On the tip of my tongue........

The other day on the elevator, I was telling my sister a story and I could NOT remember the name of a person I was talking about. It was elusive— just right there, but I couldn’t get to that name.
Stuff like that scares the bejesus out of me.

Mom and dad had kids young. When dad was diagnosed, I was in my mid thirties. If I were to end up in the same boat, Zak and Drew would be in their young twenties. That’s just too young to have to deal with an ailing parent. Too, too young.

Shortly after Dad was diagnosed, he told my mother that she’d be relieved to know he had decided against suicide. I don’t know how serious he was, but I do know he wouldn’t have mentioned it unless he had — however briefly — considered it. It made me really, really angry. How dare he even think of making a decision like that? But every time I forget to do something or space out on a name, I think about that conversation, and I understand just a little. I am established in my life, and this sucks. I cannot imagine if the boys were in college and they got that news about me.

There are some types of early onset Alzheimers that are genetically influenced in a way that you can get tested to see if you can get it. They have not said that Dad has that kind, and given that no one in his family before him had AD, I doubt it is. But I do wonder what I would do if it was. Would I want to know? Probably not really. Would I find out? Yeah, I think I would. Not so much for myself, but so that I could be sure to wring every single bit of pleasure out of my boys now, so that I could set things up for them so they didn’t have to worry about the mundane details of taking care of me.

Even now, I sometimes hug Drew or kiss Zachary, overcome by the desire to hug him just a little harder or kiss just one more time, and think “I want to REMEMBER this.” I want to remember it always. Forever. The smell of their hair, their sturdy arms snuggling me. It reminds me that this damn disease doesn’t only steal loved ones away from us, but we leave them as well. One day my dad might not know who I am. I think about how painful that will be. For both of us.

This morning, Drew kept asking me for toast and I kept putting him off. I was actually doing it, just slowly along with the 47 million other things I have to do to get us out of the house every morning, but I am sure he felt like I was ignoring him.

He walks up to me, puts his hands on his hips and says “Mommy! I want my toast, please. How many times I have to ask you? I ask you a MILLION times already, but you just not listen.” and he shook his head sadly, like there was no hope for me at all.

Which, lets face it, might be true.

Last Morning

One of the best things about having kids is that they are just funny. I love the way Drew talks. I love the words he mispronounces and the ones he just can’t figure out the meaning to.

He is convinced our neighbors are his “parents”. I do not have the slightest clue WHY he thinks this, but he will not be swayed. Cliff and I are Daddy and Mama, so our roles are obviously defined. But since other people are always telling him he needs to ask his Parents permission to do things, he had to assign that role to someone. I know he is confused about why he needs to ask our neighbors to cross the street or eat a sample of pizza roll at Costco, and I find it mildly disturbing that at 4 he already realizes that his father and I, while lovely, clearly lack the sort of authority and gravitas the label “parents” seems to require.

He either does not understand or cannot say the word “yesterday”. So instead, he says “last morning”. Which is awesome. I don’t know why, but it kills me and I hope he always does it, even when the other kids at Harvard make fun of him. “Hey, how did you do on that pop quiz we had last morning?”

Computer = compudder
Goldfish = goldfishies
raviolis = ollies

When he asks for milk, he has started asking for “a drink called milk”. I don’t know if he thinks I need the clarity or I will throw a Drink Called Battery Acid in the sippy or what, but he always needs a drink. Called milk. Just so you don’t screw it up, mom.

Family Programming

So before I had a kid, I always wondered who in the world watched crap like “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and stuff.

I now have my answer. Drew thinks that show is the Bomb. He calls it “Falling Down Show”, which really is the better of two options, considering “Ball To The Crotch Show” would be equally appropriate. He laughs harder than I have ever seen a kid laugh. Rolling on the floor, total hysterics. It is awesome, and I willingly tolerate Tom Bergeron (the perfect host for those in Middle America who find Ryan Secrest a bit too edgy) for the sake of those belly laughs.

About the only show that tops Falling Down Show is Big Red Ball Show.

She’s not gonna make it!!

Yes, Wipeout. I guess it’s funnier if the people are supposed to fall down.
 

The show premiers tonight with a 2 hour episode. I don’t know if Drew will be able to handle it. Our couches, either, because he usually starts jumping around on the furniture at about 15 minutes in, with all rebukes met with “But I’m doing my PRACTICE!!!!”

We have no idea what he is practicing for. But whatever happens, he will be ready.

It just occurred to me that both shows are broadcasted by ABC. Where they can’t find anyone to write dialogue, apparently.