Domestic Psychology

awake, asleep, whatever

// June 9th, 2010 // 2 Comments » // health, relatives

As my father groggily fought his way out of the sedation from the CABG surgery, he repeatedly asked which leg the doctor amputated. Everyone reassured him that his legs were still attached, but even as he became more lucid, he remained convinced that he was going to lose a leg. “It was just a dream. A very bad dream.”

After he was released from the hospital, he returned to the ER. Twice. Both times, he was sent back home. Everyone became less patient with the patient. Today, he went to his one week post-release checkup. His leg is badly infected and he has been readmitted to the hospital. The first thing he asks every doctor, nurse, orderly or random stranger? “Am I going to lose my leg?” I’m starting to wonder if my father had a dream or a vision.

Grandaddy says:

// June 4th, 2010 // No Comments » // health, relatives

To family/friends: “The pain is terrible.”
To nurses: “I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you to be frightened by all the tubes and wires, but . . . I’m peeing right now.”

“That nurse has a funny accent. Does she have a green card?”

“I don’t want the nurses to help me. That’s your mother’s job.”

“Next time you visit, bring my gun. I don’t want to be unprotected.”

“Your mother may be my oldest child, but your Uncle is the eldest son, so he’s the executor of my estate and living will. Now, your mother can’t pull the plug on me.”

“Why does your mother keep telling the nurses to make me sleep?”

“Keep those male nurses away from me.”

“I’m so proud of you for doing the right thing and coming to America legally. It really is better here.”

“…and then she squished me to stick a tube in there.”
“When boys are toddlers, they deliberately squish it and it doesn’t hurt them.”
“Oh gross! How can you talk about that?”

“My friends told me that if I use my arms, I’ll feel this pain in my chest for the rest of my life. Fix my pillows again. You didn’t do it right last time.”

“The nurse said I can have sex again when I can climb two flights of stairs, but I’m going to find a woman who can carry me two flights instead. She can just do all the work.”

“Now, your mother gets to know what it was like for me when she had her knees replaced.” (fact check)

To 16-y-o grandchild: “The doctors just gave me ten years. Will I get to meet my great-grandchildren before I die?”

Noah: “Mom? Grandaddy asked me to bring him his gun so he can kill Granny.”
me: “What?!?”
Grandaddy: “Your mother didn’t give me my afternoon pain meds.”
me: “Do I need to drive over there or call 911?”
Granny: “Hello?”
me: “Dad asked Noah to get a gun so he can kill you.”
Granny: “WHAT?!?”
Grandaddy: “You didn’t give me my pain meds and made me suffer.”
Granny: “Your medicine is sorted and sitting on the kitchen counter.”
Grandaddy: “See? She isn’t taking care of me.”
Granny: “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.” <- /sarcasm ->
me: “I’m going to start forwarding these calls to your eldest son.”

Must be something in the water

// May 28th, 2010 // 1 Comment » // Doug

Me: “Dad is really grouchy today.”
Doug: “Which of the children told on me?”
Me: “Umm, I meant MY father, but thanks for the confession.”

Happy Mother’s Day

// May 9th, 2010 // No Comments » // flickr, relatives

This is the picture of my mother that the Red Cross mailed to my grandfather when he was on a ship somewhere in the ocean. Every time I look at it, I skip through time to visit people now gone and places I’ve never been. Past, present and future memories are the gifts I receive on Mother’s Day. Thank you. I’ll keep them in my heart.

Stevenisms

// January 1st, 2010 // No Comments » // humor, relatives

“You know why they really do that don’t you?”

“Don’t let him turn gay.”

“Four way stops are the worst thing EVER invented.”

“I think I should start wearing women’s clothes.”

“It’s okay if people drink and drive, they just shouldn’t talk on their phones and drive.”

It’s clearer in my mind

// May 24th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // flickr, holidays, relatives

shopping assistant

// December 24th, 2008 // 1 Comment » // holidays, me, relatives, sandwich generation, shops

Grandaddy: “I’m at the bookstore and I need to find something for your mother.”
Me: “Do you want to give her a book, music or coffee?”
Grandaddy: “I want to get a CD and one book.”
Me: “Okay. Walk to the music area and find the pop section”
Grandaddy: “Found it.”
Me: “Look for Jack Johnson or Josh Groban or Jason Mraz or . . . ”
Grandaddy: “That’s too many choices, just tell me what to get.”
Me: “Get the CD with a cute guy on the cover.”
Grandaddy: “Done. Now I need to know what book to get.”
Me: “Okay. Walk to the just released paperback section.”
Grandaddy: “Found it.”
Me: “Look for a book with a couple on the cover who have the wind blowing their hair.”
Grandaddy: “Done. Thanks.”
Me: “No problem. Need anything else?”
Grandaddy: “Nope. I’ve got from here.”

Fifteen minutes later he dropped off the bag of purchases so that I could wrap them.

I like my bubble

// December 3rd, 2008 // 9 Comments » // holidays, media, people, politics, relatives, technology

As Thanksgiving dinner digested and the children wandered off until they heard the word dessert, newspapers became one of our many topics of conversation. My mother expressed displeasure in the local paper’s recent changes and my father scoffed at my suggestion that he was the last generation to rely on newspapers. Actually, he laughed at me in that condescending way that makes my skin crawl. “Most people don’t live in an isolated computer bubble.” He proceeded to defend his belief that newspapers are the primary news source for “regular” people. I promptly asked him when he first heard about the tragedy in Mumbai. He made a cranky remark about that area of the world and my mother’s eyes glazed over as she went to her happy place to avoid participation in this discussion. I pointlessly tried to talk about the immediate Mumbai conversations taking place over Twitter. Conversations about cases of almonds and dried fruit. Links to pictures of raw, harsh destruction. Flickr immediately upgrading someone’s account for free so that they could continue posting pictures. Pictures of clean-cut boys younger than my children with assault weapons in their hands. My words rang on deaf ears. Any doubts I may have had about the bubble that I live in were completely erased by the fact that I recognize that this world is very small and we are all too connected to deceive ourselves that we are any distance from any other country. I prefer my bubble of awareness to their bubble of, whatever you want to call it. The bubble of people who think computers are only for chain letters, memes, games and porn?

I’m a socialist

// November 18th, 2008 // 1 Comment » // politics, relatives

Today’s letters to the editor include more redistribution of wealth will bring ruin of nation anxiety from Knoxvillians. Because I am a trouble maker, I am going to send the author of that letter the cartoon below. Because I don’t want to continue that trouble if the children are in the room, when the extended family gathers for Thanksgiving dinner this year, there will LOTS of subject changing to avoid discussing politics.

sandwiched in the car

// August 22nd, 2008 // 6 Comments » // relatives, travel

Today was spent doing what I hope will NOT become a Friday tradition, driving up to Appalachia to pick up Tommy from LMU. My companions for the day were my several decades younger than me 3-year-old and my several decades older than me father. I thought the day would be uneventful as long as I followed one rule: No discussing politics. We left the house at 11 a.m. I skipped breakfast and I’ve been told that I’m a teensy bit testy when I haven’t eaten. There might be some truth to that. Immediately, the 3-y-o tossed his toys into the backseat. It’s a fun game that is usually not a problem with siblings beside and behind him. Today, the only person not driving was the grandfather who wasn’t about to attempt crawling into the back of the van. The smallest person began to complain. “Dropped phone. Get phone. Need phone. Phone. Phone. Phone. Phone.” “Cathy, you need to get in the right lane and get ready to merge.” “I’ve got it Dad. Evan, do you see any red cars?” “Phone! Phone!” “Ignore him when he’s being bad. Go around this truck.” A rice krispy bar calmed Evan. Grandaddy got distracted by a phone call from Granny.

“So, are you still voting for S____?” “Who are you talking about Dad?” “S____. That’s Obama’s real name on his original birth certificate.” “I don’t know what you are talking about Dad.” “You don’t even know your candidate’s real name. Bwa-ha-ha.” At this point, I was visibly annoyed and that tickled my father even more than the fact that he is so politically wise. He snickered and mumbled that he got me good while I began texting Doug for Internet support. “What are you doing?” “Texting Doug a question.” “Why? Won’t it wait? What are you typing?” I couldn’t get help from Doug because my texting was too obscure and Doug didn’t have the time or patience to go on a scavenger hunt. I could actually see the nerves standing up on top of my skin. “I think this is our exit.” “This doesn’t look right Cathy. Are you sure?” “Sorry, this is wrong.” I hopped back on the Interstate as quickly as I had left it and my father got a phone call from a friend. “Yes, I’m in the car. Mmhmm. Well, I think my daughter is lost. Right. I know. Well, I’d better get off the phone or she’ll have us in the wrong state.” By this point, I had made the correct exit and was on the long, boring road which actually has areas where the speed limit is 25 mph. Do you know what 25 mph feels like with a 3-year-old in the backseat complaining because he wants to watch a different cartoon and the person beside you lecturing that it’s perfectly normal not to know how much property you own? It feels like a new level of hell.

We spent an hour getting Tommy and goofing off on the campus. While Tommy showed his grandfather his dorm room, I listened to music blasting across campus and had a small hissy on the phone with Doug. “And you know what he said then?” We finally headed out and I declared that we were making a stop for food. Against my wishes, we went inside instead of using the drive-thru. All I’ll say about the food break is that a lengthy e-mail of complaint has been sent to the franchise. My teenage son and father made sure I knew that if we had stopped at the place we have stopped every single time we have been to LMU, there wouldn’t have been any problems.

The bad fast food experience was only aggravated by a complete absence of phone signal inside the restaurant. When I hopped back in the car, I decided to take a moment and check in on the Twitter chatter. “What are you doing on the phone again?” “I’m just checking news and local stuff.” “On your phone? You need the radio. I know the talk radio schedule.” While I was trying to read Twitter, my father was fumbling with my car radio. “Where’s the AM button?” “Stop it. Don’t touch that. I don’t want the radio!” “Well, excuse me for trying to help.” My father turned into Milton and went on a long mumbling tirade while I spent all of three minutes catching up on Twitter. I finished, got back on the road and tried explaining that I had XM plugged into the radio and that he should have changed channels on the little XM box. Bad idea. I should have just let him push the buttons and search out his favorite radio show. We got home at 4 p.m. and my brain feels like mashed potatoes. Not a good feeling.

Sunday, Tommy will need a ride back to school. Granny is taking him. I’m staying home.