Back from church. The least one did fine in her Acolyte role---you'd really not know this was her first Sunday to do it. Well-done. And now we rest. Not sure when the boys will be here to eat. The house is in a horrific state, but considering the fact that they lived here for over 20 years, they get our untidy habits. I've not been to their apartment since they put furniture in it. Probably looks like our house! Unfortunately, my mental state reflects itself in how awful I'll allow the house to get. Look at one, you understand the other.
The delightful part of my day, however, is waiting for the Facebook page aligned with our son's Basic Training to put up new photos. They already updated the info part of their page, telling us what the recruits did this week. I find it amazing that we're allowed an insider's look at the camp, seeing our kids (or spouses in some cases) in their new digs. Drumming my fingers on the computer, just waiting. Anticipation is wonderful, I think.
And I keep thinking of our visit with my mom yesterday. I was sitting on her bed (she was in her wheelchair) and she wanted to know what her bank balance was. Told her I'd call the bank right then and there and check it for her. I put a piece of paper on her little roll-away meal table and gave her a pen. Her handwriting has improved quite a bit, so reading what she puts down is easy now. Anyway, I said put down your Social Security # and I'll punch it in the phone. She writes down the pound sign (#) for number, then proceeds to write the word B U D J E T (at least her brain was working in the money/numbers category...close, but not close enough). She started to hand it to me and I quietly asked her to write down her SS#. Didn't miss a beat, but didn't realize she'd not written the right thing to begin with. She got it right the second time. This on the heels of her asking about a particular green sweater, which I thought might be in her Rehab. room closet. I walked over to it, took out a sweater (which had red pants hanging underneath them), but it wasn't the sweater she wanted. Asked her if she wanted the red pants, but she said they didn't fit anymore. Then she said that when they were doing her wash at the hospital (I did all her laundry and still do), they must've put something in the water, because to her they didn't appear as red as they used to. Personally, I think the stroke affected her ability to see colors correctly. Not the first time she's commented on reds looking pink-ish.
Makes MY brain tired. I didn't realize strokes affected such varied parts of a person's abilities or habits. Fourth son, who went with me, admitted on the way home that as soon as we hit my mom's room and walk in the door, he's wanting to turn around and walk right back out. It takes inner resources that aren't always there. I appreciated his honesty. Keeps you from going nuts if you can attend to your own needs and not become too overwhelmed.
Today I'm trying to take care of me and not go nuts.
