Abuse Of Blog As Therapy. . .

In an effort, yet again, to record an all-time low so that I can look back next year when things will be undoubtably BETTER:

My dad is in the hospital. The assisted-living staff and I decided to admit him a few days ago so they can get his meds regulated and hopefully find a sedative that works best for him. His agitation grows worse in the evenings, which is typical of folks with Alzheimer's, so his Dr. is working to find something that will help my dad, who is a quintessential "sundowner."

I pray every waking moment that I am doing the right thing for him. I never imagined that I would one day have the responsibility of making his choices, at least not before my 40th birthday. It's hard to concentrate on work, kids, and general everyday life when your mind is repeating the same, perpetual mantra: "Please, Lord. Please. . .please. . .please. . ."

I feel overwhelmed with this reponsibility. I wish he could come back to me for just an hour, or just a few minutes so we could really talk and he could tell me what would work best for him. What does one do when the one they used to turn to for advice is no longer able to give it?

And it is a huge, all-encompassing thing, this responsiblity. I have a responsibility to him, certainly, but also to his mother, my Granny, who's been gone five years now. Over a half-century ago she used to hold him in her arms and rock him and protect him. She kept him from toddling out too far in the fields, when everyone was outside working. She tried to keep him in the shade to protect his fair skin and was so proud when anyone admired his reddish-blond ringlets. Would she approve of the "care plan" that we've come up with? And what about my mother, who was often in and out of the hospital and hated it, knowing that my dad could care for her far better at home. Yes, there are many graves spinning in Beaufort County right now.

OK, enough with the dramatics. Now, goodbye forever! Just kidding.

I'm visiting Dad again tomorrow after work. Here's hoping for a significant improvement by then (here that, up there)? Hubs is taking the kiddos to Wendy's so I know they'll only miss me a little.

Other random notes:

Poison ivy rash update! Because I know you couldn't wait. I called my doc today and begged for more Prednisone because my prescription from last week ran out today and the vile creeping death will not die. It has crept over from my left side across my stomach, and the patch that started it all, the one on my left arm, looks like someone spilled battery acid on it. Yes, it's as awesome as you can imagine.

What's even worse is that my poor Livvi has it too. We even kept her home from school two days last week because the poor child looked like an escapee from the leper colony. But her doc upped her prescription when the rash persisted after a few days and it has almost completely cleared up, which is what I told MY doc when I so subly hinted for the same treatment. So, she had mercy on me and did just that. So now I'm so pumped full of 'roids that I could probably lift my mini van. And eat my house. But I DO NOT ITCH for the first time in a week which is a little bit blissful actually.

The State of Nate: Doing fine, had a great albeit wet field trip to Patterson's strawberry farm today and he brought home a sweet-smelling, ruby-red pint of 'em for us. Can't wait for breakfast. His kindergaren musical is Thursday and I'm putting together a Goodwill-supplied "sad clown" costume for him. It will probably be sad on many levels- - -wish me luck.

The State of Liv: Gobbling up everything in sight, including my leftover collard greens at dinner tonight. She's my Partner in Prednisone, and we're out to devour the world! After dinner she had so much energy I asked her to put it to use and pack her lunch for tomorrow. She did, and she also packed Nate's and mine too! I can't wait to try my Scooby Doo yogurt tube.

The State of Casa de Pellin: We've achieved a new layer of filth. The dust bunnies and the crumbs are taking over. Hubs says he'll channel the kid energy tomorrow, with a little help from a bribe trip to the dollar store. Whatever works.