Another life ruined, as Amelia Peabody might say*

Last time I ruined a guy's life, I insisted that the Woolly Mammoth take a fourth year of French in high school. That was five years ago. Apparently, I haven't lost my touch.

Now I'm ruining my dad's life by moving him into assisted living. It's not entirely my fault. I have to share his resentment with my sister. The difference is that he feels more betrayed by me, as I've long been his solid rock of support.

The Woolly Mammoth hasn't actually expressed gratitude for my French class insistence. He does admit that he gained many free credit hours toward his degree and an early "upperclassman" status his first year of college due to my torture.

I can hope that someday my dad may acknowledge certain benefits derived by my interference in his life. We both know he has fewer years left to come around to my way of thinking on this matter.

When I went back to work after the divorce I discouraged my early-teen sons from phoning my place of employment unless there was "blood on the rug". I needed them to handle their own petty disputes and develop their self-sufficiency so I could bring in some bacon.

"Blood on the rug" is a useful guideline. Unfortunately the past year has brought many situations where Dad had to use his Lifeline pager to get help after falls and injuries. His neighbors and relatives worried every time their phones rang that Dad had fallen again. We were all dreading the call from a stranger informing us that Dad had been unable to page Lifeline, that he was found unconscious in a pool of blood on the linoleum or rug.

Dad probably won't do a junior year abroad in Italy. He may never thank me for removing him from his home of fifty-plus years. I hope that he meets some other alert seniors, and has an improved quality of life in his new assisted-living apartment. I hope to anticipate his chatty calls instead of dreading "blood on the rug" notifications. Maybe we will get past the resentments and petty disputes. Maybe I can keep bringing home a little bacon while still being Dad's emotional support. Sure would hate to think this is my last chance to ruin a guy's life.

*http://www.mpmbooks.com/peabody/index.html

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Actonel advent calendar

You wouldn't expect that a once-a-week medication could ruin your life. Then again, you might not think your life was ruined because your mom made you take fourth-year French in high school [see YRMLM].

For two and a half years Actonel has been ruining my dad's life every Thursday morning. Actonel is a prescription medication for prevention and treatment of osteoporosis. It's taken with 8 ounces of plain water when you first get up for the day, before any other food, drink, vitamins, or medicine. Then you have to stay sitting up or walking around for half an hour. No rolling over and going back to sleep. You can read the newspaper, watch birds in the backyard, argue with a teen about why he should take that fourth year French class, wash your face, get dressed, make coffee, do the Sudoku, surf the cable tv channels, and cook breakfast during that half hour. Just don't recline.

Trouble is, for two and a half years, every Thursday morning, Dad does it backwards. He gets up, washes his face, gets dressed, makes the coffee, looks in his pill organizer, and then takes the Actonel pill with 8 ounces of plain water. He spends the next half hour thinking that Actonel has ruined his life. He keeps thinking along that line the rest of Thursday.

At least Dad remembers to take the Actonel and the calcium supplements for his osteoporosis. For this we thank the Ezy-Dose Four-A-Day Weekly Practidose Medication Organizer #91350 from CVS, the best $9.99 I ever spent. The pill organizer is $14.99 online now. It's pretty sturdy, having survived a couple years of heavy use. We call it the "Advent Calendar."

There's a note in the Thursday morning compartment of the Advent Calendar that reminds Dad to take the despised Actonel. The only thing Dad despises more than his Thursday morning Actonel is the Boniva tv commercial with Sally Field. Boniva is a once-a-month osteoporosis medicine, so it probably has four times the life-ruining potency of Actonel. Dad is not alone in his life-ruining opinion of Actonel. His rehab roommate, Melvin, carried on at lenghth on the same subject.

Every few months I make the bold suggestion that Dad set his Actonel pill beside his bed on Wednesday night. He could take it when he gets up on Thursday morning before he even washes his face. What I really need is for Santa's elves to put a new note in the Wednesday evening slot of the Advent calendar. It just needs to say, "Set the Actonel by your bed and take it when you get up tomorrow." The note does not need to be written in French.

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

A Lunch Bunch New Year's Eve

I learned shortly before they arrived that I was hosting a Lunch Bunch reunion video, games, and blender margaritas party. It's a way more crazy New Year's Eve than I planned, but possibly just what I needed. The PHSH Class of 2005 is ushering in '08 around the table where they used to scarf down a hot lunch on Fridays while scribbling out their French homework. The friendgirls and card games have changed, along with the vehicles. The guys all take time to chat with me about their semesters abroad, changes of majors, and newspaper internships. They make sure to put cans in the recycling and napkins in the trash. Best of all, they give me hope for the future of our nation and planet!

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

I'm working on my brackets, Mom.

IWOMBM is the new YRMLM. I've pretty much quit ruining my sons' lives now that they are all twentysomethings. They have to decide what classes to take in college, whether to go to grad school, if they should live in the dorm, if they should fall in love, all that stuff. They are making good choices without my help. It nice not hearing any of them say, "You ruined my life, Mom."

<--Exhibit A brackets from the Container Store.

IWMBM* is what I heard during the guys' overlapping spring breaks. Relaxing guys like to lounge on the sofa half-watching Rachael Ray on the Food Network and half-working on their brackets. These "brackets" seem to be for hanging basketballs.

My dad made a bulletin board for the room I shared with my sister. Mom had painted the bedroom a nice light green. She made cute drapes with pink, red, and coral flowers and moss green leaves. She made green bedspreads, and even bought a red rug for between our beds. Dad's part of the room redo was the bulletin board and a desk. He had already built dresser drawers into the closet.

Dad told us the bulletin board would have brackets for hanging shelves. Maybe I had an ear infection, but I kept thinking we would hang shells on the brackets (whatever brackets were). It was worrisome, since I had no seashells to hang. Lincoln, Nebraska is pretty landlocked when it comes to seashells! Did she sell seashells by the seashore? Would that be Dinah Shore selling the seashells? She must have picked them up when she was seeing the USA in her Chevrolet. How would she hang them on her brackets?

Dad eventually finished the desk and bulletin board with its shelves on brackets. They still look great in my old bedroom, even if it isn't green and pink these days. About thirty years later I finally made it to the seashore with my sons and collected lots of shells.

This bracket stuff could be a great way to fiddle away time while Rachael Ray chops the fresh cilantro. Sunday's Dallas Morning News featured brackets from The Enlightened Bracketologist: The Final Four of Everything. Who should I choose in Crosswordese vs. Scrabble words? What about C-SPAN vs. pledge drives? Now I just need some EBTDM. Would someone please explain brackets to their dear mom?

* Pronounced "I wim bim".

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

Banded birds: Will they fly?

Had to put some Miles Davis in the cd player tonight, so I guess that means I am missing my youngest and his eclectic music tastes, if not his YRMLM complaints.

Sent him another postcard collage today. I don't know if my creations will pass Postal Service muster, as I have been running them through my Xyron laminator before adding the postage.

If you happen to receive a collage postcard, please let me know. I'm trying to find out what sorts of creations are acceptable to the Postal Gods. In the meantime, I'm listening to Chick Corea, and searching for Charlie Parker.

Revenge of the Yerm-Lims

High five this old CollageMama! I am so vindicated. El Steveroo received a letter from his university explaining that he wouldn't have to take any college foreign language classes BECAUSE his mom ruined his life* and made him take French his senior year of high school.

*You Ruined My Life, Mom!

Short and stout

My younger brother, who was not really named Igor, was terrified of creatures he believed were living in our basement. He called them The Gooeys. We were never sure how he pictured The Gooeys. I gradually developed my own mental image of his fear factors. The first time I saw pool noodles in Albertson's in the mid-Nineties, The Gooeys popped into my mind.

My biggest basement fear was just of piano practice, but maybe "dread" is a better description than "fear". When my parents bought a piano and paid for piano lessons, I thought they had ruined my life.

For the past year, my high school senior son has told me regularly, "You ruined my life, Mom," all because I insisted that he take fourth year French. His school counselor backed me on my requirement that he continue with math OR with French in twelfth grade.

Over the year, French 4AP has become the biggest YRMLM ever, even bigger than a basement Gooey adjusted for forty years of inflation. YRMLM is pronounced yerm-lim, of course. It is a noun, and also a fairly active and useful verb in its past plupretzel-apoplexic tense.

This weekend I'm not the POD or the T-POD. Im still a yerm-lim, though:

POD Parent on duty
T-POD Transporting parent on duty (sing along: I'm a little T-POD, short and stout)
YRMLM You ruined my life, Mom