Hello! It’s my pleasure to welcome you inside my head because when you get right down to it, that’s what you’ll find here.
This site was going to be my reward for a job well done on a goal, but the truth is that I needed it sooner, so here we are.
I’m Kirbie, a 60-year-old woman who lives in central Ohio, takes care of her elderly parents, babysits her grandchildren, and attends as many activities that they’re in as I can. I also work full-time for this boss that I’ve had for ten years now – me!
I wanted to use this first blog post to introduce myself and my life a little so you’ll understand more of what you’re reading. Buckle up, get some coffee, and come on into my musings!
How it All Began
Just a whisker over five years ago, while sitting in a hospital waiting room waiting for my youngest grandson to be born, Mom asked me if I would move in with them to help her with Dad. Dad has dementia and Mom has little patience. It’s not a good combination, but it is a good reason for why I’m here with you now.
I turned in my notice for my apartment, hired movers, sold lots of stuff, gave other stuff to my kids, packed what was left, and moved into two rooms upstairs. I’ve been single since my youngest daughter, now thirty years old, was two years old. It’s been an adjustment, to say the least.
Dad
Dad and I have a rocky past. Without going into too much detail here, suffice it to say that when he asked me to go to work for him almost twenty years ago, it was a scary yes, but it worked out for the better.
Dad was the CEO of a non-profit organization that supported the Ohio polymer industry, a business that his replacement killed with arrogance, a significant lack of confidence, and just plain idiocy.
He asked me to come work for his organization not long after I graduated from The Ohio State University (at 43). The organization had just earned a grant from the State of Ohio and my market research skills were supposedly just what he needed.
I worked with him for seven years, until he retired, although my boss was another guy, Joe, who was A W E S O M E! Dad and Joe retired together and the Board of Trustees brought in this guy, Bruce, who was so full of himself that a meeting with him consisted of at least forty-five minutes of listening to him boast about some aspect of his life. I was gone within a year – mutual decision.
Annnnnyyyyway, while working with Dad, I gained a new respect for him because I saw first-hand just how intelligent and well-regarded he was among his peers. He was no longer Dad who was barely around when I was a kid or Dad who lost his temper with me three distinct times that nearly cost us our relationship. He was someone people looked up to and admired, me included.
I watched his decline, although you don’t always recognize it for what it is right away. I would come to help Mom clean and he would ask me to help him with stuff I knew he could do because I’d seen him do it. The simplest tasks became challenging.
Today, he still knows everyone, although I wait for the day that he doesn’t. He can’t prepare his own food though, except for a bowl of cereal, and then he gets stumped on things like where the spoons are (on top of the counter) or where the milk is. I either get him pre-made salads at the grocery store or I make his lunch for him.
He has arthritis in his neck and back that is steadily getting worse, but he still walks on his own, although he’s pretty bent over. He refuses to use a cane and until he starts falling, I’m not willing to force it.
He knows one of my daughters because she makes a point of coming here once a week. She now vacuums once a week for Mom and every other week, she does other cleaning chores. Mom pays her. It’s Mom’s way of giving her money without Jaime losing face. Everyone knows it and nobody cares. You do what you can for family. He also knows her three kids because she makes a point of bringing them too so he sees them and can remember.
He wants to be helpful, but we tease him and tell him that he won’t tell us what his skills are. He’ll laugh and head off either outside on the back deck or upstairs to watch television.
Mom
Mom just turned eighty a few weeks ago and she said she would stop driving when she hit eighty. She gave her car to my niece who takes her driving test today. We had a few go’s as she announced that she thought she could drive close to home. The problem with her theory is that the roads close to home are 45 mph four-lane roads. The last time she ran out the door while texting me that she was driving herself, we had a little chat.
I told her that she wasn’t a burden unless she was out driving around and I had to worry about her. The car available to her is my SUV, which she’s driven about five times. Add that to the fact that my daughter has seen her driving around town and reports in on what she sees and let’s just say I worry.
Mom is starting to forget things, little things, and she struggles to keep some things straight, like names of flowers. It doesn’t help that we have hibiscus, hydrangea, and hyacinths. The last time we were talking about the hydrangeas, she asked me what hyacinths were. She once knew, so this saddened me.
The problem with Mom is that she creates her own narratives to excuse her past bad behavior and you cannot argue with her or even tell her she’s wrong. So, the more she forgets, the meaner she gets.
She also has very little patience for Dad when he’s having a particularly bad day, which really rubs me the wrong way. I sometimes try to envision my life when neither of them can remember anything and she spends her entire day being cranky because she can’t remember.
I’ve had to let go of my need to be right, which is a good thing anyway, and I’ve had to let go of fussing over her false narratives, which have damaged several of her relationships beyond repair.
More often than not, she’ll be the one driving me bonkers and therefore the subject of more than one musing.
The Rest of Them
I have four children. Three daughters and one son. I haven’t spoken to or seen my son in over a year, and while I’m sad about this, he’s broken my trust in him so deeply that I’m not sure how to repair it. We’ll stop by saying that I can’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth, and therefore I see no good reason to have a conversation with him.
The girls are a different story. My oldest lives about ten minutes away and also works from home. She has twin daughters who will turn eleven this coming weekend. I can’t believe it! Her husband is an EMT and works in a local ER. I think he’s currently pulling two 36-hour shifts a week.
My middle daughter has three kids. She’s the one who comes around the most. Her kids are 12, 10, and 6. Her son will be thirteen on Christmas and he was my first grandbaby. I can’t believe he’s only about an inch shorter than me all of a sudden. Before I know it, he’ll be off to college.
My youngest daughter just got married last October. They have two fur babies right now and have plans to move out of her condo and into a new house, but their incomes are on a dynamic upturn and they’ve opted to wait a few months to see how things settle out. Since she’ll be thirty-one this year, babies are on their mind – okay they’re on his mind. She’ll have them when she’s ready and I’ll love them bunches!
I also have two brothers. I’m the oldest by seven and eleven years. I see the older one every day because he comes for dinner. When he knows I’ve had a particularly hard day, he brings me flowers.
My younger brother has his own thing going on. His second wife has an eleven-year-old son with autism, so their life is pretty hectic. I don’t see him very often at all. In fact, I see his ex-wife and their kids more often, probably because they live closer and the kids life with her.
Last but Not Least
That’s all of them, in a nutshell, except for Charli. Charli is our three-year-old Cavachon who has brought so much life and joy to both of my parents that I ignore what a pain in my neck she can be.
We live in a quaint suburb of Columbus, Ohio, very near our downtown area. Charli and I walk some mornings on the bike path that stretches across our back yard, north and south for miles. I love the walk. We walk about .67 miles to the library, hang a right and hit the main drag, where we turn and walk back towards home, past the Dairy Queen, the local donut shop, music shop, wine shop, antique shop, and several restaurants. It’s an incredibly vibrant downtown and I love it here!
In our neighborhood, we actually know one another, say hello, and have conversations. Many of us have dogs and consequently, we’re often out at similar hours walking our furry friends.
The longer you hang out here, the more you’ll get to know me and my gang. They’re all part of my every day in some way or another.
To keep reading, click on “My Musings” above. I’ll see you soon! Until then, have a blessed and happy day!