Things have been so crazy that I’ve lost focus on my five-minute challenges. Every time I try to get back to it, something gets in the way. For example, my brother and I spent the week clearing the clutter from my parents’ house so Momma can come home. (She’ll be home Wednedsay. Hooray!) If we had done that in five-minute segments, it would have been like emptying a bathtub with teaspoon.

There have been a couple moments this past month that were Five Minutes of Greatness. I wanted to share them at the time, but I just couldn’t seem to get to it. So here goes:

Five Minutes of Funk. My cousin shocked us all by eloping back in January. We didn’t know he was dating, much less married, until the invitations for his reception came out in March. The soirée was at a little bar downtown, but it was a full-blown reception, complete with a cake and DJ. Someone dragged me onto the dance floor for the family Soul Train line. I wasn’t really in the mood, but it turned out a good boogie was just what I needed to lift my spirits.

Five Minutes of Peace, Part 2.
“Running, crawling, slipping, and falling….always trying to get Uncle Scrooge’s money!”

I doubt anyone but me remembers this song from the Disney Mousercise record (Yes, vinyl, not CD). You danced along to songs featuring your favorite characters. “Uncle Scrooge’s Money” has been on my mind a lot lately, but it’s not because I want to rob a millionnaire.

I’ve been running, crawling, slipping, and falling since 4:55 a.m. on April 1. There hasn’t been enough time in the days to breathe.

For one perfect moment this week, I remembered. My daughter was asleep, and the phone wasn’t ringing. I turned off the TV, and as Whitney Houston once said, I exhaled. Now, I was holding a bowl of guacamole instead of a man, but it worked.

More to come. Thanks for stopping by.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

“Hey Mouse!”

My mother peered over her glasses and smiled at me when I walked into her room. Her smile was bright, and her eyes were clear with recognition. It was wonderful to see.

“Hey Momma.”

“I’m moving up to rehab on the sixth floor. I’m just waiting on my sandwich.” As if on cue, a nurse came in with a small turkey sandwich. Momma deftly opened a packet of mayo with both hands (Hooray!) and then spread it on the outside of her sandwich. After realizing her mistake, she ate the sandwich with a fork.

“Yep, I’m moving on up to 468,” she said as she brought the fork to her mouth.

“638, Max.” Her friend J was there with us.

“Oh, yeah,” Momma brought her forefinger to her chin. It’s what she always does when she’s trying to figure something out. “That’s right. 638.”

Other than keeping up with minor details, like room numbers, days of the week, and where to put the mayo, she a is doing extremely well for a person who had brain surgery 14 days ago.

Momma starts “rehab boot camp” tomorrow. It’s intense physical and occupational therapy to literally get her back on her feet. She will be in the gym at least four hours a day.

“I get to use the treadmill!” She declared. If I had asked her two and and a half weeks ago to go to the gym or exercise in any way, she would have asked me if I had snapped. But, I think she has learned her lesson. Momma’s stroke was brought on by uncontrolled hypertension, so if she wants to keep another stroke at bay, she will have to make some dramatic changes in her lifestyle. And so will we.

The most challenging change for her, I think, will be staying from behind the wheel. She always said that she couldn’t imagine not being able to drive, and now she’s been put on restriction for a minimum of six months. I smiled and told her I’d take good care of her car while she recoups. (While I’m not happy about the circumstances, I’ll take the temporary reprieve from the one-car blues.) She rolled her eyes jokingly. I know using her car means that I double as her chauffeur.

I don’t mind at all. It just means we’ll have more time together.

My brother and I are 12 years apart, which, in a way, made us both only children. While I was looking forward to new adventures in college, he was making new friends in kindergarten.

I taught him how to organize his Ninja Turtle wallet, much to the chagrin of my parents, who used to sneak and borrow gas money when they didn’t have cash. As a four-year-old, B “counted” his money nearly every day. They couldn’t get over on him once he kept his bills in order.

I sent him letters from college, and he wrote back with an uneven hand on that extra-wide-ruled kid paper: “Hi. I miss you.”

We were as close as we could be, considering that I was in college and grad school while he was growing up. Which really meant we weren’t all that close.

Things changed last year when we went to our family reunion in Memphis. After the annual banquet, we hit Beale street for some drinks. My brother was drinking from a whalebone!! The 12 year difference faded fast as I had a few cocktails of my own.

We’ve been talking a lot more since then, and I’ve learned that my brother has grown into a fine young man. I know it sounds corny, but I couldn’t think of a more witty way to put it.

Now we stand as two adults facing a family challenge. Questioning physicians, handling household affairs, and shepherding Daddy back from bouts of extreme worry about Momma. This last one is a blog post or two in itself.

I don’t think I could get through this without him. This trying ordeal has made me think about my daughter, who is an only child. What support network will she have when it comes time to “parent” my husband and me?

I guess we still have time. My parents waited 12 years, and, as I’ve learned, that’s not so big a difference after all.

— Post From My iPhone

I’m sitting in a tiny room in ICU for the seventh day in a row. This daily hour with my mom is part of my new schedule.

Wake up at 6:30. Go to work. Leave early. Go to hospital. Go home. Go to bed. The 6:30 alarm goes off again all too soon.

I’m tired. Mentally more than physically. My mother is not the same, and it will be a slow process for her to come back to herself. The brain is unpredictable and amazing, so it cannot be put on a schedule. We will have to wait.

It’s scary to watch. My mother has always been witty and sharp. Right now, I’m listening to her tell me about Lady Astercat, a figment of her imagination. I want to burst out into tears, but instead, I ask what color bow she wears. Momma tells me pink and that she drew her. “She’s a well drawn cat,” she says. “It’s a really pretty picture. Lady Astercat is a prominent, significant figure.” I’m thankful for the solid, declarative sentence and that she still has a big vocabulary. One day it will all make sense again.

Until then, I will continue to wait and be prayerful. I must also be mindful to take care of myself.

Which has not been without its challenges. I forgot to eat on Monday, then I had 5 taco supremes at midnight. Not good. I know I have to do better.

“She comes from a strong line,” Momma says.

“Who?” I ask.

“Elyse,” she says. “It’s a real strong line.”

Yes, it’s a real strong line. We will get there in time.

— Post From My iPhone