Well I don't know how much longer I can take caring for Grandma/Mom/Aunt/Jo. Her leg is mostly healed now so she is walking without the need of the wheelchair or walker. All she needs now is her cane or, darn it, a shopping cart. She races around the store now like she was going to make up for the past four and a half months of no shopping.
She even traipsed outside and put fertilizer around our heat stressed trees without so much as a "May I?"
And she now sashays into MY kitchen like she owned it; making soup with chicken broth, noodles and cut carrots and celery. Was the Progresso vegetable or tomato bisque I offered all that bad? One day she even made pulled pork with barbecue sauce sandwiches as if to say that four months of Healthy Choice haute cuisine wasn't good enough.
And yesterday she barged into MY laundry room and threw some recently worn garment in with the clothes I had been marinating until I had a full load. It's not my fault the load wasn't full. She's the one who insists that when we wash the colored clothes we separate the blue and greens into one load and the red and yellows into another. (It's something about not having all our colors turning out forest green or royal purple I think.) So she just puts in her stuff and then washes and dries the clothes like she doesn't have to get my okay! And I haven't even turned all the whites into pinks yet.
It's gotten so she thinks she can go back to the way it used to be before the surgery, cellulitis and chemo.
Ain't it grand?
Grandpa/Dad/Uncle/Ellis
She even traipsed outside and put fertilizer around our heat stressed trees without so much as a "May I?"
And she now sashays into MY kitchen like she owned it; making soup with chicken broth, noodles and cut carrots and celery. Was the Progresso vegetable or tomato bisque I offered all that bad? One day she even made pulled pork with barbecue sauce sandwiches as if to say that four months of Healthy Choice haute cuisine wasn't good enough.
And yesterday she barged into MY laundry room and threw some recently worn garment in with the clothes I had been marinating until I had a full load. It's not my fault the load wasn't full. She's the one who insists that when we wash the colored clothes we separate the blue and greens into one load and the red and yellows into another. (It's something about not having all our colors turning out forest green or royal purple I think.) So she just puts in her stuff and then washes and dries the clothes like she doesn't have to get my okay! And I haven't even turned all the whites into pinks yet.
It's gotten so she thinks she can go back to the way it used to be before the surgery, cellulitis and chemo.
Ain't it grand?
Grandpa/Dad/Uncle/Ellis
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