Mothers and Daughters at the Opera

Last night was the opening night of this season's Educational Opera Program.  They performed Pagliacci.  

I had never seen it performed live before, only on PBS.  It had to be the shortest opera I've ever attended.  We were home before 10 o'clock!

As an olive branch of good will, I invited my Mom to come with us, as she has never been.  I didn't think she had any interest in it, but a few weeks ago she began hinting around for an invitation, so what's a daughter to do.  She really seemed to enjoy herself,  even though she had LOTS of questions.  I'm glad we were able to spend a little quality time together without too much pressure of stimulating conversation.  I'm not much for small talk  these days and things have been a tiny bit tense between us since she moved so close to me.  Actually, I've been a bit tense, but I don't think she has noticed.  It is kind of unnerving to have your Mother about to pop up at your house at any given time of day or night.  Since I don't have a day job, she thinks I'm available to do things with her all day every day.  That's actually not true at all, my family keeps me on my toes quite consistently. Anyway, I'm working on boundaries.  Let me just say, it's a work in progress.  

She was already hinting around at an invitation for the next performance when I dropped her off at home last night, LOL.  That lady really is something else.  But she's my Mother, and I love her.  What else can you do.

Speaking of the performance, everything was spectacular.  Poor Canio, the Pagliacci, a jilted, suspicious, homicidal clown is really something to behold on stage.  Although his killing scene wasn't nearly as terrifying as Lucia's from Lucia di Lammermoor, I still had to give him a lot of credit.  He was a beautiful tenor.

There was a strange moment at the end where after the curtain call and all of the ovations, the three main characters . . . including ones who had just died . . . got up and sang a few bonus songs at the end.  I don't know if this has a formal name in the opera world or not, as I've never witnessed anything like it.  It was so nice to go drive home humming the bonus score.

I've never really understood why some people have a fear of clowns, but after last night, I think I'm going to keep my distance from them.  Also, I have truly witnessed the literal interpretation of "Tears of a Clown." 

So now I know what music I'll be playing around the house all weekend. 


What wonderful weekend plans do you have?
 

Until next time . . .

 

You Slay Me, Lucia

Last night Baby Boy and I went to see Lucia di Lammermoor.  OOOhhhhhhhhh Mmmmmyyyyyyy Gooddddnnneeessssss it was sooooooo good.  If you have read here for any length of time, you will know that I am a true blue lover of all the arts, but opera is my absolute favorite and a personal passion.  

The first act started out kind of slowly and I could actually see Baby Boy wilting in his seat beside me.  He got up and took a brisk walk in the crisp night air during the first intermission and came back somewhat refreshed.  Fortunately, the action really picked up in Act II and I was no longer in jeopardy of losing him.  We were both thoroughly engrossed by Act III. 

In Act III there was a scene where Lucia comes on stage in a blood soaked wedding dress after killing her moments-ago-married husband, hallucinates, and then commits suicide (it's a tragedy). The soprano who played Lucia had a voice so pure and clear and sweet, it just about brought tears to my eyes.  You could actually see her losing her grip on reality and going insane right before your eyes on stage.  She then proceeded to die the most beautiful, disturbing, and agonizingly slow death ever to be performed.  She actually sang blood curdling screams in time with the score.  She was simply marvelous!  Baby Boy and I enthusiastically participated in her standing ovation.

Last night was amazing and just happens to be in extremely stark contrast to what I'm doing today - - taking my Mom to have her colonoscopy.  *SIGH*  Such is the life of the first born child.   

Oh, well.  At least I'll have something lovely to hum to myself in the waiting room.  If I get too bored, I now know how to convincingly go crazy for an audience. ;-) You never know when that skill will come in handy.

Have a FAN-TAB-U-LOUS weekend!
 

Until next time . . .

Is It That Time Again Already?

Well it appears I'll be starting off 2011 with a bang.

Yesterday my sister called and let me know that she's been getting letters and phone calls from bill collectors looking for my Mom.  Apparently Mom has fallen behind on paying some bills.  Why did my sister call me instead of Mom?  Because I'm Mom's payee for her disability benefits and I'm supposed to make sure she isn't mis-managing her funds.

Well, obviously I'm falling a little short on that job.  *insert shameful downcast eyes here*

I did get all of her finances in order when she got her own place (Did I tell y'all she's in her own place now?  It's a very recent development.)  and fixed her up on a working budget that left her plenty of extra spending money in addition to paying for all of her needs.  I tried to give her a little responsibility of her own so she wouldn't feel like I was sassing her.  Moms don't stand for sass here in the South, believe me.

She gets a nice disability check, plus my Dad, who's still very much in love with her even though they're divorced, gives her generous guilt money, please come back to me money, can you cook me dinner money, spousal support.  She is not impoverished in any way. 

I'm very concerned because little idiosyncrasies like this always creep up right before her schizo-affective disorder breaks out for another run.  Retail therapy has always been one of her pre-relapse symptoms.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a reprieve, but not holding my breath.

So this weekend, I have the unnatural and awkward task of going to Mom's house and auditing her finances to see where all of her money is going.   The hardest part is that she will not cooperate freely and it's going to be a painful power struggle, but it's a struggle I have to win.  I'm considering taking full responsibility for paying her bills and setting her up on an allowance instead of just trusting her to follow through on the budget I've created for her.  We're not talking about a senile old lady; Mom's in her mid-fifties and very strong willed.  So sad.   

Sometimes it's such a chore being the oldest child.   

Wish me luck!

Until next time . . .

Mental Madness

I need blog therapy today.  If you're not interested, please move on.    The sun will come out tomorrow . . . and all that jazz.

 
If I were a professional, real live, licensed psychiatrist, then I would definitely have front desk help to make sure my phones are always answered.  At the very least, I would have a professional answering service so that my mentally ill patients who are experiencing life-affecting side affects from their medications would have some recourse other than calling and hearing the phone ring off the hook for 2 weeks at a time with no answer.  

Mom has been seeing this . . . doctor . . . and I use this term very loosely . . . since her most recent hospital stay back in February.  I have never been overly impressed with him, but he seemed to at least acknowledge that Mom has a problem and needs lots of hand-on serious help, plus he didn't get overly perturbed when I bum-rushed her appointments to correct all the hallucinations she was representing as fact.  That was a small positive in my book.

What I didn't like was the fact that her appointments were only once a month and they only took about 5 minutes total and then he'd whip out his prescription pad and start laying on the drugs.  He seemed to be more interested in warehousing her than actually treating her.  Seriously, he'd ask her questions like "Are you having hallucinations?"  

WHAT??!!

Even the craziest patient knows the answer to that question.  Uh . . . "NO!"  If you answer that question incorrectly, the result is a one way ticket to the loony bin.  When he pulled that stunt with Mom, I was like . . . "Are you serious?  That's the best you've got for an out-patient interview?"  I mean, I've NEVER been to medical school and I'm sure I could have done a better job.  In fact, as the black sheep of my family, it's my job to get Mom to open up to me without upsetting her or making her overly suspicious, so I KNOW I can do a better job.  I DO a better job.  Regularly.  Have mercy!

I'm sorry I'm so prickly.  I was at the end of my rope yesterday.  Today, I let go.   

My mom is experiencing some frustrating side effects from her medications, which the doctor just increases every time she goes to see him without actually gauging how each increment will affect her.  She's been trying to contact him, but he won't return her calls.  She has an appointment later this month, but I'm not sure what little sanity she has will last that long.

I'm also just feeling sort of ambivalent about this entire situation surrounding my Mom.  She has been staying with my sister for a few months now, but she spends about 10 hours a day by herself because my sister works and my niece goes to school.  My sister has more room at her place because it's just her and my niece, we have Baby Boy and we have a classroom/office.  of course, we did give her full reign of the guest room, even moving in her own bed, desk, and as much of her personal furniture as we could fit in here to make her happy and literally gave her 100% free access to all things Two Moms', but she just wasn't happy here.  The thing is, she certainly isn't any healthier over there.  When she was living here, our life was SUCH a struggle and I admit I was pretty happy when she moved out.  She and I are very much alike to the point that I feel like a guest in my own home because I try very hard to be respectful of her as a woman and my Mother.  Plus, since Mom can't work right now . . . and refuses to get a hobby . . . or do any volunteer work . . . or leave the house except to buy fast food . . . we see her a little too much when she lives here.  It's hard to share your throne.  This is my throne.
 
*SIGH*

I'm digressing.  The bottom line is that this week we're firing her psychiatrist even though we're having a little trouble finding another one who is both currently accepting new patients and also accepts Mom's insurance.

So keep the Two Moms plus One Additional Mom clan in your thoughts today.   



Until next time . . .

Cue the Hallelujah Chorus!!!!!

My Mom's moving out today!!

I got up extra early and made a great big send-off breakfast with a side of crocodile tears so that she'd think I'm sorry to see her go, and then I woke Baby Boy up so he could help her load up all of her stuff.

She just left and is on her way to meet the movers to get a bunch of her stuff out of storage so that she can take it all to my sister's house (Yeah!) where they are signing a 12 month lease (Double Yeah!).

It does already seem awfully quiet around here, but I think I'll get used to it pretty quickly. ;-)

O' Happy Day!!!

Until next time . . .

Ka - BOOM!!!!!!

Anyone who knows me very well already knows that I hate to drive, which is quite a strange thing to hate, especially since I seem to have multiple places to go every. single. day. Even still, I don't enjoy the driving part.

I quite literally despise driving anyone anytime anywhere. I do love road trips, romantic get-a-ways, etc . . . but the way I love them is securely seated in the shotgun seat. It has all the scenic glory with none of the responsibility and that suites me just fine.

I used public transportation as long as I possibly could and didn't even bother getting a driver's license until I was over 18 and living on my own. My Dad finally flat refused to continue driving me back and forth to work and school, LOL, but I digress. Back to business, since my Mom has been sick and since business has (thankfully) picked up for Mom #2, I've been doing lots and lots of driving, way more than I usually do and as a result . . . it was clearly only a matter of time . . . before something tragic happened.

No need to guess, I'll fill you right on in.

Baby Boy and I were running an errand for Mom #2, so we headed out to an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar neighborhood. We had our handy-dandy Mapquest print-out in hand and a hopeful spirit between us. Another little fancy-smancy tidbit is that I possess the world's worst sense of direction and have been known to drive around and around in circles for hours usually within a 5 foot radius of my destination, but we won't be discussing that today.

An even juicier tidbit is that Baby Boy usually drives us anywhere we have to go since he got his learner's permit as part of the Driver's Education curriculum in our homeschool (which basically consists of him driving me everywhere until I stop hanging onto the dashboard for dear life and then he's promoted). Since we were in unfamiliar territory, I thought I'd drive. I thought it would be safer.

After a few missed exits and u-turns, we found the place all right. We handled our business and were all ready to head home when, the unthinkable happened. Did I forget to mention that this lovely residence was located out in the middle of rural nowhere? Well . . . it was. So as I was backing (HA!) out of the driveway, I full force collided with . . .


. . . a tree!


Now my pride is bruised, my back is sore and my attitude is pessimistic to say the least. Everyone seems to be so laissez-faire with attitudes of "Oh, accidents happen," but I just can't seem to let it go. I haven't had as much as a parking ticket in at least 15 years, if not longer. All of that excellent driving record going down the tubes because of a tree! A tree! Mercy, help me, I'm hot about it.

Did I mention we were broke? Did I? Drop-dead, collecting cans in the front yard, beans and rice eatin' BROKE! How the heck we're supposed to foot the bill for our insurance deductible in this pathetic financial condition, I'll never know. Now there is a great big rusty dent in the trunk. It's unsightly, but still drivable. Good thing, too, because it may have to be there for a while.


Oh, forgive me, I forgot to mention the most obscene part of this whole debacle . . .


. . . I was driving my Mother's car and she wants it fixed now!When it rains, it pours.



Until next time . . .

Clankety Clack!

Who would have thought that a cup of coffee could drive a person insane? Listen up. I'll tell you how it most certainly can.

I have never drank an entire cup of coffee in my life. I have tasted it on a couple of occasions, but I just don't like the taste of it . . . so no coffee for me. None. Ever. No coffee. I stick to my morning orange juice for my pick-me-up.

Sometimes Mom #2 will drink a cup of coffee or two during the winter, if she's working outside, as we Texans require adequate warmth from the inside out if the temperature ever dares to dip below 40 degrees. This doesn't happen too often and I don't like the way her breath smells after she drinks coffee, so she usually just sticks to her delicious homemade Mexican hot chocolate. That's a whole different post, so enough about that.

For the most part though, during the decade or so that we've been together, there's been no coffee in this house.

Enter my Mom.

She loves coffee. She usually drinks about 10 cups a day. Due to her new prescription cocktail, she's been put on decaff, but she's making up for that by just having 40,000 cups a day. I'm sure it's terrible for her, but it keeps her from harassing me all day long somewhat sane, so we're just letting her drink herself into oblivion have as many as she likes.

It's not the actual drinking of the coffee that bothers me. It's the coffee preparation ritual. She is so LOUD! Here's the rundown:

• She makes a big pot of coffee three or four times a day and then microwaves single cups all day long. . . so she slams the microwave door shut and yanks it open a hundred thousand times a day.
  

• She has become addicted to one specific coffee mug, so she has to rinse it out not to mention waste gallons and gallons of water a million kajillion times a day.

• She has to measure her cream and sugar just so, so she has to drag out, open, close and shove back the ceramic canisters across my counter tops fifty-eleven times a day.

• Don't forget the stirring. She has to use a metal teaspoon against a glass mug and stir stir stir a bazillion stirs for each of her cups of coffee (I think we've already addressed how many that is.)

• And finally . . . and I know you knew this was coming . . . the slurping! Yes the slurping! OH THE SLURPING! All day long and all night strong: slurp-slurp-slurp-slurp-slurp! If it's that darn good, JUST DRINK IT! She has about a hundred million gazillion slurps per cup.

Did I forget to mention that my bedroom is directly outside of the kitchen?

My Mom keeps extremely odd hours. So several times a night, after I've fallen deep into sleep, I am awakened by this coffee-preparation ritual. That's actually fine. It gives me a chance to go to the bathroom a few gagillion times a night so that I never have to worry about stretching out my bladder ever again in this lifetime.

What really gets my goat is that she has to get up and do this same clankety-clack ritual at about 6:30, 7:00 and 7:30 every morning. I hate being awakened by noise. I like to wake up peacefully and quietly at 8:00 every morning. I know that's not early to a lot of you, but it's early enough for me. And it's quiet. It's the specific time of day in this house when no one else is doing anything. I require peace and quiet or I wake up and instantly become mean as heck and proceed to take it out on my entire family all the live-long day. So everyone except my super self centered Mother usually goes out of their way to keep the morning routine quiet and drama free.

So if you wonder why I've been so sporadic in my blogging lately, it's because I've been in an extremely bad mood for 10 or 12 weeks.

But there is light at the end of the tunnel. I'm not quite counting my chickens before they hatch . . . but . . . it has been rumored that someone may be moving out in about 30 days. I'm cautiously optimistic. I'm keeping quiet until I have more details, but I will go ahead and take those good vibes now. In case my point is being lost in my subtlety, I said NOW!



Until next time . . .

We Have a New Roommate

It certainly seems that we moved into this bigger house just in the nick of time; Mom has been released into my care.


(Being the oldest certainly has it's privileges ;-).


We're delicately navigating the issues of her illness. The hospitalization calmed the situation, but definitely didn't eliminate it. We'll be attending weekly psychiatric as well as psychology appointments.

Mom is not to be left alone; she is not to drive; she is to have medication administered daily under close supervision.

Today we've had a pleasant day so far. Mom came along to our monthly homeschool bowling trip. She also watched Baby Boy do some fancy footwork in tae kwon do and then we took a nice leisurely walk around the block.

As much as I usually like being bossy, let me tell each and every one of you this in no uncertain terms: It is positively against the laws of nature for a woman in her 30's to be in an authoritative position over her 50-something year old Mom. I keep having to gather all of my gumption when I tell her that she cannot teach Sunday School or lead her Women's Ministry Group or jump into her car and go where she wants to go.

She has not accepted that she is sick, but I hope she will soon. I wouldn't have her any other place than here. This woman, no matter what her issues, gave me life. She is the reason I am the woman I am today, for better or for worse.


I just hope she gets better.


Until next time . . .

What Goes Up . . . Must Come Down :(

Guess where I've been all. day. long?

Having my Mom involuntarily committed for inpatient treatment at the mental hospital.

Tears, tears. tears. That's all.


Until next time . . .

I Know . . . You're All Wondering . . .

. . . How the Mom visit went. Right?


Well, I must admit. It went great!


As you know, I did get up early and enlist the assistance of my entire family and we scrubbed the house from top to bottom. I like to think I keep a fairly clean house anyway, but both my Mother and Father are military veterans and cleanliness is truly only next to Godliness in their eyes. All my growing-up years, I was held to an extremely high cleanliness standard.

Check this out, she actually said these exact words right out loud, "Everything just looks and smells so clean and fresh!"

Yippee!!! I was giddy; simply delirious with joy! I know it sounds weird, but seriously, in my opinion, there is no higher compliment.

Also, to add to the festivities, Mom was in a bright and beautiful mood, speaking clearly and coherently, and was not interested in converting me to her religion.


Success!


She managed to have a lovely visit with me, Mom #2, Baby Boy, and even Baby Doggy and didn't get on any one's nerves. I'm just so glad it's done and over with. I know that each and every visit is unique and just because this one went great, it doesn't mean they all will. In fact, with her particular mental illness, odds are the next one will be awful, but I'm not letting my mind go there today. Today I'm going to be happy.

As proof of the great time we had . . . here's a photo Mom #2 took on the sly while the rest of us were rocking out to a little Guitar Hero World Tour (or at least attempting to rock out, LOL).




In the end, she did talk me into going with her to a Mary Kay training class with her. I let her use me as her make-over dummy. (Oh, I forgot to tell you, since she quit her job, she's a Southern Baptist minister by day and a Mary Kay salesperson by night - it's quite an existence she's carved out for herself.) She actually did a pretty good job, I was impressed.

Of course, now I'm on the prowl to see if any of my IRL friends want to come over for a Mary Kay party. This is a little more stress than I had planned on bringing on myself, but it's for a good cause - keeping my Mother from moving into my guest room.


SO . . . if any of y'all want to buy any Mary Kay products, drop me a line, I've got the hook-up.



Until next time . . .

Getting Up Pretty Early In The Morning . . .

. . . To prepare for The Mom visit. Tomorrow. Afternoon.

Oh, I have to admit, I don't talk to my Mom as often as I should and I hardly ever see her even though she lives less than 30 minutes away from me. Before we moved, she lived literally 5 minutes away from me . . . true walking distance. Still . . . not many visits.

We aren't close. She has lots of issues . . . some I've mentioned here . . . some are too much to display here in print . . . it would make them too real. Mostly it's due to her pretty tiresome mental illness that isn't really her fault . . . but she seems to really take out her crazy on me . . . and I'm tired

I always have to really "pump myself up" for The Mom visit.

She's been chomping at the bit to get over here every since we moved. It's been three weeks and I literally could not hold her off any longer. If I didn't let her plan tomorrow's visit, she may have resorted to the pop-in. Believe me, no one wants to endure a Mom pop-in. They aren't pretty. They are usually at all odd hours of the day and/or night, they are not proceeded by a phone call, they usually involve bathrobes and hair curlers (hers not mine), and most importantly they come with an accompanying lecture involving people laying in ditches and not breathing on their own. No, the pop-in is never pretty.

So. I'll be getting up early, washing linens, vacuuming carpets and mopping floors . . . it's multipurpose actually. I clean when stressed AND Mom will be cutting her eyes at every corner, so I would have to clean if I wanted to or not.


So. Tomorrow. I'll. Clean.


Nighty night!



Until next time . . .

Someone Please Tell . . .

. . . My Mom (who has this history as well as this history) that I was trying to be nice by letting Baby Boy spend the day with her, against my better judgment.

When I explicitly say that Baby Boy is to have NO bread, dairy, or eggs for one hour before and two hours after his medication . . . that is exactly what I mean.

Otherwise, Baby Boy will have an extremely violent reaction to the medication, be up writhing in pain all night, and then Mom #2, Baby Boy and I will have to spend 7 hours in the emergency room letting the doctors, medical students, and nurses practice all different sorts of sadistic treatments on him before sending us home with the following technical medical analysis:

You may want to hold off on taking that medication until you can talk to your primary care physician on Monday.

*SIGH* Where have all the grown-ups gone?


I hope you're having a better weekend than we are.


Until next time . . .

Can Someone Please Just Tell Me Why . . .

My unemployed and uninspired Mother is too busy to talk to me?

I've been trying to call and chat with her; not to give her a hard time, but just to see how she's doing and how she's handling things. So why can't I get her to stop moving and give me 10 uninterrupted minutes?

Let me tell you, this is a stretch for me already, because I despise talking on the telephone. Ask anyone who knows me. If anyone actually wants to talk to me, they have to call either Mom #2 or Baby Boy on their cell phones and have them to tell me to answer my phone . . . because I have no problem letting it ring all day long.

I actually have probably only initiated a hand full of phone calls in my entire life, and the majority of those were to call businesses and complain. Complaining is my phone specialty. If I'm on the phone, I'm usually ticked off . . . but I've put all my usual issues with the telephone aside and tried to call Mom every day this week now.

Here's how it's been going:

• On Monday, she couldn't talk because she was out shopping to buy herself a new outfit so she could get her mind off the stress of losing her job (yes, the one she walked in and quit without notice).


• On Tuesday, she couldn't talk because she was going to a matinée with some lady from her church.
  


• On Wednesday, she couldn't talk because she was getting a massage.


• This morning, I thought I'd mix it up a bit and call her early this morning, before she got out and about. But the joke was on me! Do you know that she is already on her way to get a manicure so she can be done in time for a "ladies who lunch" session with her church lady friend?

Apparently, I've been living my life the wrong way all these years. I thought that if you had no job, no income of any kind, and threw away your chances of collecting unemployment income, you saved money, not spent it all, but alas . . . as usual, I am mistaken.

Insanity ~ ~ Membership has it's privileges.

*SIGH*

Until Next Time . . .

I'm Going To Need Some Support . . . Sad and Scared Today . . .

I really don't know how to start this off. I am having a very bad day. I may or may not have mentioned this, but my Mother recently divorced my father after 36 years of marriage. Neither of them are perfect, but they probably could have worked it out, after all, they had been working it out for 36 years.

My mother has a very long history of mental illness. She is prone to severe depression, paranoia, some schizophrenic tendencies. One thing she really likes to do is decide that everyone at her job is plotting to gang up on her, make her feel stupid, and get her fired. What she usually does is quit said job so she can "show them." That usually is the catalyst for a long list of other unreasonable behaviors
that land her in therapy sometimes inpatient / sometimes outpatient depending on the severity. She has a cemetery full of job headstones that have bit the dust due to this behavior. On a couple of occasions, she has had emotional breakdowns on the job and has had to be carried away by police or ambulance.

She refuses to acknowledge this mental illness. As far as she is concerned, we want to control her actions and it simply does not exist. Our regular positive relationship goes straight into the toilet when she is in her "condition."


Last Thursday, she walked into her job and quit.



When I asked her why she quit. She said that her boss was talking to her about some paperwork but at the same time was sending her subliminal messages that she doesn't have any common sense and she was being given just enough rope to hang herself.

I'm so scared for her. I'm so scared for my whole family. The hills and valleys that my family goes through during her "episodes" are not cute. They are not funny. They are not entertaining. They are downright miserable.

Mom #2, my sister and I went over to her apartment yesterday to stage some sort of intervention to ask her to get help now before she spirals too far out of control. She got very angry, tried to curse us out (but she doesn't curse, so that part was actually quite amusing), and then proceeded to try to throw us out of her house for not trusting her decision making abilities.

My Dad has always taken care of her during these times, and in all honesty, he really does still love her and pretty much still supports her financially even though she threw him out of their family home and treats him like an ATM. They'd been married since they were 16 and 19, and he really doesn't know who else he's supposed to love now.


Since she's no longer married and I'm the oldest, I think I have to step up and try to get her the help she needs, but my stubborn irreverent attitude is something I inherited solely from my very difficult mother.

It's going to be a long summer.


If you have any positive energy to spare, please put it in a box and send it my way.



Until next time . . .