learn something new

You guys, I've been on lock down with my boys for 19 months. 

Remember early on in the pandemic, the #2020Lockdown...back in March 2020?

floss everyday

Before everything really went to shit? 

Yeah, anyway, people all over the world were all like, "let's learn new things, you guys!" 

I decided I wanted to learn how to floss.

Not my teeth. 

I do that every night. 

For real. 

Because I want an A at every dental visit, you guys.

flossing

I wanted to learn the dance. 

Seriously.

When my younger son was in second grade, flossing was the thing. 

Like, at pick-up after school everyday, he'd patiently wait while I chatted with the other moms, and to amuse himself, he'd floss. 

Then when his older brother would arrive a few minutes later, the boys would beat the shit out of each other, for which I would apologize to the other parents because my kids are the worst, obviously...and we'd have to leave quickly. 

Fucking children.

Over the past four years, I've tried flossing, but haven't been whats called a Strong Flosser.

And, when presented the opportunity, I use my graceless flossing to embarrass my children.  

dabbing

I mean, duh!

Of course, dabbing was also some kind of thing in the second grade.

As a seasoned Gen-Xer, who repeatedly watched and danced along with, Thriller as a child, I...

a) mastered that move on my first attempt.

b) need the challenge of crossing the brain mid-line.

c) know it means something different in the world of marijuana.

d) all of the above are true.

It's D, you guys. 

Just so you know. 

I'm that cool. 

For real. 

But, here we are, nearly two years into being together every single day, and my now 7th grader decides to tell me I gotta swing my arms and hips in opposite directions. 

So, on the one hand, I can now floss, which is fabulous. 

On the other hand, we don't go anywhere and I have zero opportunity to embarrass my children with my stellar dance moves. 

Yes, I can have a living room dance party. 

But it's not the same.

So I'm on to bigger goals: floss walking. 

floss walking

 

This way, when we go somewhere, I can make a statement with my exit, you guys. 

Even if it's the grocery store. 

Not only am I learning something new, I'm seizing every opportunity to embarrass my children. 

Because that's always fun!

The Costco Whisperer

I have not dismissed them. They are my parents after all. I have an incredible amount of love for them. 

And a stitch of compassion.

While my husband and our children and I are geographically isolated, I have not abandoned my folks.

When the stay at-home orders caused by the COVID-19 pandemic started in March 2020, my dad, who is an aging Baby Boomer, was understandably very worried about leaving the house. While we didn't know much, we knew COVID was capable of rapidly spreading between people. At the time, most of us were watching as seniors in nursing homes were rapidly dying in large numbers.  Because of science, and the importance of knowing our nation's health history, we know that when community-based illness hit, the young and the old are the most vulnerable. My folks are in a larger city and my dad was on high alert about contracting COVID and meeting his maker. 

Because, then what would happen to Mom? Not that she'd been diagnosed yet. Shhh, don't talk about it, you guys. Remember? #iCulturallyReferenceMyself

sometimes I'm brilliant

At the start of the shutdown, there was also understandable anxiety, and over the first couple of weeks, I had several long talks with my folks. 

They always have me on speakerphone. It's not my favorite but I roll with it, you guys.

In one of our conversations I offered to help them by placing their Costco orders. Online. Because the Internet is awesome like that. 

While I do come from the oppressively misogynistic culture that is the Sonoran Desert, I'm also an adult.

Ultimately, I was happy to help ensure that they at least had enough essentials to survive. I mean, I saw 28 Days Later, you guys. You know what I'm sayin'?

I'm saying that at that point in time, we were coming together as Americans and making sure that we each hoarded as much goddamn toilet paper as we could possibly hoard! 

RIGHT?! #ToiletPaperCrisis2020

Over the past 16+ months, I've had more in-depth phone conversations with my dad...who I love very much...about the different softness levels of toilet paper, than a person ever really needs to in their lifetime. 

Scott toilet paper is no longer something he can use: "It's like sandpaper, ya know what I'm saying?"

Yet, Charmin is too fancy for him. "That's for people with really tender a-holes. I'm not that person. I'm a little tougher than that. I'm a quarter Mexican."

Me: Got it, Dad.

Him: I  mean, I don't have hemorrhoids, or nothin'. I've had hemorrhoids. They are not fun. Did ya ever have hemorrhoids?

Me: Yes, I've had hemorrhoids, Dad. I've been pregnant twice. 

#JesusDad

Him [silence]: Anyway. Do they have the Kirkland brand of TP? That's between Scott and Charmin. It's like a five. On a scale of one to ten, ya know what I'm sayin? It'll do. Get me a couple packages of Kirkland toilet paper if they got it. I mean, they've gotta have it. It's Costco. It's their own brand."

Thank you, Kirkland, for making Dad Approved TP. 

Me: Dad, Costco does have Kirkland toilet paper, but they have a limit on one case. The case contains a total of 30 rolls of toilet paper.

everyone poops

Him: Okay. That'll be fine. As long as your mother or I don't get diarrhea...? I mean, I'll go out sometimes. I gotta get to the lab once a month for my blood draw.

Me: Dad, I got it! One case of Kirkland toilet paper! What else do you need?   

#FocusDad

Him: Ha! I was joking about getting diarrhea! It's not like we're leaving the house. We'll be fine.

Humor always helps, you guys. #PoopJokeFTW

Him: Get two cases, though.

Me: But, Dad, there's a one case limit on toilet paper. I'll check other online retailers and if I find something that's not horribly expensive, I'll arrange for it to be sent. 

Him: That'd be great. Keep checking Costco, too, though. I mean you're on the computer a lot more than me. 

Me: Dad, do you have a computer?

Him: No. I was joking.

I also told my dad that I know he and mom are on a fixed income, and to help, we could also help contribute to the expense of my parents' bimonthly Costco bill. My husband and I were both incredibly lucky, and very very thankful, to both have employment during the shutdown. #gratitude

But Dad sternly refused. "I can pay my own way," he said. "There may be a time where I'm not gonna be able to pay my own way and then you can pay my way. But right now, I'm paying for this. No. But thank you."

Me: Got it, Dad. And you're welcome. I'm happy to be able to help you and Mom with the Costco ordering online. The order has been placed and will be to your home within two hours.

Mom: That's amazing! Thank you, Rachel.  

Me: You're welcome, Mom. 

Today I am thankful Mom still knows my voice.

Over time, we worked out a system where I called once each week, and if I needed to be The Costco Whisper, then I'd place their order...and as if by magic...or perhaps a series of tubes...within a couple of hours, their purchase would be delivered to their door and unloaded into their garage by the Instacart shopper.

And, by the way, Dad, we always always always over-tip service people who are working during a respiratory pandemic. This is an incredible service folks are providing. Let's be thankful for the opportunity to help keep people employed. Because, really, we don't know what they are dealing with, but we are sure thankful to see them with all of our stuff. Seriously, you guys. #gratitude

Elsa letting it go

After the delivery was made and unloaded by the Instacart shopper onto the folding table in the garage, my dad proceeded to then wipe everything down with an anti-germ wipe and let it dry (his choice; let it go). He then brought his items inside and put everything away.

Then he'd call me. I'd ask him how the delivery went and made sure all items were delivered. I'd also give him the total amount of the bill, including the tip being agreed upon in the first phone call when I placed the order.

Sometimes he'd tell me to tip a couple of bucks extra and his feedback would be, "She was a real nice gal." 

Other times he'd provide me a commentary on the Instacart shopper's cuteness, but in a super sly way: "It's a hot one out today, so I slipped her an extra ten bucks."

To clarify, that roughly translates to "it's 100 degrees out today and that gal was so foxy she could have been in a 1980's ZZ Top video." 

Instacart women of the Sonoran Desert are so attractive they make men weak. That's a serious Super Power, you guys.

Me: Dad, I am paying for everything on my credit card. But, yes, go ahead and tip the cute ones extra cash if you need to.

Him: I'm an old man, honey. I'm not dead. Yet. 

Me: It's all good, Dad. No worries.

He'd then tell me when he was planning to mail the check, complete with a list of stops the mail would make between our cities, and predictions of when I should look for it in my post office box. 

He's usually pretty accurate. 

You guys, maybe my Dad could be The Mail Whisperer.  

 

Shhh, don't talk about it

Shhh, don't talk about it. 

That's been their mentality from the start.

Don't talk about Mom's Dementia.

Within the first year of my now 14-year-old son's arrival, she sent the same book twice. When I politely brought it up, she sang out, "Oh! I'm just a doting Grandma! [pregnant pause] But maybe I should make a list of what I send...?"

"No biggie, Mom. It's fine to have two copies of a book," I said.  Because: Books.

Way Out In The Desert(s)

To which she then suggested that since I have two books, perhaps I need to just have a second child. 

Yeah. Because children are like Lay's fuckin' potato chips. Ya might as well have more than one!

Fast forward 11 years to spring 2016, it was after my Breast Cancer Adventure. My first Port Angeles Friend and I took a field trip to see my folks. We went out to dinner, and after my mom excused herself to go to the bathroom, Dad addressed Mom's "problems with her memory."

"I know, Dad," I said. "That's a big reason why I'm here." 

We talked in hushed tones. I mean, we all know that every Mom has the Super Power of being able to listen to the conversation you're having at the table, in a noisy restaurant while she's in the bathroom, and the bathroom is on the other side of the restaurant, you guys. Right?

My dear first Port Angeles Friend was, as always, incredibly kind and offered my Dad her personal experience with her own mother-in-law's dementia diagnosis. The three of us conspired for me to have breakfast with my Mom alone one morning, so that I could express my concerns and offer ways to help. 

I mean, HELLLLLOOOOO? Health Educator since 1997! 

Oh! And as an added bonus: Special needs mom turned breast cancer survivor turned tonsil cancer caregiver, here! 

I wish I was lying.

And my day job is teaching college students how to make informed health choices! #DreamJob #Gratitude 

Dad! I am here to help you guys! This is what I do! Think of it as a return on your investment in my bachelor's degree. For real. I have specialized training, as well as personal experience, and can totally help you and Mom navigate the health care system and --

Here she comes!  

My dad had his eye on the bathroom door and watched my mother walk across the restaurant.

Shhh, don't talk about it. 

The next morning at breakfast, I explained to my mom how I found the lump in my own breast. That I promptly chose to talk with my spouse, and to see my doctor about a problem we could not deny. I stated that from my perspective, as a mom of a child who has neurological disabilities, I felt as though her brain health was beginning to decline. I told her I loved her several times, and I pleaded with her to please ask her own doctor for a referral to a neurologist or neuropsychologist. 

She said she would. 

But she didn't.  

Because shhh...don't talk about it. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, you guys.

Yet, from the perspective of the patient with dementia, it's gotta be the the hardest goddam thing to do. Walk into your physician's office and say "I need to be tested for dementia"...? Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. I imagine that's harder than, "I found a lump." 

But maybe making comparisons between their hard and my hard isn't the way to go with this. Their hard is their hard.   

And my hard is my hard. 

It's not a contest, you guys. 

Not my circus, not my monkeys. 

My monkeys fly...