Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Insanity at its funniest - thank you cicada's!

This post has nothing to do with my mother or dementia but I had to post it because, I think, it is hilarious...

Over the past month we have been, literally, invaded by those icky 17 year cicada's in our neighborhood. The invasion has been so bad that our kids are afraid to play outside. You haven't been able to be outside without one of them flying into your hair or landing on you... anywhere!

Here is what happened to me today (June 7, 2008):

I just got back from running a couple of errands with the kids to get pinata stuffers for Emmas birthday pinata. We pulled in the driveway and there was not one cicada sound after nearly 4 weeks of being driven insane by the sound of those damn bugs, and I pointed out to the kids how quiet it was.

We three brought in the things we bought... I went to go pee and while standing at the sink washing my hands I heard it... the tell tale cicada screetch... IT was IN THE BATHROOM WITH ME... somewhere in there!

I turned to look behind me in the mirror and I saw it on my back. THE HORROR!!!! I flew out of the bathroom, running and screaming as loudly as I could "CICADA ON MY BACK!!!" sprinting out of our bedroom, down the hallway and out the front door spinning in circles and shaking my shirt as I'm still screaming that there is a cicada on my back. I'm sure the neighbors got a kick out of seeing me in action. The kids didn't know what to think about me.

Most recent issue

Dad called me on the morning of June 3 with some worries about Mom. Some things are too personal to type in my blog and to keep my mothers dignity in tact I won't mention them here. One disturbing thing my dad mentioned was that in the middle of the night he woke up hearing my mom calling for help from their living room. When Dad found her she was standing there with no idea where she was. She had been in the kitchen earlier trying to make something with blueberries and had juice and other food strewn all over the kitchen counters... a huge mess.

My poor father is her primary care giver and while my sister and I help out as much as we can, he is the one to bear the burden. Camille and I see him slipping deeper into depression and we don't know what to do.