Sleepytown and Birthday

Lots of times when Mary gets up from the potty at night instead of saying, “Ok, let’s head into bed,” which gets boring, I’ll say, “Ok, let’s see if we can’t catch that next train to Sleepytown.” She’s mentioned Sleepytown when she’s talked in her sleep or hallucinated, and it just cracks me up. She’ll say, for instance, “Does that baby want to go to Sleepytown?” in the sweetest little voice. So I joke about the train that goes to Sleepytown at night.

I told her tonight the next one was coming in about five minutes, so we needed to hurry cause we still needed to change our clothes. She said she thought we could make it. I warned her, though, that she had to be in bed or else they wouldn’t take her. They made exceptions for arm chairs, but that was dangerous because then you had to make a transfer and you might miss your connection. There you’d be, in your bed, waiting for that train to Sleepytown, and you’d be left at the station. We had a good laugh. She’s got such a good sense of humor. I really appreciate that!

We went out to see Angie today—it was her 89th birthday. She wasn’t doing so well, but I wanted to drop off the flowers while they were still fresh. She was feeling better by the time we got there, so we went on in. She seemed to really like the flowers, so that definitely made the trip worth it. Jo seemed so tired. She should have taken a nap when Angie did—just like a mother does when she has a baby. They were concerned that Serene (Jo’s daughter) hadn’t called. Nobody called while we were there. Or came to visit. Hmph. Well, I ate a piece of cake even though I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t. I was saving my WW Points for a chocolate pie I’d made. Jo had made it even though she was so tired and it was just the two of them there to eat it, since no one else was coming to visit. It was a heart-shaped cake just like Angie used to make for us. Then I gave her a bit of a hand massage. She was having pain around her chest and I could see that Jo was frustrated about what to do for it, which medicine to give her. Angie has a kidney infection and had a bad reaction to the medicine they gave her, so she was going to try something new. Plus, they’re giving her something stronger than Darvocet and it tends to really knock her out. Ange seemed to be getting tired but didn’t want to lie down, so we moved into the living room, where I gave her a foot massage. I saw that her toe nails really need to be cut. She said she couldn’t do it anymore. Her heart hurt when she bent over. Naturally. At first I thought, “This isn’t my responsibility. Let Jo or Pat do it.” But Jo didn’t seem inclined or interested. I thought it would really gross me out because Angie has some sort of foot fungus, but I didn’t mind too much. I moistened them and put Vaseline on them—they were so dry, and then I dug up her microwavable booties (buried in the closet—harrumph) and heated them and put them on her, which she said felt great. She said she’d pay me back later and I told her she already had—with tuna and crackers and cream cheese and olives served on the little picnic table when we were young. She laughed. I hope I really made her feel better. I thought later that I should have given Jo a foot massage, too.

Jo said she might bring her in but was concerned about the stairs. I don’t get that. There are no more stairs here than at her house. People are so strange. They came and got Anna last week so she could visit. I have to admit this made me… jealous or angry, I don’t know. So Anna didn’t want to go with us today. She’d just seen Ange. Plus, she had to go to church.

I forgot to take Angie her birthday card. I’ll mail it. It says, “Glad to see you’re doing so well for you age…you know, breathing and all.” I think it’s hilarious! She’ll probably be insulted.