SURPRISE!

Dad's Aunt and Mom...

Alzheimer's/Dementia just breaks all kinds of norms and expectations.  You never know what your loved one will say or do next.  Unpredictability itself becomes the norm.  It can lead to faces like those of my relatives in this photo.  Or, that's the face you make on the inside, in addition to the big boohoo crying face or laughing you ass off (on the inside) when you are smack dab in front of your loved one and the thing they did or created....that they are proud of and it's CLEARLY not right somehow. Tonight is the perfect example of norm breaking and not making faces. I arrive at mom's house and walked into a kitchen full of activity.  Mom's really happy and glad to see me.  So far, so good. On the left hand counter is a cookie sheet filled with individual lasagnas and she has garlic bread on a plate.  It's just the two of us for dinner and she thinks there are more people coming over.  "Aw mom" I think.  How do I tell her it's just us without embarrassing her?  I recall that I Double Dawg Pinky Swore to tell her the truth too.  Damn it....so, I tell her, she expects me to tell her the truth.  She's fine with it, tells me to take some home for my hubby. Mild so far... Then I look toward the oven.  She's making chocolate chip muffin batter in...Corningware salad bowls (white with green flower trim) that she is now putting in the oven...HUH?   I look at the directions.  Oven should be set at 425 degrees.  She set it for 350..not SO bad I rationalize. "Uh, mom? shouldn't the batter go into muffin tins or a cake pan?"  "It'll be fine just like this." she chirps.  Oh gawd, coverin up my head!  I have no idea if these bowls can withstand this heat and she's not letting me take them out of that oven.  "Don't make a face!"   I'm yelling to myself on the inside.  "Do. Not. Panic.  She has ALWAYS baked and I cannot be the one to tell her she's doing it wrong.  "But what if the bowls explode or something?!  I'm her guardian for crying out loud!  BREATHE!  And NO FACES!   Ok, it's only 14 minutes or so, set the timer, watch it like a hawk."  "Mom, set the timer for 14 minutes" I tell her.  "You're so bossy" she teases me back, laughing.  OMG is all I can think.  Last night I was choosing services I'd like provided for her from one of those home health/house cleaning/companion places.  Cooking was not a service I picked...crap...I clearly need to rethink that one...and she'll hate it. She's fiercely independent.  I have to cook with her to get this to happen right...I love her and love being with her but crap, when do I have a life too.  This all flashed through my head in a millisecond.  My heart experienced love, guilt, loss, surprise and grief in a millisecond too.   15 minutes later, I'll be damned...the muffin bowls turned out perfectly.  Two large, golden brown pop right out of the bowls muffins.  At least they didn't freaking explode.  Her food prep has gotten sketchy lately: expired food or "interesting" prep and combinations.   Staring at the muffins I try not to cry, damn it, not in front of her. I giggle instead. I talked to mom's sister later tonight - Corningware is FINE in the oven.  Wish I knew that earlier.  I didn't make faces tonight, I embraced mom's creativity.  Then, when I left her house for mine, I cried - hard.   What a fine line we all walk with our loved ones.  They WANT to do all the things they've done for years, and the pieces of how to do those things fade away, escape them.  We had to take the checkbook away...and the car keys.  I can't take away cooking, I can't.  I can't let a stranger cook for her, she'd hate them AND me.  I try to steer her toward easier to prep/cook foods - then she makes all of them at once thinking the whole family is coming for dinner when they aren't.  SURPRISE - didn't see that one coming did ya?! I just have to surf the waves of this disease.  I have to let her lead me to the things that would help her most. Voyageur Your turn Dreamer...xo