Home life

It’s good to be home again, feeling like I can help.

At the same time, though, I sort of feel like I don’t fit in. Amy’s been living at home for the past year, so I’m the only guest. It’s a weird feeling, almost feeling left out within my own family. But I guess that’s what happens when you move 1800 miles away. Hrm.

I think part of it is that I’m just a bit thrown every time Amy says something in a tone I interpret as being pretty rude to my mom, and my mom doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s just that Amy and I are only close when there’s lots of space and time between us so I tend to take a lot of what she says in a tone that she doesn’t necessarily mean. Or take offense when she’s continuously running off and leaving me to do everything, or insisting on something like cheese in the eggs I’m making when I’ve already stated I don’t like cheese in eggs. Bah. But she has been helping to take care of my mom (at least I assume) for six months now, so maybe she’s just taking a break while I’m here to pick up the slack. Regardless, our continued existence in close proximity to one another is going to be a bit precarious.

Especially when she showed up upstairs this morning wearing a Duke shirt. I refrained from growling, but only barely. Stupid Duke.

We get along much better with the 1800 miles between us.

Anyways, the trip has been good so far.

My mom’s got energy and is doing well. She’s not taking the Vicodin anymore except at night. She says a double mastectomy is by far less pain and agony than a gall bladder removal (her’s burst a couple of years ago). I suppose everything is relative, isn’t it?

The drainage tubes are a hassle–if she leans too far to one side or forward, the stitches pull and hurt. And they’re just a pain in the patootie to carry around, although she’s now sporting the fashion statement of a fanny pack to tuck them into. We’ve been referring to them alternately as her hand grenades and her six-shooters.

Lots of people are stopping by to drop off flowers or food. I prefer the food, especially when it’s dinner and not dessert–less cooking for everyone that way. And we have quite enough flowers now, thank you very much! That said, though, the raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake that someone brought by yesterday? May be just about the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

I haven’t done much. Mostly I’m sitting around reading, working on stuff from work, poking around on the internet or doing sudoku, and dropping everything the moment my mom decides to try to pick something up. She’s not supposed to lift anything larger than 5 lbs, but she hates to feel useless so we’ve got to keep a close eye on her. We tell her we’d rather have her feel useless for a bit than prolong her recovery time by separating the skin that’s supposed to be healing together.

My goal this week, other than being hands and feet and answering service and maid and cook for my mom, is to sort through all the stuff that I left here when John and I moved to California four years ago. There’s stuff I’ll never need again (calculus notes, anyone?), stuff that should probably be saved, and stuff I may want to take back with me.

My current task is sorting through the 34lbs (so not kidding, sadly) of pennies that I collected while in high school and college. My dad collects coins, so I’m currently sorting all mine to look for the rare ones. It’s a lot of pennies. A. Lot. Then I’ve got to find a bank that’ll take them, count them and bag them for me, hopefully without charging me a fee, and hand me a nice stack of bills instead. Judging by the weight and some internet googling, I should have $45-55 in pennies. Figure I’ll use it to take John out for our anniversary (which is tomorrow) when I get back to California (which will be after tomorrow). (Love you, honey!!)

I’m almost done, and it’s only taken me two days. Whee.

Ok, better go do the breakfast dishes. And clean the house before Pam and Beatrice (my in-laws) drop by. My mother hates having her house appear dirty to guests, but there’s no way we’re going to let her clean it.

Good thing I love my mother more than I hate dusting.