon because that’s what our dentist said to do (he didn’t give us the option of having it done in the dentist’s office, so maybe he’s not that kind of dentist or maybe these wisdom teeth were in a position where only an oral surgeon could handle them), and we were going to go with the general anesthesia because that’s what the oral surgeon recommended for children and it’s what Rob preferred (and it was $400, which seemed reasonable). If any of those were the wrong decision, I took heart in knowing there was no way to predict what the right decision WAS, considering the unusually oppositional opinions on the subject.

The widely-varying opinions is one way to know you’re in a situation where EXPERIENCES vary widely. So I am going to tell Rob’s experience, Rob being a 16-year-old having four wisdom teeth removed (two sideways/impacted, two normal/emerging), by an oral surgeon (rather than a dentist), at an office visit (rather than a hospital), and using general anesthesia (rather than only novocaine and/or laughing gas)—but it’s to add to the assortment of stories, not to try to predict how anyone else’s experience will go.

Rob was scheduled for 10:30, so they asked us to arrive at 10:10. Rob was supposed to eat/drink nothing after bedtime the night before, and they told him to wear comfortable pajama-like clothing and secure shoes (i.e. no flip-flops or sandals). We paid in full when we checked in at the desk. At about 10:20, an assistant called him in and gave him four pills to swallow. Rob said she told him what they were, but he didn’t remember. “Antibiotic?,” I asked, when he returned to the waiting room. “Sedative? Painkiller?” “Those sound like the sort of thing,” he said, unhelpfully. Later the discharge nurse mentioned that he was given an antibiotic among those pills, so we have confirmation on that at least.

After maybe ten more minutes in the waiting room, they had us both come in. I re-initialed some papers I’d signed before, because it had been awhile since I signed them the first time. They had Rob sit in the chair, and an assistant walked me back to the waiting room. They said they’d call me in when he was in Recovery.

I’d brought a bucket with me, because my OWN wisdom teeth experience was general anesthesia, followed by feeling horrible and having a hard time waking up and spending a couple of hours in the hospital before I could stand up, followed by barfing. But the oral surgeon said, “We use very different drugs now than we did back then,” so I had high hopes. (These were justified.) (And explained why so many staff members gently teased me about the bucket.)

About 45 minutes later (the surgery itself was estimated to take 30, but they still needed to place the IV, and also they let him wake up a bit before calling me in), they came to get me. Rob was sitting upright in a comfy chair, looking very intently at the wall. His mouth was stuffed with gauze. I was glad I’d remembered to warn him about that: when I woke up after having my wisdom teeth out, I didn’t realize I had gauze in my mouth and thought that WAS the inside of my mouth. Gross.

The discharge nurse told me everything had gone well, and then started going over the instructions that were on a printout. She also gave us a prescription for acetaminophen/hydrocodone. She showed me how to change the gauze. Periodically Rob would lean forward to look more closely at the wall, and the nurse would say, “Just sit back and relax,” and he would obey for a few minutes. Rob, peering at the wall even more intently: “Are there TWO machines on that wall? or one?” (It was one.) Or, patting at the IV on the back of his hand and fluffing the tubing: “What…IS…this?” He was a little loopy.

The nurse told me to go bring the car around to the front, and she would meet me there with Rob. I drove it around, then waited long enough that I went mentally through half a dozen scenarios where I would be the idiot for waiting there. (“Er, no…I meant, come back inside after you moved the car.” “Er, that is not the front entrance.” “Er, you still have to sign him out.”) Rob told me afterward that the nurse used a wheelchair with him right to the door of the building, and then he stood up and walked. “Were you…supposed to?,” I asked. He didn’t know; he said he just HAD. When I saw the two of them, she was walking alongside him and didn’t look alarmed, so that was probably how it was supposed to go.

I drove him home, and he gradually became more and more with-it. “I’m feeling clearer now,” he’d say, or “I’m not seeing double anymore.” By the time we got home (about a half-hour drive), he was pretty normal, though he was a little shaky/weavy walking into the house. I settled him onto the couch and read the print-out, which I hadn’t really processed when the nurse was telling it to me.

The first thing to do was the gauze. I was supposed to take it out as soon as we got home, and determine if it was red or pink. If pink, he could be done with gauze. If red, put more gauze in. Repeat every 30 minutes. I think I did three or four gauze changes—so by the time we’d been home an hour and a half or two hours, he was done with gauze. I’d thought “Huh. This is going to be kind of INVOLVED,” but then it wasn’t so bad.

He was also supposed to put ice packs on his cheeks for 20 minutes out of each hour, so we were doing that at the same time. Right after changing the gauze, I went to a nearby pharmacy and got the prescription filled, then hurried back home just in time for the next gauze change.

The nurse told us he should take 800 mg of ibuprofen (i.e., four regular 200 mg tablets), with food, as soon as we got home, during a gauze change. But his mouth was so numb, he couldn’t manage it: he couldn’t eat or drink or tell if the pill was in his mouth. After a couple of hours, with him still feeling totally numb and me getting increasingly concerned that we weren’t following the instructions, I had him drink an Ensure and take the pills ANYWAY, just holding a washcloth under his chin to catch any Ensure that dribbled out (not as much as we’d both feared). If I’d realized it would still be this way 2 hours later, I would have had him do it right away instead.

The oral surgeon’s assistant called to check on us around this time, so I asked her if it was normal for him to still be so numb; the paperwork hadn’t said anything about it. “Oh, YES,” she said. “It should be wearing off on the top half of his jaw by now, but he won’t start to feel anything on the bottom for at LEAST a couple more hours. It could easily still be numb until after dinner.” Well. Good. I’d been fretting that he had permanent nerve damage.

Two hours after the ibuprofen, he was supposed to take his first acetaminophen/hydrocodone, so he had it with a little bowl of pudding and some sips of water. I was hoping it wouldn’t make him queasy, and it didn’t. I’d been hoping it would make him amusingly loopy, but it didn’t.

We continued the ice packs. I kept setting my phone alarm for 20 minutes (on) and 40 minutes (off). The nurse told us that the swelling would likely be worst on Day 3, but if we were diligent about the ice packs it wouldn’t be nearly as bad. I went back to thinking “This is KIND OF INVOLVED.”

For dinner I made him mashed potatoes and some applesauce. He was feeling pretty good: up and around as normal, except for toting around the ice packs. I think he was only on the couch for the first 2-3 hours we were home.

He had another dose of acetaminophen/hydrocodone (every-4-hours dosing) and another dose of ibuprofen (every-8-hours dosing) during the evening; I had him stay up a bit later than usual so he could have a last dose before going to bed. And that was the end of Day 1: The Day of Surgery.

In the morning of Day 2 I was inclined to wake him so he could get right back to painkillers/anti-inflammatories and ice packs, but he wanted to sleep so I let him. He got up around 10:00 and we started right back in on the routine. First some food (the nurse said not to take any painkillers on an empty stomach). Then the ibuprofen. Then the ice. Then two hours after the ibuprofen, the acetaminophen/hydrocodone. He said he wasn’t having hardly any pain at all, so we considered skipping the acetaminophen/hydrocodone, since that one was “as needed”; the ibuprofen is anti-inflammatory as well as painkilling, so the nurse said to continue giving it to him for three days whether he had pain or not. We decided to give him one more dose of the acetaminophen/hydrocodone just in case, then do REALLY “as needed” from then on.

For lunch he had soup, the Lipton chicken noodle kind you don’t even have to chew. For dinner I made pasta, and he also had some applesauce and some ice cream. He continued to do the ice packs for 20 minutes out of every 60. He continued not to have much pain or swelling, so we didn’t do any more acetaminophen/hydrocodone. Another dose of ibuprofen, and that was it for Day 2.

Day 3 was even better. He did take a dose of the acetaminophen/hydrocodone early on, because he was having some more pain when he woke up, but not a second dose, and I get the feeling he didn’t really need it but just enjoyed the drama of taking it. He continued to take the ibuprofen: the nurse said he should continue to take it for inflammation even if he didn’t need it for pain. I made pasta for dinner again. He was getting tired of pasta and yogurt and Ensure and applesauce.

The paperwork said he should start rinsing with salt water after eating and before bed. He DID do it a couple of times, but I don’t think he did it as much as he was supposed to. I reminded him that he was supposed to brush, but not too far back in his mouth. (You’re supposed to avoid disturbing the…sorry, I’m just going to use the word they used: …clots.)

At the 48-hours-past-surgery point, we were suppose to stop using ice (to prevent swelling) and start using heat (to reduce swelling). I had a plug-in heating pad, so we used that. He looked quite silly holding it to his face. The paperwork said that the swelling would peak on Day 3, but there was only a faint swelling on one side. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t known to look for it.

Day 3 was the first time he asked me if he was supposed to be wearing his nighttime retainers, and I didn’t know. I said, “Er…try it, and if they don’t hurt, wear them.” He said they didn’t hurt, so he wore them.

Day 4 was basically normal. He kept taking ibuprofen as instructed, no more acetaminophen/hydrocodone. We had tacos for dinner, and I told him he had to have soft shells, no chips or crunchy shells, because the paperwork warned against that kind of thing. He protested a little but not much. He rinsed a couple of times.

Day 5 was even more normal. He went down to a normal dose of ibuprofen at normal intervals (i.e., 2 tablets every 4-6 hours). He had nachos. He rinsed, maybe, I don’t know, probably not. I pretty much stopped thinking of it, except that I had to write something for this post.

I have been feeling a little overwhelmed. The new job continues to take up about 75% of my mental processing power, even when I’m not working that day. Edward needed a TB test, and I forgot to bring him back to have it checked; I NEVER forget appointments, and was mortified even though the nurses were nice about it—and of course, it meant he had to have the test done again. And then the cat’s paw got infected, and now I have to force medicine down his throat twice a day, and use a special cat litter, and remember to soak his paw. And then Rob got his wisdom teeth out and needs ice packs on/off every 20/40 minutes, and two different medicines every 4/8 hours, and it’s hard to find foods he can eat. And at Edward’s annual check-up, the doctor said we should actively work on getting his weight up, so I have to keep that in mind and make changes to what he eats. And I’m trying to exercise more and practice good body mechanics so I’ll be stronger and less likely to get hurt at work. And Paul is taking two of the kids on a 5-day vacation, so laundry and shopping and various other preparations need to be done for that. And there are still swimming lessons and so forth, and now we’re out of milk.

I’m reading books on Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s and so forth, which is helpful for my job but I think it makes my mind even more agitated.

Periodically I panic and think “I SHOULD QUIT THE JOB. THIS ISN’T WORKING. I NEED TO QUIT. I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.” But then I’ll have a really good shift with someone and feel good about the whole entire thing and start having fantasies about eventually being The Best Caregiver Who Ever Gave Care, and I’ll remember how BEFORE I got the job I was pulling my hair out and thinking “I NEED MORE TO DO. I NEED SATISFYING, USEFUL WORK.” I’m sticking with it until the wild swinging back and forth settles down a bit. It’s only been a month.

Plus, this is SUMMER. Summer is ALWAYS overwhelming. The children are talking to me ALL THE TIME; my ears are SO FULL, and I’m SO DISTRACTED. I start to think a thought, and then I get interrupted, and then I can’t remember what it was I was thinking. The error here was in getting the job at the very beginning of summer. On the other hand, that’s part of why I got the job: they were hiring because of all the employees who can’t work as much during the summer because the kids are home.

You know what one of the worst parts has been? Older people tend to be chilly, so their houses tend to be hot. And I tend to run hot, so I don’t like things much warmer than, say, 70 degrees—and 70 feels a bit stuffy, and too hot if I’m doing chores. So I’m spending a lot of every shift all sweaty and uncomfortable in an 85-degree house, and there’s not much to be done about it. Someone who tends to be chilly would be a better fit: FINALLY a working environment where they didn’t have to shiver in two cardigans!

Last night I sleep-walked: I found myself in the bathroom at 11:30 at night, about to take a shower. Luckily I woke up in time: it’s much worse to wake up already IN the shower so you also have to figure out if rinsing is required, and dry off and so forth. I had trouble finding my pajamas, and still don’t know what I did with my pajama top; I had to get a fresh one out of the drawer. It was a extra upsetting in light of all the reading I’ve been doing about dementia: it felt like a vivid peek into what that’s like.

I saw the movie Spy and really liked it. I think Melissa McCarthy just keeps getting better. I’m watching Gilmore Girls with the kids, and it’s very odd to keep seeing her as Sookie, now that she mostly plays completely different types of characters.

OMG, do you even, do you even KNOW how life-changing your comments were on the post about turning down extra shifts? I just. It’s not even. Listen: the part about how if you say yes more, you get bumped up the list and they’ll call more? The part about the caller going for what’s easiest? The part about how if I say no more, they might still CALL, but with managed expectations? The part about how if I keep taking shifts I don’t want, I’ll not only be resentful but also be keeping them from doing what they OUGHT to do, which is to hire another employee? Gold. GOLD. These are not things I had understood, and as soon as I read them they clicked into place. Life-transforming. Really. They called TWICE MORE yesterday, and both times I said sorry, I couldn’t, and already, ALREADY, there was a change in the tone of the response—like she was already assuming I’d be saying no, so she wasn’t disappointed. And by the third request, there was even a change in the tone of the request: as if she was just checking just in case, instead of that she thought there was a large chance of success. And all that aside, I went from thinking the only benefit of saying no was about my own character development, to thinking that saying no would actually change for the better the way things would happen. YOU IMPROVED MY LIFE SUBSTANTIALLY.

Let’s see. I know I had one million little tidbits that were NOT about jobs, and this would be a great place for them. My mind is still almost completely preoccupied with Job Thoughts, but I’m getting tired of it. I appreciate the mental stimulation, but enough is enough.

Okay, the cats. The cats have twice recently had these big howling spats. One cat had a bleeding paw after the last altercation. Now that paw doesn’t smell great, but I can’t see what’s wrong with it. Maybe something with the nail? He won’t let me get a long look at it, and it’s hard to tell what’s a little spike of matted fur and what’s not. Nothing looks obviously infected or gross. Well, nothing looks that way to ME. I’m a little worried I’ll take him to the vet and the vet will say, “Um, Idiot: there is a big splinter sticking right out of the paw pad. Just. I mean. You keep me in business, so thanks, but.” Yesterday I dipped the paw in some hydrogen peroxide for a minute or so, and then he spent a lonnnnng time cleaning it, so I’m hoping that will help.

Summer! Summer is flying. I don’t usually say that. I’m not going to say the J-word, but I think that’s why: I’m home less, and I have something stimulating to think about, and I’m much more appreciative of time at home with the kids now that there is not quite such plentiful abundance of it, and now that I am thinking, “Ooo, good, I don’t have to work today!” Also, every year the kids are older, and every year that improves my summer.

The children are mocking me for the way I say sixth. I say it as if it were “sixed”: no “th” sound. I CAN say it with the “th” sound, but only very carefully/slowly: “Six…th.” I can’t go from the x to the th without changing mouth gears. And when I do, it sounds wrong, like I’m pretending to lisp the word. I admit, I’m hoping here for “HEY ME TOO, I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST ME!!”

Hair. I still haven’t cut it. What happened was, it got Too Long and I decided to cut it—but I couldn’t decide if I just wanted a couple of inches off or if I was sick of longer hair and wanted it to the jaw line or so. I asked Elizabeth, and she said, “Whatever you do, don’t just get it cut to, like, here,” and indicated her jawline-to-shoulder area. I laughed since that was EXACTLY what I had in mind, and I said, “WHY?” and she said, “It’s so MOM.” Me: “…But I AM a mom.” Elizabeth: “STILL.”

So then I was even more unsure. It’s not like Elizabeth is the boss of my hair, but. Well, I was influenced. And then I ended up waiting so long, it went out of the stage it was in, and into a stage where the extra length was good again. Hair always seems to do that: it goes through little awkward In Between stages. Laziness and procrastination means I get through those stages and then end up with what feels like a new style without getting it cut.