tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40237973652894115662024-03-13T18:50:30.361-05:00Mom's blogLaurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-7779242966419079862011-09-29T20:43:00.002-05:002011-09-29T20:49:12.703-05:00Molly's Message (from Sept 8, second half)<strong>See first part of post before this one.</strong><br />Grandma Doris still very much has a sense of humor and I know she knows that we enjoy seeing her smile, otherwise we wouldn't sit in front of her all day just making funny faces at her! I feel as long as she's smiling, she's doing well.<br />Just as we have always known her, she is stil la social butterfly. She seems to love to get visits from friends and family and she'll normally just sit and stare at the visitor with smiles. So if anyone would like to let Grandma Doris be the center of attention, I'm very positive she would enjoy that. Pass the word!<br /><br /><strong>Reprinted with permission---Thanks, Molly for all you do for Mom and for us all.</strong>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-41259922158935608752011-09-29T20:25:00.003-05:002011-09-29T20:55:07.854-05:00Molly's Message (from Sept 8, first half)<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uWrKTbtKzsM/ToUgWll-asI/AAAAAAAAAOw/fNaOa4qghCs/s1600/molly%2Bsenior.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657964079281498818" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uWrKTbtKzsM/ToUgWll-asI/AAAAAAAAAOw/fNaOa4qghCs/s320/molly%2Bsenior.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>We could easily speak about how Grandma Doris isn't doing well, but we can't leave out how well she is doing! Two weeks ago, we hired a hospice nurse to come in. I haven't met her yet because I've been in Lincoln and Kansas City for the past couple weeks. I called my Grandpa a couple weeks ago, expectig him to not be doing so well, but I was very relieved to hear that he sounded happy! He said the nurse is coming four days a week, which means he doesn't ever have to worry about bathing her again! The nurse tested her blood pressure, heart rate, and all those tests and found that she is at a healthy level for all of those. Hospice care is completely free for us and I'm sure that is another relief for Grandpa Carl. The days are pretty much gone that Grandpa gets scared and frustrated with his part in Grandma's care.<br />She is though, slowly giving up swallowing all together. About the week before I left, she stopped drinking any little sips of water. Now she just has fun spewing on us! We think she seems scared to swallow and therefore she won't do it anymore. We began feeding her juicy summer tomatoes, melon, and peaches by the ton. Along with that, hospice brought us modified corn starch also known as Thick It. The more we add, the more the water takes on the consistency of pudding and we all know how much Grandma likes pudding! The nurse said the body will still register it as water though.<br />Grandma doesn't have much strength, either. As of when I saw her last, she still rocks back and forth in her wheel chair and can roll around in her bed. Her legs work somedays but other days it takes a couple people to safely move her from chair to chair. Despite her immobility though, we try to get her outside for a couple hours everyday in the warm weather so she can get some breeze, sun, and smells into her system. I fear the colder weather, though. Maybe she won't mind being inside, but I would think it would get old.<br />She smiles constantly. She thinks everyone around her is a bit carzy, and well, it's not false. She interacts with us still sometimes in certain ways. Chrsitine was sleeping on the couch in the stove room while Grandpa was wheeling Grandma towards the bathroom. He stopped at the end of the couch where Christine's feet were uncovered and bent down to Grandma's ear and whispered, "Reach down and tickle Christine's feet." Grandma did look down and then smiled big.<br />Grandma smiles at all the parts it would seem "approriate" to find funny whether she's watching I Love Lucky, which Grandpa says she always liked that show, Christine spilling her syrup covered pancakes all over her lap, or she's listening to Laurie tell Christine, Devri, Eric, Liesel, my dad Allen, and I a story that happened over 30 ears ago, in which Laurie was the victim of one of Grandma's interests (such as seeing how long a snake is next to Laurie in bed!)</div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-65410017460683950842011-09-29T19:20:00.003-05:002011-09-29T19:32:11.567-05:00What happens on the farm.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aqA4Je6TNqc/ToUNrzPfUhI/AAAAAAAAAOo/o3oove_HtYI/s1600/peter%2Bpan.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657943553001607698" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aqA4Je6TNqc/ToUNrzPfUhI/AAAAAAAAAOo/o3oove_HtYI/s320/peter%2Bpan.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Dad called just tonight to say that Mom was holding her head at a tilt all the sudden, unable to keep it straight and the nurse said this is a sign of real decline. He said, "Calves, dogs, and cats do that, too, when they get ready to die." So, we interpret her condition by what we have seen in the pasture, and most generally, it's a pretty good reference.<br /><br />I posted on Facebook that now is the time to come see Mom if you want to do so on this side of life. It still could be a while. Or it couldn't. I guess if death could be that predictable we'd all die early of worry. I'm still going to work every day so far. Devri is so sad to be in Florida for this whole time, but I told her she brings a lot of happiness to her Grandpa by doing her thing, living a happy life, and on occasion, being Peter Pan. It is a ray of hope for Dad, but still....she is pretty sad right now. Our imaginations are always worse then our realities. I post a photo of Devri as Peter Pan at Disney, so you can see what makes her Grandpa smile so much. :)</div><br /><div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-35727196171813419562011-09-29T18:18:00.006-05:002011-09-29T19:14:43.941-05:00Enter Hospice<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_YiFlmPocx0/ToUIAz-AqRI/AAAAAAAAAOg/QwP4M5VkfZM/s1600/mom%2Bseptember.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657937316904216850" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_YiFlmPocx0/ToUIAz-AqRI/AAAAAAAAAOg/QwP4M5VkfZM/s320/mom%2Bseptember.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k1UngHOYhLM/ToT9EqKQbqI/AAAAAAAAAOY/6boTZv2Gop8/s1600/watching%2Btv.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657925288362798754" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k1UngHOYhLM/ToT9EqKQbqI/AAAAAAAAAOY/6boTZv2Gop8/s320/watching%2Btv.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657925152925811682" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DCnlR3PEV70/ToT88xnkA-I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/hxou5ETxStk/s320/eric%2Bhospital%2Bbed.jpg" />A month or so ago we all were getting pretty worried because Mom was giving us fits about eating. And we had the worst time getting her to drink. We'd try to give her a drink and she's spit it right back at us like a fountain. And then she'd smile, ornery thing. So, I'm clueless with this whole "death and dying" thing so I called one of the most capable and professional and super-duper people I have met lately, Mom's nurse in Joplin. She always acts like she has nothing more to do all day than to take care of us and tell us what to do next. God bless her. I explained that Mom wasn't eating and we all figured that wasn't a good thing, but I didn't know how to contact Hospice or what to say. She asked if we had chosen a Hospice program to which I said, "I have no clue who I'm supposed to call or what I'm supposed to do. The problem is, I don't know if Mom is going to live another week or another year....I just can't tell." She said, "Well, I'll tell you what. I'll call my favorite Hospice group and get you all set up." (Yeah, as a nurse, she's probably 'legally' not supposed to pick favorites, but I'm so glad she knows when to follow the rules and when to break them) I told her I would LOVE for her to do that. (I'm right in the middle of new teacher orientation at work this whole time, of course.) Within a day I received a call from "Marjorie,' the sweetest lady you could imagine who set up an appointment for Friday evening She came at 5:00 p.m. and and poured humanity all over us. This lady knew exactly what we needed to hear; they would take care of Mom and we would take care of each other, and they were there for us any day any hour, and they would do it all. Christine, Molly, Dad, and I all breathed a sigh of relief.( Mom smiled....she was intensely interested in the lady's computer.) Much to my amazement, however, Dad suddenly asked, "Well, uh...it all sounds real good, but how much is this all going to cost?" My eyes got large and my jaw dropped. I thought, "He's never heard of Hospice? What cave has he been living in?" She smiled her angel smile and told Dad it was absolutely free and he didn't have to worry about one thing from here on out. I could just see his shoulders relax. How do you put a price on that? Makes a person want to sniffle.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Anyway, she said, "Would you like me to call the nurse now?" It was about 5:30 p.m., so I said, "Oh, no...I wouldn't call her this late and ask her to come over here." I'm sure she was thinking, "They are just not getting it." She explained that oh no, that's what they do. This particular nurse works from 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. (or something like that.) And just like that, we waited, and here she came. She took all the vital signs and Mom is healthy as a horse on that count. Ninety-six percent oxygen, great blood pressure and everything. Molly was intensely interested in the whole thing and had her blood pressure checked, too. She hauled in bags of hygiene supplies, much to our amazement, pads for the bed, and even little deals to clean Mom's mouth and moisten her lips. (If you've ever bought Depends, you know how much money was in all those bags.) We stood amazed. She acted like she was our new best friend and coming over to see us was just a real treat. Sniffle again. (It makes you just want to quit your job and start working full-time for Hospice.) Molly was dancing around like a nut when she left declaring it was "Just like Christmas!!"</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>So now, we have two nurses that each come twice each week! One checks Mom's vital signs, (and I'm sure Dad's mood) and another comes and does the same but also bathes Mom, (which is a MAJOR task for Dad, which he does not like doing.) Dad loves the company and looks forward to them coming---four days each week---still can't believe it! A chaplain also came out to see if he could be of service. Dad told him kindly that he appreciated his mission, but he'd call him when he needed him. (Stubborn mule father of mine.) Also, a social worker comes out once a month. I asked Dad why she came. He said he figured she was making sure he wasn't abusing Mom or nothin'. "Dad! She does not! She's coming by to see if she can help you in any way and she's coming to see if YOU are ok!" He's so goofy. :) </div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>So, it appears that Mom may never have to go to a hospital or nursing center at all. It appears that she will just pass away at home, which....crazy as it sounds, make me want to throw my fist in the air and yell, "YES!!"</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Yeah, the whole thing is stinky, but let me tell you, it could be a LOT worse. We could be doing it all alone with no clue, thinking we were probably responsible for Mom's decline, and completely stressing out. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I can't remember all these folks names but, "God bless Mom's nurse, the paperwork lady, the evaluating nurse, the vital sign checker nurse, and the bathing nurse. May they be as blessed in their lives as they have blessed us in ours!" A-men!</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>P.S. The photos are of Eric checking out the new air-circulating mattress cover on Mom's bed, which keeps her from having bed sores---so cool. Also, there is a photo of Mom and Dad watching t.v. Dad says she seems particularly into "I Love Lucy" right now.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><u><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></u><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-57123202515153788092011-05-09T21:01:00.010-05:002011-05-10T20:38:47.304-05:00Uneventful Event<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nnB0AJI8Eqs/TcnnabqNJNI/AAAAAAAAANk/WYSuQ1AGw0s/s1600/laurel%2Bdoris%2Bflowers.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 324px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605265652526687442" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nnB0AJI8Eqs/TcnnabqNJNI/AAAAAAAAANk/WYSuQ1AGw0s/s400/laurel%2Bdoris%2Bflowers.jpg" /></a> Love this photo Christine took---not only does it symbolize the fading of my mother's awareness of this world, but behind her head is a photo of Christine, with an insert of myself, both wearing the same baby dress,and both wearing Mom's heart-shaped locket. Mom took Christine to get this photo done, (and the photo of me.)<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8-V8RJseesA/TcnNhQb7n5I/AAAAAAAAANc/Rlhm0umhZVc/s1600/mom%2Band%2Bflowers.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605237182470791058" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8-V8RJseesA/TcnNhQb7n5I/AAAAAAAAANc/Rlhm0umhZVc/s400/mom%2Band%2Bflowers.jpg" /></a>As stated, it was indeed an uneventful event, giving her the flower planted in her honor in my Memorial Garden. She pushed the vase to the middle of the table, then pulled it toward herself, back and forth, again and again....did not attempt to smell them or anything.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I had dreaded the moment for days, but I shouldn't have. She was not affected, I don't think, by the flower and I know that I only cry for myself, and not for her.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>When we hear of the passing of an older person, how relieved and "glad" we are when we know the person "died peacefully in his/her sleep." I am comforted that although I do not know how I, myself, will die or other people I care about----(there are thousands of awful ways---cancer, body-crushing accidents, liver disease, violence.) I am comforted when I see my Mom, knowing that she is blessed not to have to edure any of these things. She will, and has already begun now, to "die peacefully in her sleep." The Lord appears to have allowed her to circumvent the whole, "walking through the valley of the shadow of death" thing and has already led her to green pastures and still waters. May you be at peace, Momma---I love you.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hqVIYgOP-4c/TcifcLr9vQI/AAAAAAAAANU/O4sa1z7nr7w/s1600/DSC06169.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604905042784926978" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hqVIYgOP-4c/TcifcLr9vQI/AAAAAAAAANU/O4sa1z7nr7w/s400/DSC06169.JPG" /></a> </div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-50677229476082157432011-05-06T20:08:00.007-05:002011-05-06T21:42:06.886-05:00Tomorrow Will Be the Big Day<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9LRY_FH_I8I/TcScos0LJxI/AAAAAAAAANE/jbmzzql7jrI/s1600/DSC06147.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603776059394434834" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9LRY_FH_I8I/TcScos0LJxI/AAAAAAAAANE/jbmzzql7jrI/s400/DSC06147.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B29qr8MlLak/TcScV3wKF0I/AAAAAAAAAM8/TBCoB7yWWEY/s1600/DSC06146.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603775735912863554" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B29qr8MlLak/TcScV3wKF0I/AAAAAAAAAM8/TBCoB7yWWEY/s400/DSC06146.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>More peach than pink, which I like all the better. Tomorrow, Momma will see the flower planted in her memory....and I will accept it. P.S. It is the most beautifully fragrant iris I have ever had the pleasure of snicking my nose into. I hope Mom will be pleased. If she can understand anything at all, I know she will be. **sniff** </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>And it's going to be on Mother's Day weekend! Now that is ironic!</div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-23100258702865265462011-04-29T20:59:00.010-05:002011-05-05T18:15:10.580-05:00the bloom of doom<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e9B86N9EUPM/TcMvZPbTp_I/AAAAAAAAAMc/-CnTbZd6Kdk/s1600/iris%2B2.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603374472063330290" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e9B86N9EUPM/TcMvZPbTp_I/AAAAAAAAAMc/-CnTbZd6Kdk/s400/iris%2B2.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_OFrmyeaabI/TcMvE1UNPsI/AAAAAAAAAMU/rLm8Zwh7KFE/s1600/iris%2B1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603374121456844482" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_OFrmyeaabI/TcMvE1UNPsI/AAAAAAAAAMU/rLm8Zwh7KFE/s400/iris%2B1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I'm bummed out---feel like garbage....and it's all because a flower is starting to bloom for the very first time in my garden. It doesn't make sense, but I will explain.<br /><br />No doubt I have mentioned that I have a "Memorial Garden" in my yard--a special area where I have one plant or item to represent everyone I know who has died, that I actually cared about. The center point is a North Star pie cherry tree, for a baby I lost in my fourth month of pregnancy. Under the tree is a nice concrete bench. That's for my brother, Lloyd, who cared more for structures than flowers. On the south side of the bench is a small "dry creek bed" representing Hubert VanSlyke and the property my family bought from them and where Bob and I built our house. The property is prominently marked by a long dry creek bed, (plus, I hit a <em>boulder</em> when I was planting in that area and said, "Hey....Hubert!") Surrrounding these main features are wild flowers for Linda Skaggs a dear friend who died young from an extremely aggresive cancer, peonies for Iliene VanSlyke and Chad's grandmother, a plant that has four-leaf clover-type leaves on it for Jim Sawyer (ISWNE--ashes left in Ireland,) hollyhocks for my Grandma and Grandpa McCleary, (my mother always had to keep the hollyhocks separate at home, so as not to cross pollinate and destroy "the original" Foster flowers), a nicely shaped lilac bush for Barbee and Maude Martin, and, *chuckle*, still looking for a plant that looks similar to marijuana for my Aunt Marilyn...funny family story there. It's probably sacrilege, but I confess, I buried my dog, Shasta, there and planted Shasta Daises, and also...Max....who was an exceptional cat.<br /><br />Whether my mother was sentimental, or she just liked the whole genealogy, grave hunting, or dead-people-identification and remembrance idea, I don't know. I never asked. But she loved to bring people by just to see it, and have me give them the tour of what plant was for what person and why.<br /><br />Well, that became a dilemma for me, when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and I had to think about the fact that someday soon, though I hadn't even considered it yet, I would be planting a flower for my Mama.<br /><br />Best way to jerk myself out of an emotional swoon was to begin to think practically. <em>Obviously,</em> the plant would be her very favorite, the iris. She had (has) every color one would ever want, and delighted in planting even more different ones whenever she had opportunity.<br /><br />I first thought of bringing a purple iris from their house to remind me of home, (she has them there by the gross), but I decided I would rather get something extra special for Mama....an iris she had never seen, and something that would make her proud and impressed. So, through catalog after catalog, I finally chose what I considered "the perfect iris." I can't remember the name, but it's pink---the color of cotton candy, (she could never have enough), and super-ruffly, like the dresses she always sewed for me and my girls. I thought it was a fine choice.<br /><br />My next dilemma was when to plant it. Would planting it now be "jumping the gun?" Planting the flower "before the deed was done?" Then again, iris take two years to bloom.after planting. And the truth of the matter was, I wanted to share it with Mom. I wanted her to see what special iris I had picked just for her. So, I thought "Whatever" about whether it was the "right" thing to do or not, and two years ago I planted it. Well....wow. Two years have passed in a blink. And I am shocked to see....it is beginning to bud. As the days pass the bud is getting bigger, and I am getting more and more upset. It's really pretty stupid---it's a plant for heaven's sake. But just like the first time you look at someone's tombstone and say, "Wow. They're really dead," I look at that bud in the Memorial Garden and know, "Wow. She's really going to die!" And it's not going to be so very long from now, either. So this plant has been the cause of much suffering in my heart lately---self-inflicted sorrow, I guess.<br /><br />At first, when I was passing through the yard and happened to glance at the iris, I saw the bud begin to swell and my bottom lip began to tremble. Now I can almost see the very top where the petal color will soon show and I just want to run out there and tape it shut and say, "No! Don't bloom yet! I'm not ready! I can't do this yet!"<br /><br />I forced myself to look again tonight and there are now two buds swelling and the plant is healthy and strong. Mom is bound to her wheelchair now and the ground is soft, so I know I can't bring her up to to see it. There's no other way, but for me to wait until it blooms, cut it, and take it to her. And I'm not sure I can do that. To me, it will be like handing her a beautiful flower and saying, "Well, Mom....your flower is blooming in the garden. You can go now." My heart is broken and that darn bud just gets bigger and healthier every day!! Never have a wished a plant to just die, but sometimes I do now. (Of course, that would be painful for me in a different way, too.) Part of me is excited to see if the bloom will be as spectacular as I hope....and part of me wants to be angry, rip it to shreds, and cry.<br /><br />But what would Mama want? I think she would want me to let it bloom fully, pick it, take it to her, and show her what I have planted for her. Sigh. It may kill me to do it, but that's life----"A time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted."<br /><br />Heaven must be a wonderful place..... where people do not die!<br /><br />Will post a photo of the flower soon. :(</div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-53153013886353149362011-03-16T21:28:00.006-05:002011-05-05T18:22:14.262-05:00Changing of the Guard<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DCQa7WJ6rRA/TcMw-G8Rj9I/AAAAAAAAAM0/IUleOJKKB3M/s1600/DSC06111.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603376204952473554" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DCQa7WJ6rRA/TcMw-G8Rj9I/AAAAAAAAAM0/IUleOJKKB3M/s400/DSC06111.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NowsluuFPOU/TcMwsLnN_rI/AAAAAAAAAMs/Pa9EI6VZV50/s1600/DSC06112.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603375896968691378" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NowsluuFPOU/TcMwsLnN_rI/AAAAAAAAAMs/Pa9EI6VZV50/s400/DSC06112.JPG" /></a> Grandchildren Molly, and Eric after coloring Easter eggs while Mom watched.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-orlcO7mYmlY/TcMwKSnsJDI/AAAAAAAAAMk/hJggVhNB4-0/s1600/DSC06103.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603375314734162994" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-orlcO7mYmlY/TcMwKSnsJDI/AAAAAAAAAMk/hJggVhNB4-0/s400/DSC06103.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Well, Christine has been living with Mom and Dad for the past three years and has been an <u>immense</u> help, but in my opinion, she is worn down. She has and continues to help with Mom's care, the cleaning, shopping, organizing, and errand running, but all this time she has been growing up more every time I turn around. Last spring she graduated from college and landed a couple of jobs she absolutely loves---part time at the library at MSSU, and part time with the Joplin Museum Complex. She belongs to more clubs and civic-type groups than I can name and she also has become engaged and looks forward to a wedding next year. She works as many hours as possible, and often stays the night with friends in Joplin after work, rather than driving back down to Mom and Dad's. I understand. It's not a picnic. And she has more than fulfilled anything I could have ever asked her to do, (and she still does.)<br /><br />But still, Mom and Dad need a lot of help.<br /><br />Once again the Lord provides and surprise, surprise, my niece, Molly, (Allen's child), who is 20 or so has moved in with them now. They are officially a family of four. Molly is very different from Christine and is a real change of pace. Where Christine is a neat freak who insists that the world be in perfect order and would clean all day if given the opportunity, Molly is much less intense. She enjoys cooking with a variety of herbs and spices, lots of vegetables, and makes cooking combinations that I have never heard of. She will, no doubt, turn Christine's clean counters into space for bowls and bowls of creativity. :) Molly also loves to grow her own food. Boy, does she have opportunity there! She's been digging around all weekend, "turning that place into a real garden" Dad says, and also helping him plant potatoes. She's one of those "organic, vegetarian" types who actually eats food that is good for you and has flavor. Dad has called me a couple of times just today to tell about the wonderful rice, black beans, kale, and who knows what else dishes that Molly is preparing. He says, "It takes her all day, but its the best stuff I've ever had....you just can't stop eating it!" He also raves about Mom eating twice the amount of food since Molly came than she was before. He says, "Molly keeps putting it down her, and she keeps eating it." He's amazed, because getting Mom to eat has been a real stressor for him. And I know when Christine comes home after working long hours, she will be SO happy to have Molly and dinner there when she gets home!<br /><br />So, Christine will catch a break, Molly will get some land to garden her little heart out, Dad will have company, (and have a garden to be proud of), and Mom will be eating her fiber. It's a win-win-win-win situation. I cannot possibly express the thankfulness (and a little bit of the guilt), I have felt with both girls stepping up to the plate and offering their best skills for their grandparents. You can't force a kid to do that, and I am so very proud of them both! Thank you, Sweeties!!! I don't know what Mom knows and doesn't know, but I am confident that if she sees (or could see) and understands (or could understand), she would be the proudest grandma on Earth!</div></div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-25569025833888442732011-03-16T21:08:00.003-05:002011-03-16T21:28:17.207-05:00a chair....with wheelsWhen I mentioned the idea of a "wheelchair" to Dad he ducked his head and said they didn't need it. Somehow the idea of Mom in a wheelchair just seemed like one more step down the ladder, I guess. Still, Mom twists her ankle and "melts" into the floor often. She also loses her balance and is quite weak. She's been using the dining room chairs for the same purpose as a wheelchair, to scoot from here to there so she doesn't have to get up. It's painful to watch, though, because she moves about a half inch with each effort.<br /><br />Dad absolutely can't take her anywhere, so I told him I'd check into a chair "just to get from point A to point B....a chair....with wheels." I met a great lady at the elderly appliances store who did all the Medicare paperwork and had the "transport chair" ready at no cost and no pain to us. The disease is bad enough, but to have to deal with Medicare, too, would be unliveable. Anyway, after this angel of mercy's quick tour we decided a transport chair would be the best choice. I have learned that a "transport chair" is exactly that---not to be wheeled around by the owner, but just with four small wheels to be pushed around. It folds up in a snap, has foot rests that easily pop on and off, is only 31 1/2" across at its widest point, and weighs nearly nothing. And it's in candy-apple red! ZZZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!! ZZZZZZZZZZOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!<br /><br />I took it down to my doubting father and we put her in there for a spin. She acted like she it was Christmas morning. Much like a little one in a walker, she easily learned to push herself backwards and with a little practice can go forwards as well, and turn a 360! Although she gets hung up cutting corners too close sometmes, she smiled and smiled and smiled! That made all the difference in Dad's opinion and he has been fine with it ever since. He thinks she gets more exercise now than she did before she had it because she is always scooting around the house. One morning she got all the way out of bed and into her chair before Dad even noticed! <br /><br />Of course, we get her up and have her walk often, but that can be kind of a big deal. If she wants out, she'll help herself out, but if she doesn't, she won't try at all and is dead weight. She really likes the chair! Now I need to build a ramp. It was nice to be able to wheel her outside to sit in the yard the other day in the sunny, wonderful weather, but on the way back in, she lost her footing on the step and sank to her knees. It was quite the trick getting her back up again and took both Dad and Allen lifting and me holding the door to do it! Anyway, she now has a wheelchair, and it has made her more mobile and happy than she has been in some time. Yeah!Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-74331723210200005302011-03-16T21:06:00.001-05:002011-03-16T21:08:13.647-05:00after ChristmasI haven't written because I've been mad about deleting a video of Mom at Christmas before I got it posted here or saved. I have it on Facebook, but don't know how to get it from there to there. I've been aggravated.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-9739940066764113642011-02-24T21:18:00.004-06:002011-06-29T15:54:50.798-05:00Mom at Christmas<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j9nO4bL_dhQ/TguRAiMlaOI/AAAAAAAAAOA/WRvQKXOt96Y/s1600/doris%2Bchristmas%2B3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623747998067812578" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j9nO4bL_dhQ/TguRAiMlaOI/AAAAAAAAAOA/WRvQKXOt96Y/s400/doris%2Bchristmas%2B3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W20vWZKy9m8/TguQ58xHOcI/AAAAAAAAAN4/S72v_EKPZgE/s1600/doris%2Bchristmas%2B2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623747884941261250" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W20vWZKy9m8/TguQ58xHOcI/AAAAAAAAAN4/S72v_EKPZgE/s400/doris%2Bchristmas%2B2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p62WFuEV8X8/TguQx24MLpI/AAAAAAAAANw/bnG9tGlaFWY/s1600/doris%2Bchristmas1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623747745921379986" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p62WFuEV8X8/TguQx24MLpI/AAAAAAAAANw/bnG9tGlaFWY/s400/doris%2Bchristmas1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br />As you can see, she was very smiley and happy. Just as we did last year, my kids and I spent the night with Mom and Dad Christmas Eve. We put up a tree that night and Mom helped decorate it. She just smiled and smiled.</div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-37007433767735614002010-12-13T04:47:00.012-06:002010-12-13T10:00:22.838-06:00over-medicatedMy job location has been moved an hour away just this month, which of course stinks from the view of cost and time wasted, but does give me plenty of time to call Dad every day and share the day's information. What can we think to talk about every day? Plenty. The dozen wild turkeys I saw on the way to work invoked a discussion of turkeys past and turkeys future and every thought either of us had had on the topic, while the finding of a calf that was missing for a day was a fifteen minute discussion beginning with the wheres and whens and ending with, "I remember when...." most often followed by hearty laughter. Dad is so funny when he tells a story!<br /><br />One day's topic, however, was that of medication panic. Dad had received a letter from Mom's doctor that Dr. Yuhas would not accept whatever kind of Medicare dad had going on with her. Dad was extremely tense about the whole situation and was upset fretting that now he was going to have to find Mom a new doctor, and he'd want to run all these tests, and the cause of the most anxiety: he couldn't get Mom's prescriptions filled. Long story short, I fixed the problem with one phone call and Dad acted like I had performed a miracle second only to the parting of the Red Sea.<br /><br />But it did give me a chance to ask, however, "What kind of medication could Mom possibly need?" Thus began the list. He said, "She has a pill for cholesterol" to which I said, "She's weighs around 125 pounds, how high can her cholesterol be?" Then there was "She has thyroid medication" to which I wondered, "What happens if a person's thyroid is messed up?" The kicker was the "She has to have her estrogen pills." I said, "Estrogen pills? Why would she need estrogen pills, for heaven's sake?" And then he said it....."She has to have those estrogen pills or she'll act crazy." I paused to consider if I had heard correctly before I said, "Not meaning to be rude here, Dad, but how much crazier can she act?" He thought for a second and said he guessed I was right. I shook my head and smirked. I talked with him about, "What is the goal of Mom's medication?" If it gives her some comfort or lessens her anxiety, sure, I understand that. But if it just prolongs her life.....is that really what we're trying to do here? He guessed not and sighed. The medication issue starts the whole day off on the wrong foot with Dad thinking Mom must have her pills or the sky will fall, and Mom refusing to swallow them, instead spitting them out and hiding them in peculiar places. It ends up being a major daily battle and Dad's nerves are shot at the end of the ordeal. I thought, "Why is he doing this?" I called the nurse. She agreed with me that we should continue to try to get as much calcium in her system as possible, (she does fall on occasion), and suggested we keep her on some sort of nerve pill, that she's been on for quite a while, since she used to get scared when she was hallucinating. Other than that, although she couldn't really say that the other pills were unnecessary, she did state, "I can see why you would want to do this. If it was my parent, I would probably do the same." I took that as an affirmation that was enough to get Dad to calm down about it. Dad is old school, of course. He firmly believes that the doctor is always right and to veer off course of his orders would be certain ruin. I introduced the idea that one could tell a doctor, "I would rather do something else" or "I don't think that's that would be the best idea for me because...." It was a foreign idea. Thankfully for him, he has good doctor and the nurse is fantastic. She spent 20 minutes on the phone with me answering every question and talking about Mom as though she saw her every day. In a world of ineptness, I am happy to say, this nurse is not a participant!Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-66701855798412786742010-12-13T04:29:00.007-06:002010-12-13T05:24:31.556-06:00worth 1,000 words<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX5IcvTMgI/AAAAAAAAAL4/SAReIIDLuMg/s1600/allen%2Bbored.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 349px; HEIGHT: 314px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550116039352857090" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX5IcvTMgI/AAAAAAAAAL4/SAReIIDLuMg/s400/allen%2Bbored.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX5BAc3y9I/AAAAAAAAALw/Ii5YlW81cIk/s1600/allen%2Blooking%2Banxious.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 395px; HEIGHT: 301px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550115911500286930" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX5BAc3y9I/AAAAAAAAALw/Ii5YlW81cIk/s400/allen%2Blooking%2Banxious.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX4ebeo2JI/AAAAAAAAALo/H5PdefjWP0c/s1600/allen%2Bbored.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 6px; HEIGHT: 66px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550115317460031634" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX4ebeo2JI/AAAAAAAAALo/H5PdefjWP0c/s400/allen%2Bbored.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX2-q393_I/AAAAAAAAALg/04_HGqFM5zE/s1600/mom%2Bthanksgiving.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550113672325357554" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TQX2-q393_I/AAAAAAAAALg/04_HGqFM5zE/s400/mom%2Bthanksgiving.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I had to include these two photos of my brother, Allen (Joel), and my mom the last time he came to visit. I think they show exactly the emotions we are having right now. The second photo demonstrates, I think, the feeling of anxiousness. What is she thinking? What is she feeling? What can I do?<br /><br /><div><div>The top one speaks of helplessness sometimes, and complete boredom the next. Not that we're bored of Mom, certainly, but we are getting bored with Alzheimer's--the slow regression that it is taking Mom through. We are bored watching the disease take its course, bored with the weight loss, bored with the lack of expression, bored with the continual trying to think what we can do to help her, and bored that the answer is "nothing." </div><div> </div><div>The picture of Mom is just what it is. I think she is bored with it all, too! :) There is no such thing as pointing a camera at her and saying, "Smile." She smiles when she feels like it and she doesn't when she doesn't. Ah, to have that freedom ourselves! :)</div></div></div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-27843578274556924972010-09-19T18:59:00.002-05:002010-09-24T18:52:21.729-05:00gettin' along and gettin' around<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TJakBVtYB4I/AAAAAAAAAK4/F3l4hSalY8U/s1600/clown+photo.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/TJakBVtYB4I/AAAAAAAAAK4/F3l4hSalY8U/s400/clown+photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518778736303409026" border="0"></a>I had a real dilemna trying to figure if I should take Mom to see Devri's latest performance in "The Rogue's Trial" at the college. It was held in the "Black Box Theater" which is indeed a black box, very intimate setting, with the stage in the middle and three sides of bleachers around. In other words, difficult to sneak in and out of unnoticed. Chad insisted that we give it a try because he wanted Dad to see her, so he arranged that we sit on the front row, (which is the same level as the stage), and we were five steps from the exit. I was convinced that Mom wouldn't stay seated for more than 30 seconds. I had plans of taking her to Sonic and then everywhere else I could imagine for the duration of the play. I did agree, grudgingly to Chad, to give it a try however. I was on red alert. The front row of the "Black Box" means a person can actually reach out and grab an actor if you so desire. I was hoping that would not be something she would try. <br /><br />So, we arrived exactly as it was time to be seated because waiting is not something Mom does. I had a change of clothes for her and my purse was well packed with Fruit Loops I planned to feed her one-by-one to keep her distracted. I sat to her right with my left arm around her shoulders and my right hand or her knee every alert to every movement, so I could stop her immediately if she decided to leave. I had several concerns, since I had already seen the play before. First of all, there were bugle blasts first thing which I was afraid might make her jump. Also, there was a robbery and several people "shot" in the show. I thought, "What if she thinks it's real and freaks out?" What would she do when gunshots cut the air? How would she deal with actors running right under her nose constantly where we were sitting? Needless to say, I was on edge. I had Chad take Dad to sit away from us. Didn't think both of us needed to be anxious.<br /><br />Amazingly, my fears were allayed. She sat like an angel the entire time, not trying once to get up. When guns were shot and everyone in the audience jumped, Mom didn't. She blinked, but she did not flinch at anything. She mostly watched the audience and I don't believe took notice of Devri particularly, although I pointed her out. At this point, we take Mom for Dad's sake. He doesn't want to leave her behind, and he wants to believe that she enjoys going. Perhaps she does, I have no idea. It was a success, though. At the end Devri came and spoke right into Dad's face to let him know she saw him, and he was tickled. <br /><br />Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-43812647331908228632010-06-17T22:33:00.002-05:002010-06-17T22:45:25.019-05:00weightI've mentioned that Mom isn't eating, but I haven't blogged how much weight she has lost. She is at 143 right now, (that's a 50 pound loss plus a little.) I originally thought this was the beginning of the end because if she refuses food, that's just the way it is. Then yesterday when I saw her she downed a Jr. Whopper, an egg, a piece of sausage, a biscuit, a glass of milk, a few handfuls of animal crackers, and a container of pudding, so who knows? Maybe she's changed her mind about the not eating thing. ?? She hasn't lost any weight for the past two weeks.<br /><br />Eric stayed with her on Wednesday while Dad was working in the field. He fed Mom pudding, washed the dishes, and generally hung out. He didn't have long to watch Mom, however, because a sudden rain storm chased Dad out of the field after only a couple of hours.<br /><br />I'll blog if something changes and Mom starts losing weight again. I have started going down there nearly every day because it is hay season and Dad needs the help. For people who are used to seeing Mom's usual "buxom" self, it's rather a shock. She looks very old and so much thinner these days. But, what can you expect, really? She still gives nice hugs. Too bad she can't see how much weight she has lost---she's been wanting to lose weight for years!<br /><br />I will say that Christine, my daughter who stays with Mom and Dad, and who is on a one month hiatus in Costa Rica, has gained weight and color and is looking great! I'm glad she is getting a break, (she and her sister), and is having a good time. Care-giving is hard work!Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-9594911286710940352010-06-16T22:51:00.006-05:002010-06-16T23:20:02.824-05:00shinerYeah, Mom has one. Dad called me when I got back from Chicago to tell the tale. He said he was on the baler and expected Mom so sit in the truck. (Insert sigh here.) She evidently decided to take a walk up the driveway and when he found her she had fallen and hit her face and bent her glasses. Evidently, she could not stand up on her own, but sat up on her knees, seemingly unphased, and waited for him to come by and set her back on her feet. He said that Conna, the neighbor, had "doped her up" with some antibiotic ointment and she was fine.<br /><br />Two things worried me about this call. First, if she had fallen and not received any marks, he probably wouldn't have told me. Secondly, if he took her to the neighbor to get "doped up" as he said, he must not have known exactly what to do. So, ASAP, I went down there to check the situation out myself.<br /><br />Upon entering the house I said, "Ok, Mom....let's see what you did," and turned her face to me. There she was with an eye as black and blue as the ocean at midnight. She smiled and her eyes twinkled as she ran her finger across her blackened cheek bone. Obviously, she was impressed with herself. She then ran her fingers down to her knees to show me she had also lost a little skin there. Her glasses were scratched and all caddy-wampus (is this a word?) I said, "You and Dad have been into it again, I guess." She chuckled and again, appeared pleased with her wounds.<br /><br />If Mom was the type of grandma who sat on her porch swing and did needlework, I might have gasped or exclaimed something. But we all know she's not. My mind went back to her telling me everytime we got the sewing machine out, "You know, one time I sewed right through my finger, nail and all!" She seemed to joy in the "cringe factor." And 1,000 other times I've seen her tell people, "Yeah, that steer came right after me and right before he got there, I put my hands on his head and pushed away. Look at my finger!" She would hold up the finger she broke in the process, all healed wrong, curved and permanently deformed. It was a small bone, she figured, so she just popped it back in place herself and continued to load cows. Another story went, "This cow was coming after me and hooked one horn under my rib cage and lifted. Look at this bruise!" She'd lift her shirt to reveal a bruise that covered 50% of her body. (She did have to see a doctor for that one.)<br /><br />To my mom, getting work done faster and better than anyone else was where the glory was. The tougher the job, the better that "wonderful sense of accomplishment" was supposed to feel, (so she told me.) But when a person could do this same difficult job while sustaining a substantial injury, that was just icing on the cake! And so, I looked at her eye, and I looked at her smile, and I saw a twinkle of pride in her eyes, and I said, "Yeah, Mom....it looks good. You're a tough old bird, but next time, I think you'd better work on that landing." So we chuckled together and I was just about as happy for her, as she was for herself.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-84347982709907868252010-05-23T22:13:00.005-05:002010-05-23T22:31:38.162-05:00Not eatingWe had a graduation dinner today at Shoney's in Neosho with three graduates together at once. Christine graduated from MSSU, I from Pitt State with my Master's, and Jessica Behrens, (my cousin), received her pharmaceutical degree in Omaha this week. The easiest way to manage was for me to sit with Mom, constantly making her sit, while Christine grabbed a plate for her at the buffet. When she returned, Mom ate so little. Her appetite has been quite good up until this time. She has eaten everything she sees and we've had to watch that she didn't eat so much so as to get a stomach ache. Lately, Dad has mentioned several times how he can't get her to eat, though. Today, I saw what he meant. If I were being generous, I'd say that she might have eaten 100 calories....about a dozen bites in all, and that took me working with her and sometimes feeding her myself. She has lost a whole lot of weight just since I had last seen her, (which was two weeks as I had been out of town last weekend.) Christine also had a look of worry. She said, "Is it our fault that we're not making her sit down and eat? I even bought her pudding and she wouldn't eat it." Poor thing. I assured her that it was not her fault at all and she could not <span style="font-style: italic;">make</span> Mom eat if she didn't want to do so. I said, not meaning to be cold, but I don't know how else to put it, "Her body will decide when she wants to stop eating, and then she will stop drinking, and then that will be all there is to it. You cannot do anything about it. This is the disease and this is how it works. This is 'normal', Christine, and it's ok." She gave me a "What do you mean it's ok, are you crazy?" look. Poor baby. She's so sweet, and so determined not to let this happen, and there's just no way. She's fighting a losing battle and is not at the point where she can accept it. It makes me want to cry that she is trying so hard not to let it happen. Youth. She graduated from college this week, she has succeeded at everything she's put her hand to, she is full of energy and enthusiasm and optimism and a belief that she can "take care of" any problem that comes her way. But this is that hard life lesson where she must be made to realize that we are, indeed, mere mortals, and in the end, death wins. I learned this at age 14 when my brother died. It's a horrible secret, that I wish I could keep from her forever.<br /><br />I believe in life after death. I have faith in God. I believe He knows all things, sees all things, and is always just and fair. I believe that my Mom is in His hands and I can have peace knowing that He will "take care of it" although we cannot. How could I carry on in this world without believing this? How does my dad manage?Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-47832621975505430092010-05-23T21:52:00.006-05:002010-05-23T22:11:09.025-05:00Easter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S_nrV1vhfSI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/H-CijqMwgZQ/s1600/DSC03148.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S_nrV1vhfSI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/H-CijqMwgZQ/s400/DSC03148.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474665582481734946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S_nq4ypcIWI/AAAAAAAAAKI/6H0d-eRrZ3U/s1600/DSC03136.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S_nq4ypcIWI/AAAAAAAAAKI/6H0d-eRrZ3U/s400/DSC03136.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474665083434705250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S_nqb515ZQI/AAAAAAAAAKA/2zkQBT0q6lY/s1600/DSC03147.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S_nqb515ZQI/AAAAAAAAAKA/2zkQBT0q6lY/s400/DSC03147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474664587149796610" border="0" /></a><br />I took an Easter basket down to the home place, filled with the usual holiday goodies, thinking that Mom, Dad, and Christine could share them. One look from Mom told me that wasn't going to happen. She took the basket and headed for the truck where she shut the door and started munching on her favorite, the Peeps. Because the day was fairly warm and we were concerned about her getting hot in the truck, Eric opened the door so she could get some air. She promptly closed it. He started playing with her, opening the door and she reacted by looking him in the eye and shutting it again. It was a losing idea, so we decided the obvious compromise was just to just roll down the window. She was so funny, with her deadpan look; she stared us all in the face and slowly began rolling the window up, watching us the whole time with obvious disinterest. When this was accomplished, she turned and faced forward and started digging through the Easter grass for the malted eggs. It doesn't sound funny now maybe, but it really was at the time. Dad, Eric, and I all laughed at her determination to be left alone with "her" basket. She surely would have had a sugar overdose, except that her hands are unable to unwrap chocolate bars. I think Chris and Dad may have gotten a couple of those, but Mom knew who the basket was "really" for, and she took it. :)<br /><br />My mom always enjoyed giving us things at Easter, no matter how old we got. And now I'm carrying on the tradition and she will get her Easter basket, no matter how old she gets! I am pretty sure the world would be a better place if <span style="font-style: italic;">everybody</span> gave an Easter basket to someone each spring and received one in return. :) I love you, Mom! Thank you for always remembering us at Easter!Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-17290378299796968532010-03-23T15:11:00.005-05:002010-03-23T15:25:41.167-05:00"Sometimes Grandma Scares Me"Those were the words of my son, who is 15. I know what he means. Mom rarely laughs or smiles or shows any type of expression. And sometimes she looks right through you with her eyebrows slightly bent and her mouth firmly set, and no kidding, it is scary. I've noticed it, but not said anything, but Eric has begun to get bothered by this look. The same week, Dad said the same thing. "I don't know whether she's goin' to kill me or what. I don't think she'd really do anything, but the way she looks sometimes, it scares the hell out of me!" I do know. And last time I took her photo, she was giving that, "I'm going to kill you," look when I clicked the button. I decided not to post it. As Dad says, "It gives me the 'heebee jeebies."<br /><br />So, I told them both the same thing. I said, "You know Grandma, (or Mom), left a long time ago. We are taking care of her body, as kind of a memorial to honor her, but she's not there anymore. You are looking at flesh and blood only." I told them that people weren't meant to walk around in their bodies without their minds working. "We're not used to seeing that, and that is what makes it scary," I said, "Different is sometimes scary."<br /><br />I continued to tell Eric, "You know.....someday.....something is going to happen to Grandma's body and it won't be good. I'm not sure what will happen, but it will. And when it does, it's not going to be that terrible of a thing. We have lost Grandma already, and we grieve. But this body that walks around like a ghost and sometimes makes very scary faces....it's not her.....and it's ok.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-28256875461660540432010-03-23T14:43:00.007-05:002010-03-23T15:10:09.007-05:00Long Time, No Blog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S6kdWVUTNVI/AAAAAAAAAJo/8Z6S2GsBB20/s1600-h/devri+matchmaker.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S6kdWVUTNVI/AAAAAAAAAJo/8Z6S2GsBB20/s400/devri+matchmaker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451921093425313106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S6kakpOOzYI/AAAAAAAAAJg/buB9EL7qTZQ/s1600-h/DSC02536.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/S6kakpOOzYI/AAAAAAAAAJg/buB9EL7qTZQ/s400/DSC02536.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451918040751852930" border="0" /></a>Well, what's to write? Days turn into weeks, that turn into months, and we just keep paddling and waiting. What we're waiting for nobody wants to know, but we wait and time passes.<br /><br />I did take Mom to see the dress rehearsal of "Fiddler on the Roof" that Devri performed in this March. Mom has passed the point that she can sit still through an entire show, so we went to rehearsal, instead. When Devri was on stage Mom was very attentive. When she exited, each time, Mom decided to leave. So, in those small intervals when Devri was not performing, we walked. We walked around the auditorium. We walked back and forth in the foyer, again and again and again and again. We walked every row of chairs starting at the top and zig-zagging all the way down to the bottom and made the return trip from bottom to top. When Devri came back on stage we sat and watched, and when she danced with the Rabbi, Mom even laughed. Otherwise, though, she timed her exits to perfect synchronization with Devri's.<br /><br />The following Friday, Christine took Dad up to watch the performance and I stayed with Mom. When I first mentioned the idea of Dad going without Mom, he was stunned that I would suggest it and then very depressed saying, "Don't you think Doris would want to go?" I told him I'd take her during rehearsal, but to think about it. "Mom might be ok, but you'll be a nervous wreck," I said. He responded with an "I guess that's so." So, he went with Christine and told Mom "goodbye" but I noticed he did <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> tell her he was going to watch Devri perform. He said, "I'm leaving for a while and I'll be right back." When he returned, he looked rejuvenated and like a very proud grandpa. It will be hard for him to learn to do things without Mom, but it must eventually happen. He cannot stop living because of this disease. But sometimes I think he wants to.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-10516304928279625612009-12-30T21:59:00.004-06:002009-12-30T22:23:58.164-06:00the good and the bad of itThe good side of Alzheimer's I have yet to see, but I am seeing plenty of the bad side. Mom no longer has any bowel control, and I don't say that as an insult because it's the Alzheimer's not Mom. She can't help it, of course. I think, "Maybe somebody reading this will have to go through this whole Alzheimer's experience, and they may as well know what they're in for. I'm not going to sugar-coat it." So, anyway....it's a bad deal, sure enough, and we're all doing things we have never done before and never really thought we could. It's kind of strange how you suddenly "can" do what you "must" do. It makes a person feel like they are stronger than they thought they ever were, somehow. Anyway, I was dealing with the issue last week and thinking, "Oh, Lord, this is SO bad! I really may die right here and now!!" Then I got to thinking. If Mom was in a nursing center and this happened, there would be no way that a nurse could possibly leave the attention of 20 other people and attend just to her. She would just be there needing help, and have to wait until no telling how long for someone to care for her. And suddenly I was so thankful. Mom needed care immediately and she got it immediately, no problem. That is just such a blessing to be able to care for my Mom in any way, at the very moment she needs me.<br /><br />Right in the middle of this mess I'm so thankful and happy I could cry! So, maybe that's the "good" of it---not what the disease is doing to Mom, but what it is doing to all of us.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-78854253614084202272009-12-30T21:44:00.005-06:002009-12-30T22:14:58.973-06:00the funeralDad's brother, Norman, passed away just before Christmas and the kids, Mom and Dad, and I drove up to Adrian, MO for the memorial service. We had a real time keeping Mom down for the 30 minute service. The family was separate from the general population and the girls and I, (and my two nieces), kept charge of Mom while my Dad and brother sat on the front of the family section. Happily, we had enough space where no one could notice her getting up and down and up and down every couple minutes, and we also had a back door and took her out twice for a walk "downtown" while the service continued. She no longer follows simple commands very well at all. My "sit down" went largely unheeded, but she had to push herself out of the arm chair to stand, so I kind of pushed her off balance a little so she couldn't get up every 5 seconds, (and I mean every five seconds.) Once I got distracted and didn't get her off-balance fast enough and she was already standing before I even knew it. I held her at bay, but thought, "Oh, boy..." and whispered to her, "Now, Mom....you don't want me to put you in one of my restraints I use at school do you?" She laughed. (I actually do work in a school where I sometimes have to use restraining moves.) Anyway, I had one arm and was wondering what I was going to do if she decided to walk up to the podium, when Christine grabbed Mom's other arm and in one smooth move, forced her to step back which made the chair hit her in the back of the knees, she lost balance and sat. Christine whispered, "Now that's how it's done." I stood amazed. That girl knows what she's doing. Anyway, we made it through the service. That afternoon at the internment, she wanted to walk all over the cemetery, but that was ok with us. Everybody kind of kept an eye open for her, (and I mean everyone)---the whole family was distracted making sure she didn't get away. I think Christine took her to see my brother's grave site, I'm not sure, and I don't know if she had a reaction or not. I don't even look towards that part of the cemetery. It gives me a headache.<br /><br />Anyway, Dad will sure miss Norman. They talked to each other on the phone each and every day. Dad even said, "I don't know what I'm going to do with this cell phone now. I don't have anybody to call." That's so sad. Dad has lost four siblings thus far---two just this year.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-37132385912560484092009-12-30T21:16:00.013-06:002009-12-30T22:19:01.078-06:00Merry Christmas!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwdATa6DRI/AAAAAAAAAJY/ZB0X3cV07mI/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp432%3B8%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948+69324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwdATa6DRI/AAAAAAAAAJY/ZB0X3cV07mI/s400/232323232%257Ffp432%3B8%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948+69324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421239942497570066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwcqnJBZbI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Y75XGQh_oFg/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp43336%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948776324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwcqnJBZbI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Y75XGQh_oFg/s400/232323232%257Ffp43336%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948776324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421239569834141106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwcjPfTX-I/AAAAAAAAAI4/2oh-HjT8rpc/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp43333%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948+72324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwcjPfTX-I/AAAAAAAAAI4/2oh-HjT8rpc/s400/232323232%257Ffp43333%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948+72324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421239443226058722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwYm2M26bI/AAAAAAAAAIo/4IgFgg4bJyo/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp432%286%29nu%3D32%286%297%3B8%293%283%2923%3B77%3B84%3B4233ot1lsi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwYm2M26bI/AAAAAAAAAIo/4IgFgg4bJyo/s400/232323232%257Ffp432%286%29nu%3D32%286%297%3B8%293%283%2923%3B77%3B84%3B4233ot1lsi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421235107110775218" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/Szwc69g_T7I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/XcW7AFw-fdk/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp4344%3B%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%2869289%289324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/Szwc69g_T7I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/XcW7AFw-fdk/s400/232323232%257Ffp4344%3B%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%2869289%289324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421239850718154674" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwXskUPVGI/AAAAAAAAAIg/AfN3UyNl6l4/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp432%3B5%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%28694877%3B324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwXskUPVGI/AAAAAAAAAIg/AfN3UyNl6l4/s400/232323232%257Ffp432%3B5%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%28694877%3B324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421234105877484642" border="0" /></a><br />My kids would have it no other way than to spend the night at Mom and Dad's house to celebrate Christmas morning together. And they said there would be a tree. Of course, Dad said, "I'm not putting up no damned tree," and of course, he lost--kind of. Christmas Eve Eve Christine brought home a potted plant that looked quite like a Christmas tree, and the kids decked it out. Eric, Dev, and I packed our bags, (and our turkey, and our stuffing, and, and, and) like we were off for a big Christmas journey to visit our relatives. Forty minutes later we arrived.<br /><br />We've pared down Christmas a lot in the last several years, mostly so Dad won't stress out over it. Gifts are completely optional and generally very practical. When Mom was doing things, Christmas-time was a major "to do," but not anymore. We still enjoy it, though.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwZhmxHkGI/AAAAAAAAAIw/K4eBHtVxnbQ/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp43334%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948785324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SzwZhmxHkGI/AAAAAAAAAIw/K4eBHtVxnbQ/s400/232323232%257Ffp43334%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948785324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421236116580175970" border="0" /></a>The kids gave Mom three of her favorite things....a new hat, chocolate pudding cups, and a card that sang, "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" every time she opened it. Dad got a corresponding gift of decorative cotton balls with bows on them, to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/Szwc0Um6k_I/AAAAAAAAAJI/_KLIXt0eLAI/s1600-h/232323232%257Ffp43454%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948+6+324nu0mrj.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/Szwc0Um6k_I/AAAAAAAAAJI/_KLIXt0eLAI/s400/232323232%257Ffp43454%29nu%3D323%3B%295%288%295+%29WSNRCG%3D32%286948+6+324nu0mrj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421239736657941490" border="0" /></a>wear in his ears when she opens the card 1,000 times/day. haha Also, Christine bought Dad a new watch. When he was trying to set his old watch for daylight savings time this fall, he broke the stem off and could not reset it. So, he took the new watch and put it on his right wrist, leaving the old one on his left. He said in the spring he'll look at his right arm and in the fall, he'll look left to tell the time. Snort! I bought him new socks and underwear---try to do this every twenty years or so. He said, "I've been thinking about buying some of those....." He's been thinking about it for over ten years, no doubt.<br /><br />We all enjoyed watching the kids open their stockings with the little presents and candy packed in tight, and it was done---perfect. I fixed the standard fare of turkey, hot rolls, dressing, etc, and it was a warm, cozy, and easy-going day we shared.<br /><br />Mom is having more trouble eating and we no longer take her out to eat because it gets pretty messy. The biggest problem is she eats with her hands and will not leave the food in her mouth. The food is in and out and in and out, and not for the faint of stomach. We can deal with it, but we save the general population the experience! But, on the bright side, she is not choking!<br /><br />I don't know if this will be the last Christmas with Mom, but if it is, it was a very fine one and I wouldn't have changed anything. We laughed a lot and Mom let go of her dead-pan stare and laughed along with us for the moment. It's always so sweet when she does that.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-82266011750327565412009-12-30T21:15:00.002-06:002009-12-30T21:16:06.546-06:00Can you write my name?That was the question Chad asked Mom last time he saw her. She nodded, then wrote clearly, "Chadwick" and laughed.Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4023797365289411566.post-79528725873993716002009-11-15T20:40:00.007-06:002009-11-15T21:06:25.600-06:00the quilt blocks<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SwDAx2oMkQI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Jbh0xvXv3hU/s1600/DSC01720.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404531515554828546" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SwDAx2oMkQI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Jbh0xvXv3hU/s400/DSC01720.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SwDABEgg50I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/J_bwgdJrO4M/s1600/DSC01711.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404530677467113282" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y3rbtQ3HWSI/SwDABEgg50I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/J_bwgdJrO4M/s400/DSC01711.JPG" /></a> <strong>(Photo #1 Mom brought a book of old postcards out of who-knows-where to show me. Photo #2 Dad surveys his kingdom.) </strong>Rummaging through bag after bag of fabric in the laundry room today, I happened across two sets of quilt blocks, many of them already sewn together. I knew that in past days Mom had worked on quilts with both my daughters and my two nieces, Liesel and Molly. It was a mystery to me just who these quilt tops belonged to, but so much work had gone into them already, I knew they needed to be done. I figured they were Liesel and Molly's because living so far away, they haven't had as much time to work with Mom as my girls. I asked Mom, "Whose are these?" and of course, was met with a stare. Then I had a thought. I wrote the names "Christine," "Devri," "Liesel," and "Molly," on a piece of paper and said, "Mom, can you point to the name of who these quilt tops belong to?"<br /><div><div></div><div>She quickly nodded, "Yes." </div><br /><div>I held one up. "What about this green one with the butterflies?" I asked. </div><div></div><div>She quickly pointed to "Christine." </div><br /><div>Next I said, "Ok, what about this blue one with the pink swirley deals?" </div><br /><div>Again, without hesitation, she pointed to, "Devri," and smiled. </div><br /><div>I really had no idea if she really knew what she was doing, but I called Christine and said, "I found some unfinished quilt tops in the sewing room today.......do you know anything about them?" </div><br /><div>"Oh, yeah," she answered, "The butterfly one is mine and the pink and blue one is Devri's." </div><br /><div>BINGO- Mom was right. Made my day. I gave her 'lots of kisses.</div></div></div>Laurel Stebbinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01265477079711264892noreply@blogger.com0