Y’all, I just got a four and a half hour block of sleep! That’s the most I’ve had at one go since the week before my mother-in-law went into the ER via ambulance (six weeks, not that anyone is counting, right?).
I haven’t really posted about our last five or six days, but public service announcement 📣 : if you have an elderly relative who suddenly starts seeing and hearing things that aren’t there, there is a huge chance that it’s a UTI, we’ve been going through it off and on for about four years. She had a very scary long weekend with all the stuff she was seeing and hearing. They got us a better, stronger antibiotic yesterday and it seems to be helping already.
there is a weird thing happening with my relationship with my mom as we both get older and I take care of her and my father. (briefest of backgrounds - I live with my aging parents on a farm, my dad is confined to a wheelchair and I change him, bathe him etc. My mom had polio as a child so is limited in strength. I do most of the other household stuff as well except for the hours I am at work)
There is a sense of competition for...I guess my dad's attention? I am not entirely sure what it is for my mom but that is what it feels like for me. Some of the things she says or does when he needs something is confusing and frustrating. My dad is a very selfish person. Always has been. He wants to be the center of attention 100% of the time. Doesn't matter who gives the attention as long as it's there.
My mom has always been the kindest, nicest person you could meet so to have these things creep in is a bummer. I don't want my dad's attention. I don't. I didn't pick him, she did. There are just somethings I have to do because I am stronger. She can't physical get him back into bed, or roll him to be able to clean him during a messier diaper change. While I am at work, they do ok, I feed him breakfast and clean him up in the mornings and then he stays in bed and they manage changes until I get home. When I get home it's usually a spring until I everyone is up and dressed and fed and dishes done etc. I am exhausted. I am then "on duty" until he goes back to bed somewhere between 10-11 pm. I then stay up way too late decompressing and doing things for myself without the anticipating of the alarm going off (he has several alarms that ring from a call button to get me through the house.)
I know she wants to help more but she physically can't and that is ok with me. I tell her that all the time. She deserves not to worry just as much as my dad. She tries anyway and it's scary because if something happens to her, things will be really bad. We don't have the money or resources for full-time care. We would lose the house. My mom also does not want strangers in the house (a fact that will have to change sooner rather than later or I will never see my kiddo perform in college, or move him to school or anything else if I can't leave)
So she says these weird things all the time like "your dad likes you better than me," "you make him feel calmer than I do" and other things. It's not about me. Or her frankly. I could be anyone. I think she knows that but where do you put that kind of hurt? I know it hurts her...but I can't do anything about it and frankly I don't want to be the one that makes him happy. He's my dad and frankly he's abusive and mean. Of course the kid in me loves him because he is my dad but without that fact he's just a jerk.
So it's an experience. 5 years ago I would have said things like "Of course you take care of your family. Nursing homes are terrible" while I still believe that in principle because no one is going to care for your loved one like you will. They are grossly underpaid and overworked. However...it is very hard to not regret getting to see this side of your parents or hear their regrets or repressed anger or disappointment or whatever else is wrapped into the big ball of aging. I don't like what it makes me feel. I get very frustrated and exhausted and I am feeling cheated of experiences with my kid even when I fight very hard to make time for us to do stuff. Now that he is in his senior year and 18 (jesus where does time go???) it is becoming very clear what I am losing and what is gone for good. I try very hard not to feel resentment but it is bubbling under there. Even when I talk myself through it and I know I wouldn't change most things and would still care for them as long as I could -- I know what is going away.
ugh. I should write more often so maybe this wouldn't just sound like vomit and dumping. I need to take more time to work through my thoughts. I do actually feel a little better having spewed this.
I don't write a lot about my actual life, but things are really hard right now
A few months ago, we moved my mom to an independent/assisted living facility about 20 minutes from me. When she first moved, she had some mobility issues but could otherwise take care of herself.
Now she needs help for basically everything. She has a motorized wheelchair but is told not to use it because she hits things. Her left arm hurts and is barely functional, and an X-ray didn't show why. She has an MRI next week that will probably reveal Parkinson's.
She's constantly asking for help from staff, or calling me to call them or call other people. I'm overwhelmed. My brother is on the other side of the country and can mostly just research and pay for things.
I dread every time she calls me or the facility calls. I don't have a mom any more. I feel like she's already gone.
If you’ve been around long enough, maybe the smiling eye is familiar to you? I’ve been keeping a secret for months... I’m that new author everyone is talking about! (OK, maybe those conversations were all in my head...but that’s what makes me a writer- the voices!) Sweet Thing Brewing has had some success on its own without being a fan fic author tie in, but a lot of followers seem to like my style, based on notes and comments I receive, and friendships that have grown from that. And I ADORE you all for that support. Without your love and dedication to my small projects, I don’t think I would have believed I could write and publish a novel. But I DID! And I want to share it with you. Here’s a sneak peek at the building romance between Veronica and Enrique...
(excerpt from Sweet Thing Brewing by Cass Michaels)
The parking garage is still full of sports fans cheering and jeering and we pass through the shadows quickly to his truck, not wanting to be swept into any trouble. In the safety of the truck, I sigh a relief and thank him for being my big, strong protector.
“That’s a job I could apply for,” he teases and winks at me. With the confidence of the large truck, he butts his way in line with the other vehicles exiting the garage and making their way onto the streets.
Under the flash of the city lights I watch as his large hand inches its way up from my knee, finally stopping to rest midway up my thigh. His long fingers curve over the top and dig between my legs and he gives a little squeeze. Gasping involuntarily I look over to see if he heard. His eyes are focused on the road as he makes the exit out of the city.
We continue talking about the ballgame, trading stories and singing along to the radio, and enjoy long moments of quiet in the dark night. Occasionally his thumb brushes across my skin and I'm aware of awakened parts of me I'd long forgotten. I struggle to sit still when I truly just yearn for him to slide his hand closer to my sex. By the light of the dash, the iridescent blue glow gives Enrique’s skin a darker tone against mine and the contours of his veins are highlighted in the shadows. I shift in my seat and his fingers tighten. I suck in my breath and bite the inside corner of my mouth before my tongue darts out to wet my lips. My heart beats against my chest and I'm sure in the confined space there's no keeping secrets.
When he flexes his fingers I look to see a slight upturned grin on his face. His boldness actually helps me relax as I settle back into the seat. I kick off my shoes and slowly part my legs for him, as I cross my arm over my belly and gently wrap my hand around his wrist, brushing my thumb across the ridges his veins create there. I can feel his pulse quicken under my caress and my arousal stirs. We continue talking but I can hear how my voice has become silkier in an attempt to be more alluring. His tone has dropped deeper and even more sultry, each R sound a little more rolled and I begin to imagine just what his tongue could do. The thought alone makes me wet. I feel my panties become doused with my desire and I can’t focus on his words. My eyes haze over as I begin to have thoughts of sex with him.
So lost in my fantasies, it barely registers with me when he pulls the truck over at the roadside park. His husky voice rumbles through me when he speaks, “No puedo…” He shakes his head, a low laugh filling the cab of the truck. “Sorry, I keep forgetting you don’t speak Spanish well.” Placing the shiny vehicle in park, he turns in his seat to look at me, his other hand coming up to the nape of my neck, digging his fingers in my hair. “I can’t keep driving; I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about kissing you, and I’ve been avoiding it all night, but I can’t ignore it any longer.”
With each word, he moves into my space until his mouth hovers above mine. My eyes are drawn to his pouty lips, glistening with the wet of a recent lick across them from his tongue as he speaks. I realize I am leaning into him as well and his hand has moved higher on my thigh. He pulls on my neck, bringing us even closer. His lips are parted slightly, an open invitation. Wanting nothing more than to taste this man, I crash into him, landing my lips against his. The first kiss is awkward and passionate all at once, leaning over the console as he tugs on my hair, his breath warm on my skin. The smell of beer, summer sweat and his masculine scent fills my nose. And coffee. I pull back, but stay close as a smile crosses my lips. Biting my lip again, I giggle. “Your skin smells of coffee, yet you taste like beer.” Close to his parted lips, quivering with his own need, I inhale the smell of the ballpark hops on his breath. “It’s intoxicating.”
Licking his lips again, he squeezes the back of my neck. “Get drunk on me,” he whispers, tipping his head down for another kiss.
To learn more about the story of Veronica Connors in Sweet Thing Brewing click here.
As always, when you read something you love- fan fic or published- leave a comment, share it with friends, reblog... You can comment on this story on Amazon or Good Reads and you can find me on Twitter.
Cass Michaels is the pen name I have chosen as an author, for personal reasons. ‘Cass’ is a part of my personality that was born when I started writing, when I found tumblr. Each of you helped create her and allowed this new side of me to grow... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart
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Therapist
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