Headache induced post

I have so much to write about, but am hesitant to write about.

Ive come to a point where I don’t want certain aspects of my life online.

I’ve posted several times that my life is stressful.

I want to write about it.

But I’m afraid of people who know me in real life reading it.

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I’m listening to most of my kids play scattergories and am really glad I’m not playing!

They argue about the most insignificant things.

They make me nervous just listening to them.

I have noticed that at least once a round one of them uses “tits” as an answer.

I’m such a proud mom.

The Daniel Plan

I have to say, I wasn’t as impressed with The Daniel Plan as I had hoped to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Rick Warren, and he got Mark Hyman in on it, but I just wasn’t that in to it . Maybe because I got the ebook instead of the print one.

I do plan on buying the print book and reading it that way, I think when it comes to self help books, I need them in paper, so I can highlight and go back and forth between important sections.

I love the premise of the book.

I love the fact Pastor Warren came to The Daniel Plan from a place of brokenness. So it’s from the heart, not just from the mind.

I will give it another shot once I get it in hard cover, black and white!

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Unaffected?

Last week, while cleaning mom up in the bathroom, she looked at me and asked me accusingly why I am so unaffected.

I broke.

I looked at her and told her plain and to the point.

I am not unaffected.

Most days when doing the things that have to be done, the things only I can do because I am her daughter, the one who some of the more distressing jobs fall to, I am doing them while trying not to cry.

I am trying my best to keep it together and not show my feelings.

Do you really think it doesn’t affect me to see the physical condition she is in?

Do you really think it doesn’t affect me to see the mental condition she is in?

Yes it does.

I want nothing more some days than to break down and bawl my eyes out because I shouldn’t be cleaning my mom up when she’s forgot how to use the bathroom. Or when she can’t tell if she even has to go. Or the fact that she can’t remember the steps to be able to brush her hair or teeth.

Instead I slip on the mask. Make sure it is firmly in place to cover all the emotion that bleeds through the cracks of my facial expressions. I put in place the mask that disguises the tears as sweat. I place the mask that keeps anyone from seeing just how it makes me feel to be in this position.

Call me unaffected. That’s ok.

Driftwood Tides

This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

Driftwood Tides

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (September 1, 2014)

by

Gina Holmes

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Gina Holmes is the founder of Novel Rocket, regularly named as one of Writers Digest’s best websites for writers. Her debut, Crossing Oceans, was a Christy and Gold Medallion finalist and winner of the Carol Award, INSPY, and RWA’s Inspirational Reader’s Choice, as well as being a CBA, ECPA, Amazon and PW bestseller. Her sophomore novel, Dry as Rain was a Christy Award finalist. Her latest novel, Wings of Glass has been named as one of the best books of the year by Library Journal and was a SIBA Okra pick and a finalist for Romantic Times’ Reviewers Choice Award. She holds degrees in science and nursing and currently resides with her family in southern Virginia. She works too hard, laughs too loud, and longs to see others heal from their past and discover their God-given purpose.

ABOUT THE BOOK

He made himself an island until something unexpected washed ashore.
When Holton lost his wife, Adele, in a freak accident, he shut himself off from the world, living a life of seclusion, making drifwood sculptures and drowning his pain in gin. Until twenty-three-year-old Libby knocks on his door, asking for a job and claiming to be a friend of his late wife. When he discovers Libby is actually his late wife’s illegitimate daughter, given up for adoption without his knowledge, his life is turned upside down as he struggles to accept that the wife he’d given saint status to was not the woman he thought he knew.

Together Holton and Libby form an unlikely bond as the two struggle to learn the identity of Libby’s father and the truth about Adele, themselves, and each other.

If you would like to read the first chapter of Driftwood Tides, go HERE.

Shocking isn’t it.

Anytime I tell someone that we re the caregivers for my elderly parents that suffer from alzheimers, they tell me what a great thing I’m doing.

How am I supposed to respond to that?

I’m not doing anything great.

I’m doing what is needed, what is necessary.

I’m not in this for the money, because hey, there isn’t any. I don’t get paid, I don’t make a salary, in fact I end up paying out most of the time.

I’m not in this for glory.  Or sympathy. or any emotional reaction at all.

I’m in this because they are my parents. I am their child.

As a whole the US has moved so far away from family, from taking care of those who raised you and took care of you.

Most cultures, several generations live in the same house, sharing, caring, and loving.

We need to get back to that here.

It should be that folks are shocked if you aren’t taking care of family, instead of being shocked when you are.

Where are we?

I was talking to Mom’s nurse today and she was telling me I should write some of the things her and dad say down. Little did she know…..

Mom: Where are we?

Me: At home.

Mom: No we aren’t.

Me: Yes, this is my/our house.

Mom: No this is not your house.

Me: Okay, then where are we?

Mom: I don’t know but you need to take me home now.

That conversation took place sitting in the living room. Now, to some it may sound pathetic, or even sad.

To me it was funny. Because she was so adamant that we were not at home, and I was just lying through my teeth to her that we were at home. I was smiling, she was smiling, but oh so confused.

Right before that, we had this conversation when I took them their breakfast:

Dad: Oh you are an angel.

Mom: This is… tells me dad’s full name.

Me: I think we’ve met before. (smiling)

Mom: Oh you have? Good.

Me: Yes, we’ve met a few times before.

Mom: Wait, how, he just got here?

Needless to say, mom’s been in her own reality today. I hope that one of these days they can find out what causes this stupid disease. Even if they can’t cure it, at least find something to make things easier on the caregiver, and to make the patient have a more productive, comfortable end of life.