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Archive for the ‘humor’ Category

Let’s face it, most days a caregiver’s positive outlook sags a bit. Monotony, worry, and sleep deprivation doesn’t exactly add up to being “Miss Perky.”  One thing I can say for my mother is that she had a healthy dose of self-esteem, and that has a way of rubbing off on folks, me included. She even had a theme song-”I love me, I love me, I’m wild about myself…”

She sang those lines to me all my life, and she’d always smile at her own cuteness after. I kinda figured she made up those lines, seems like something she’d do, but come to find out–she didn’t. It’s a real song. I can’t quite figure out who wrote it–the internet trail is hard to follow. I think Tiny Tim sang it in the 60s, but the recording I found is from the 40s. That’s probably when my mother heard it–and even after dementia took most of her memories, this little song stayed put.  And even though she eventually forgot how to sing I now carry this tune forward. My children know it well and now I have a whole new generation to sing it to–three granddaughters who will, if I have anything to contribute, have rock solid great self-esteems.

See, my mother had a whole life way before I ever got there. Most children, even adult children forget that. She was 54 when she adopted me. She had grown up, fallen in love, got married, had her first (secretary), second (executive secretary) and third job (minister), and she had survived the  depression, World War II, health scares,and  her mother’s death–all before 1965, when she became my mama.

So, I find out that this little ditty was recorded in 1940 by , and it regales to love of self. Apparently  this isn’t a new concept, but it’s an important one. My mother had lots of faults (don’t we all?) but being negative, depressed, or ever being called shy or quiet wouldn’t make her list. She was tall and loud, opinionated, and funny. Thank goodness for funny, because funny kept me from losing it on her more than once!

So if you’re caregiving a bigger than life character, sit back and enjoy this song–and if you just need a pick-me-up and good dose of self-love, you’re in for treat.

“I LOVE ME”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DsSQFVRrTc

I’ve posted the words, which are beyond adorable. It’ll perk up what sags:)

When people write their songs of love they write of one another
It’s always sis, or ma, or pa, or sweetheart, wife, or brother
But love songs that they’ve aimed at me have all gone on the shelf
I don’t think that it’s fair, so now I’ll write one for myself.

I love me, I love me, I love myself to death
I love me, I love me, till I’m all out of breath
I stop at every slot machine that I should chance to pass
And give myself a hug and squeeze as I look in the glass!
Oh, I love me, I love me, I’m wild about sweet me
I love me, only me, so I’m content you see,
I like myself with such delight
I take me right straight home each night
And sleep with me till broad day light
I’m wild about myself.
I love me, I love me, my birthday’s once a year
I love me, Only me, and when my birthday’s near
I go with me and buy myself some gifts to put away
Then I surprise myself with them when I wakes up that day!
I love me, I love me, I’ll marry me some day
Right away, Saturday, I’ll give me all my pay
With me I like to make a date
To meet myself at half-past eight
If I’m not there I never wait
I’m wild about myself.

I know a girl who has the boys proposing by the dozen
Among her lists are rich and poor and even one lone cousin
But when she speaks of love to me I treat her with disdain
I loudly shout, “There’s someone else!”
And then this wild refrain:

Oh I love me, I love me, and every place I go
I love me, I love me, and at the movie show
I take myself right by the arm and push me through the crowd
And listen to myself repeat the titles right out loud.
I love me, I love me, I love to squeeze my hand
I love me, I love me, It always feels so grand
With me I get right in my tub
I let myself give me a rub
Oh how I love to feel me scrub
I’m wild about myself.

I love me, I love me, I’m wild about myself
I love me, I love me, my picture’s on my shelf.
You may not think I look so good, but me thinks I’m divine
It’s grand when I look in my eyes and know I’m mine, all mine!
I love me, I love me, and my love doesn’t bore
Day by day in every way I love me more and more.
I take me to a quiet place
I put my arm around my waist…
If me gets fresh I slap my face!
I’m wild about myself.

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YES!

Sleep and laughter are perhaps the most healing gifts the good Lord gave us–and it’s the first to go when caregiver stress mounts an assault on your life. You have to fight to protect these two gifts. You have to buy a lock for your bedroom door, take out the TV, turn off your cell phone and not take it into the bedroom with you, refuse to fall for the drama and schemes that your loved ones pull to get you out of bed. It’s not going to be easy….they’re tricksy!

My mother treated the night like we were at the Indy 500. The later it got, the more riled up she got! She’d turn on the lights, bang the cabinet doors, call my name and knock on the door. I had to show her that I wasn’t going to cater to her 24/7. I wish I could tell you that this worked. My mom had Alzheimer’s and sundowners and over time, I had no choice but to get up and deal with the chaos. I had to practically strip her room bare (she seemed to gain super-human strength in the middle of the night and could overturn her nightstand, rip all of her clothes off of hangers and empty her drawers into a pile in the middle of the floor).

If you’re reading this and your loved one isn’t doing these things (yet) this probably scares you. All I can say is that Alzheimer’s takes you and your loved one to some pretty bizarre places. You’ll experience things you never even thought of! And yes, at times, it’s scary.

But at some point you stop being scared. They’re still your mama, your daddy. And caregiving makes you brave. It toughens you up. You face your monsters and you realize that you either stand up and take control or realize you’ll be bullied from here on out. So you deal. You get strong. You love and you hold your temper even when provoked and even when you don’t get any kindness back. You make tough decisions. You do what’s best.

And you laugh. You laugh so you won’t cry. You laugh and cry all in the same breath. You realize that life is precious, and sweetness still abounds, and that the crazy stuff might just be the good stuff. You laugh because none of it makes sense. You laugh so you can let go, so you can feel, so you can hope again.

So right now, look up a joke, or call the funniest person you know and tell them you need cheering up. Vent, share your crazy-awful, silly, you-would-never-believe-what-mama/daddy/husband/partner just said or did….You laugh because it’s the only antidote to grief or sorrow there is.

Laughter and sleep–ain’t nothin’ better…

Take both–or either–any way and any time you can get them.

~Carol O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother, available on Amazon 

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If your’e happy and you know it clap your hands…goes the children’s song. Now there’s a new twist: If you’re happy and you know it you just might live longer, suggests a new study just out by the University College of London.

In fact, if you are in your golden years and you keep up that positive outlook you’re 35% less likely to die than Mr. Scrooge and all those grumps who think that it’s just too much darn work to smile–or be nice to people.

This wasn’t just based on a “Are you happy” questionnaire. People tend to tell you what they want you to hear, or what they need to believe for themselves.

English Longitudinal Study of Aging followed more than 11,000 people age 50 and older since 2002 and in 2004 they collected saliva samples  on about 4700 participants. These samples were collected four times in one day and their moods were noted: happy, excited, content, worried, anxious, or fearful they felt at the time. Steptoe and his UCL colleague Jane Wardle have now published their findings on the links between mood and mortality in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences .

Here’s their analysis:

Of the 924 people who reported the least positive feelings, 7.3%, or 67, died within 5 years. For people with the most positive feelings, the rate fell in half, to 3.6%, or 50 of 1399 people (The researchers adjusted for age, sex, demographic factors such as wealth and education, signs of depression, health, including whether they’d been diagnosed with major diseases), and health behaviors such as smoking and physical activity).

Even with those variables, the risk of dying in the next 5 years was still 35% lower for the happiest people.

But what if you’re not just one of those giddy, always up-beat types?

This is just my take, but there are many ways to be happy. People with dry wit, cynical types who see the world in a slant, and folks who aren’t the silly types, but who find a way to make things easy–these are all types of happiness.

I think we can carve our own happiness, and it may not look like someone else’s happiness.

Start a list:

  • What comforts or soothes you?
  • Add your favorite foods
  • Make a list of music you enjoy
  • Think about people you hang out with who just make you feel good
  • What every day activities do you find pleasing? Do you like to fold clothes or wash dishes by hand?
  • Have you watched one of your oldie but goodie movies you like lately?
  • Memorize three funny jokes–and share them!

This is the beginning of your happiness list.

Happiness isn’t out there–for others–it starts with the simple things.

~Carol O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother

available in hardback and on Kindle 

Source:

http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/31/health/happiness-linked-longer-life/index.html

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After a decade of caring for my mother who had Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s and heart disease, then brought her into our home the last 2+ years of her life, this is the distilled version of what caregiving taught me. I am profoundly grateful for these lessons.

  1. To stand up for myself, and caregiving will give me plenty of opportunities to do so.
  2. There is a time in life in which you sacrifice for someone you love–and a time to stop sacrificing.  
  3. It takes humor to tackle the big scary things in life, like caregiving, disease, and death.
  4. Caregiving will inevitably bring out the worst–and the best in me.
  5. Caregiving will change me, but it’s up to me to determine how.
  6. I can’t stop death.
  7. I can decide how I will live the next moment of my life. One moment at a time.
  8. My emotions are my body’s barometers. I need to listen to these cues, feel them, use them as a catalyst, but know that no one emotion will last forever.
  9. To pace myself. Burnout is very real and very dangerous.
  10. I can’t meet all the needs of another human being. I can’t take the place of my care partner’s spouse, career, friends, or health.
  11. Caregiving is about integrity. I have to choose what is right–for me–and for all the others in my life. No one person gets to be the “only one ” 
  12. When I start to give too much to caregiving, it means I’m avoiding some aspect of my own life’s journey.
  13. Caregiving  isn’t just about caregiving. It unearths every emotional weak spot I have–not to destroy me–but to give me a chance to look at, and even heal that area.
  14. I have to stop being nice and pleasing people. “They” will never be satisfied or think it’s enough. What’s best for me–truly, deeply best–is best for those around me.
  15. Learning to stand up to relatives, authority figures, to my parent or spouse, and even a disease teaches me to be brave, a quality we need.
  16. Give up perfect. Go for decent. Do more of what I’m good at–and ask for help on the rest.
  17. Don’t isolate myself. Being alone, depressed, and negative is easy. Fighting to stay in the game of life–that’s tough, but worth it.
  18. If or when my care partner needs more care than I can provide, or even dies, that doesn’t mean I’ve failed. It means I’ve done all I could and it’s time for change.
  19. You will go the distance. You will live at hospitals, stay up night after night, weep in the deepest part of your soul, question everything you’re doing…and barely come out alive. Caregiving asks, takes this from you. Through this process, you will transform. You will see who you are–the whole of you. You will survive.
  20. Choose to care-give–then do with heart and guts.

To love makes us brave. To be loved gives us courage.

                                                                                                                                       –Lao Tzo, Chinese Philosopher

Carol O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother

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Thanksgiving is the time of year we gather those we love under one roof. Pass the stuffing, hold the sarcastic remarks. If you’ve ever had your mother, your teenagers, and your toddlers all at one table, you know it can get dicey. No iPods at the table, yes you have to eat two bites of broccoli, and thank you, mother–I have gained a few pounds lately–glad you noticed and thought it worth commenting on!  Multigenerational households are petri dishes for family issues. The best way to combat the exhaustion and stress is with a splash of humor.

Your mother might not “get” the challenges of raising a teenager in today’s world of texting and Youtube. She might have a comment or two about your toddler pitching a fit at Target and even state emphatically that you and your siblings never acted out in public (although you distinctly remember a few incidents). You can either laugh it off and not let it get to you, or…take it personal. It’s best to act like a duck and let the water roll off your feathers.

Change the subject or stand your ground, whichever the situation calls for. Remind yourself that you’re a “good enough” parent. You know how to prioritize and you give your heart and time to those you love. That’s good enough.

The only person who can give you that inner resolve to choose to not let your kids or your mom get to you–is you. For me, it took some alone time first thing in the morning and then a few times during the day. I’d sit in the car and give myself a pep talk. I’d walk back to my room to get something, look at myself in the mirror and give myself a smile. When one of those arrows struck me good and hard, I’d go cry, yell, or punch my pillow a couple of times. What was worse was when I didn’t take the high road and I was the one having to go and apologize. It comes with having too much to do and letting the pressure get to you.

Being mom to two generations–one on each side–is exhausting, frustrating, and at times you question yourself. It’s also rewarding. There’s something pretty cool about being the axis at the center of the wheel. Even though I got my fair share of scowls since I was caregiving and raising kids, (my mother had Alzheimer’s) at the same time. It felt like I was the bad guy all the time. I remember one day when I was arguing with my mom (who also had Parkinson’s) that she couldn’t drive in busy traffic, and then turning right around and giving my 15 year-old a driving lesson. We had plenty of tiffs, laughs and hugs, and that’s family life.  

So if you’re sitting down at Thanksgiving tomorrow, say a out loud thanks for being a multi-gen house. Grab hands, say a blessing, and pass the rolls. Your life may be really full and crazy right now, but you know,  that really is a good thing.

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Patience is something that’s really tested in your caregiving years.

My mother used to take 15 minutes just to cross the parking lot–and that was from the closest handicapped spot! At times, I was so impatient that I can remember feeling as if I would pull all my hair out by the roots. She had Parkinson’s, and changes in flooring (car to asphalt, brick to carpet) would completely stall out her brain. She’d stand shaking, sweating, and sometimes crying. She refused a wheelchair, and although at times it limited where she could go and what she could do, I understood. Perhaps she had too much pride, but at 90, who wants to start working on your pride issues?

Later, my mother developed Alzheimer’s. You talk about one GIANT test in patience, Being a sandwich geneartion mom did and didn’t help matters. I had to be a decent example in front of my girls. The old saying, “What goes ’round, comes ’round,” reminded me that how I treat my mom is how I will be treated. But in my defense, I had three, count ‘em three teenage daughters–now that’s not funny! Ever been around a snarly 14 year old girl? I felt pushed to the edge of the cliff. How much frustration could I take without snapping?

I had to learn how to let go and forget about getting somewhere on time, forget about getting dinner on the table. I had to learn how to not let the ten-thousand question game get to me.

 “Just let go,” I used to repeat like a mantra.

I didn’t want my mother to “suffer” because she had a disease. She was suffering enough–in her body, and how she perceived herself. I didn’t need to shame her. I felt like I was right back with my two-year old and we were staring at an earthworm on the sidewalk. You can’t rush a toddler, and there’s something amazing about that. They teach you to slow down, appreciate things, look around.

I used to lean my head on the door jamb and just wait for my mom’s brain to click in gear. Yeah, sometimes I wanted to ram my head against the wood, but what good would that do? After a while, I learned to simply enjoy my thoughts as we waited.

In the movie Evan Almighty when God (played by Morgan Freeman) tells Evan (a modern day Noah) that people ask for virtues such as patience all the time. They think that poof! they’re going to get doused with patience as if were fairy dust. It doesn’t work that way. God tells him that if when a person prays for patience, He is obliged to give them a situation in which to learn patience.

Wow~ I get it. (and I’m going to be careful about my prayers and wishes!)

Here are a few tips I learned about being patient:

  • If I really need to get something done, do it first thing in the day.
  • Get mad and impatient at the disease, not the person.
  • Most things you fret about–being late, not getting something in on time–they don’t matter that much anyway. If they did, would you really have waited til the last minute?
  • Start to enjoy the slower pace. Yes, elders usually eat slow, walk slow, rest more. Is this such a bad thing?
  • Laugh–or cry–whatever will get you though. Our emotions are like a water hose. When they start to flow, knotting up the hose is only going to cause a serious blow out.

Patience is a muscle that gets stronger every time you exercise it, even for just a few minutes at a time. The main person to be patient with–is yourself.

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“You want to see my new girlfriend?” My friend’s husband teased his wife one day as I was visiting her in the hospital. He is her caregiver, her husband, her lover, her muse and mentor  of 40 years, and her illness had put a real strain on their relationship. 

He pulls out his wallet, takes out a picture and shows it to her. I can tell it’s a joke because he’s grinning from ear-to-ear. She breaks out in laughter despite her pain. They show me the picture.

It was a picture he had taken of his hand!

My friend was in the hospital–that time for close to three weeks. She has a chronic disease that has attacked her intestines. Her husband had sold his business and they had rearranged their life to accommodate this hostile addition to their family–illness.

Both of them had visions of their golden years–traveling in their RV, grandchildren, financial security, and lots and lots of leisure and fun. Hospitals, drugs, and pain was not what either had in mind.

To say that their sex life diminished is an understatement.

To say that sex doesn’t matter in the face of disease and pain is to not look at the whole situation. Sex does matter. It’s the one thing couples do together that they don’t “do” with anyone else. It’s a glue, a bond, a secret language, a healer of life’s wounds…to simply and biologically state it, sex is a needed release.

More magazine has an interesting article in September 09′s issue on this very subject. They state that 75% of all marriages that are dealing with chronic illness long-term end in divorce.

These aren’t shallow people. This isn’t Jon and Kate splashing their news on the headlines (not that they’re shallow, marriage is tough and I hurt for them and their children). These are quiet, hard working, family oriented people who  face surmounting, mind-boggling stress, heartbreak, financial ruin, unbelievable and unrelenting pain. And the one thing that can combat all this–their marriage and the healing powers of sex and intimacy–are taken from them.

How do couples get through caregiving and the strains it places on their marriage?

I observed my couple friends and this is what I’ve gathered.

You readjust.

You let go of what you thought life would be.

You dig deep to find your integrity.

 You find joy in the smallest of things. You find purpose as a caregiver.

You use your anger not at each other like weapons of mass destruction, but together, to get things done, to let off steam, to keep from going crazy…and you turn that anger into humor–maybe a little sick and twisted–but it keeps it from turning toxic inside you.

You do what you have to do to get by–and it’s nobody’s business. How you define sex may be different than other couples, and how and when you’re intimate may not fit the national average.

You get strong and tough and tender and real all at the same time.

I have no big answers here. It’s too complex and too gritty to give you bullet points–as if you could fire them on target and make it all instantly go away. What I have gathered from my friends and others I’ve seen going through years of what illness can do to a relationship is that the ones that make it create this circle of energy around themselves. They are one.

Couples who face caregiving challenges together have come through the fire, and on the surface, no, life didn’t turn out like they thought it would–but in many ways, it’s better. I witnessed it in my parent’s marriage.  The unity, the simplicity, the bond they have, they earned. You can see it in their eyes, they familiar gestures of thoughtfulness, the resolve in their voice. They have something profound.

~Carol O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother

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This Mother’s Day, I’m acutely aware of the lessons my mother taught me. Some are from her good example, her “momisms” she passed on through wit and wisdom, and at times, she taught me best by being a living example of how to do things differently.

What Mothers Teach Their Daughters:

What it means to be a woman.

Whether our mothers neglected themselves physically or emotionally, or taught us self-love and nurturing by example, or by neglect. Everything from body image to daily habits to whether we believe we’re prone to depression can be traced back to our mothers. It’s not that they were screaming, “Believe everything I say.” It’s more the power of a whisper.

How we view men.

Whether we like it or not, our mother’s voices linger in our heads and we base subconscious decisions on the words and actions, particularly when it comes to how we view our fathers (“He’s such a moron!” or “Your father is a good, good man”). Separating our experiences from theirs can be a challenge. Just because our mothers were “unlucky at love,” doesn’t mean we will be–or vice versa.

How we view women.

Did your mother have good friendships? Did she surround herself with a circle of estrogen? Did she have a best friend–or was it all catty, gossipy, destructive relationships that subliminally taught you that women couldn’t be trusted? When you have a problem, do you have a friend to call to work through your issues–whether big or small–whether it’s whining about your cramps or getting fired? Our mothers influence how we perceive women–as friend or foe.

Our own perceptions of our ability to mother.

Deep down, we believe things about ourselves–that we’re a good driver, or not–that we’ll be able to hold our tempers and be naturally attentive, easily confident moms, or if we’ll be the nervous, flighty kind. Most of us have this quiet, ongoing dialogue running in our heads that tell us about ourselves. It takes keen observance to hear these looping taped messages, and it takes diligence to analyze them and decide what messages to keep–and what to shred.

After years of being told what to do, we rebel either inwardly or for some, outwardly. This is necessary. We need to begin to think for ourselves, act for ourselves, and the best way to do that is by getting angry, beligerent, and yell, “I don’t see it your way, Mom.” That’s our first tiny root that sprouts to form our independent lives. It takes this jet fuel of anger, rebellion, or “I’m not you, Mother,” to begin to push away from the only home we’ve ever known. To make our own homes. Our own lives.

It’s not all bad news. Our mother’s effect is powerful–and can be our ally.

For most of us, we eventually make peace with our mothers. We have to. Why? Because it’s also a way to make peace with ourselves. The sound of their voice, the cadence in their speech, their smell, their thoughts on everything from religion to nail polish give us something to ponder.

Are we like them? In some ways. But one of the greatest lessons we learn is that the friction between mothers and daughters is in many ways, a good thing. We get to decide everyday–do we agree or disagree, do accept their teachings or forge a different path.

For me, my mother taught me:

That a strong woman is to be respected, but she won’t always be liked.

She taught me that adoring your husband and thinking he’s strong and handsome makes you look good. After all, you picked him out.

She taught me that humor can redeem a difficult person. She taught me that families take care of each other.

She taught me that standing up for myself was the only way I could be around her.

She taught me that dressing for one position higher than I currently am causes people to treat you differently.

She taught me that Southern food is in my opinion, about the best cuisine on the face of the earth.

She taught me that girlfriends can really make difference when you hit a bad patch.

She taught me that saying good things about your children makes you almost believe it’s all true. 

She taught me that caregiving is full circle, and yes, it’ll just about break you, you’ll learn more about yourself than you care to ponder.

She taught me that having a good attitude is about the only thing you can control.

She taught me that love is complex and you’d be surprised what all you can forgive–but in the end–redemption is sweet. 

What did your mom teach you?

~Carol O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother

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Tomorrow, I’ll be speaking with the Parkinson’s Foundation of Manitoba Canada. We’ll gather in Winnipeg and talk about what it’s like to be on this journey. Husbands, wives, those with Parkinson’s, sons and daughters–we’ll huddle in a room, learn a few things, introduce ourselves, and crack a few jokes.

Yes, that’s what I said. Jokes. Because one thing I know is that one weapon you need to fight the fatigue and frustration is to be able to make a joke out of anything, especially the things that bug us, confound us, and are generally considered off limits. And let’s face it–life is funnier when you have someone to share it with.

There will be close to 200 caregivers tomorrow gathered in one room–and it’s my “job” to give them hope, to give them a few minutes of feeling like they’re part of a tribe–they’re in the “in” crowd. Caregiving is cool because it’s a community of people who care, really care.

As an author and speaker it’s my job to point out the ridiculous, the hilarious, the over-the-top so insane moments that come with Parkinson’s. And as I watch these tired souls nod, chuckle, nudge each other, and smile…I feel like I did something meaningful with my own experience.

I’m so blessed to have had such a difficult mother! (Did that just come out of my mouth?) I’m so glad she was a pistol–because she taught me stand up for my self, and at times, to stand against her. Our difference made me define myself, and even the the hurts we inflicted on each other are now a part of our fabric–and they’re part of what I share and weave into my stories.

If I didn’t tell the truth, these caregivers would know. It would be like trying to lie to a front line sharpshooter about the realities of war. I’d be shot on the spot. I think they call this friendly fire.

I’ll share about our numerous mother-daughter fights. How she told me how to drive, how to cook, how to dress, how to make her bed. When she’d get really bossy I used to say that a small country was missing their dictator. We learned how to deal with the tremors, the pauses, the hiccups of “P.D.” as my mother called it–with humor, patience, and grace–depending on what was needed at the time. 

I’ll even go up to the edge of decorum and dangle my toes over–share how I thought of rigging up a large spotlight in the corner of the room so she could “go to the light.” And then I’ll take them where they’re afraid to go alone. We’ll  talk a little about their own lives, their own dreams-on-hold, and what it will be like later–after their loved one is no longer on this earth–how they’ll love and remember them and incorporate them into their being–and figure out who they are and where they are once again. 

And I’ll encourage them to look around–at their “peop’s.” This room is their tribe. There’s someone here they could email or call. There’s someone here who knows a thing or two about their particular current issue–and how we help each other at our points of need.

That’s the power of community. As isolating as caregiving is, it also makes us vulnerable–and that’s a good thing. We meet, come to gether only where our lives intersect.   

I know how tired you are. I know you don’t consider yourself good company.

But you need people–and they need you. You can start giving back now (what, you didn’t realize this was part of the bargain?) There are new caregivers every day. They’re your neighbors, your cousins, your friends, and they need your wisdom, advice, and your “here’s what not to do” list. When life presents you an opportunity (and it will), I hope your ears will perk up and you’ll remember this blog, and you’ll know it’s time.

Finding your tribe means you are willing to step into the circle.

~Carol O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother

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Let’s face it–there’s just too much to do during the holiday season–and if you’re caregiving or a sandwich gen-er–you’re really feeling it by now. 

Sure, it’s all good–the tree, the gifts, the home baked cookies, the parties, the family gatherings, the lights…

Every one of those holiday components can be truly wonderful–the fresh smell of the tree, the wonder of what’s in that big, sparkly-wrapped box…

But then the proverbial “soup pot” boils over and the cookies burn, you don’t want to go to one more red-sweater party (or there are no parties and you feel empty), and the whipped cream on top of the hot chocolate–someone says/does something really ugly…I mean you feel like your head’s going to explode you’re so mad.

Not exactly what you had planned, huh?

It’s all too much.

If you want a good laugh, the Thanksgiving segment of Boston Legal will make you snicker (you can watch it online).

Around the holiday table is Denny Crane, (played by William Shatner) who has Alzheimer’s, so he”s always good for a few inappropriate remarks, Alan Shore, his best friend (played by James Spader--he could read to me alll night) decides to deliver a lawyerly rampage on American politics…and the other players all pitch in their own prejudices, stereotypes, and funny banter that will make you WISH your family was this witty in their all too familiar digs. 

It all winds up (after a really big fight) in the kitchen with Denny thoroughly confused. Christmas, time, memories, love–it’s all too much. The small moment winds up being a long hug between two old friends.

But of course, you can’t just leave it like that–on a sweet note–no!

Just like at your house, (or mine)–someone has to take it too far and someone really does get their feelings hurt.

It happens. We’re human, and no one, no one can push that exact right button to make you go off than someone who shares your same DNA.

My other Christmas funny movie is the classic “Christmas Vacation” with Chevy Chase. We still kid about his aunt wrapping up the cat and trying to give it as a gift–and then she sings the National Anthem instead of offering a blessing. My mother actually did that once–so we all went with it–hands on our hearts and belted out our national pride.

All you can do is spike the egg nog and go with it. Christmas and the holidays can bring out the beast in all of us. But if we look really close and think small, we might find something of value

My only advice is survive. Any way you can. Just envision that Last of the Mohican’s guy about to jump into the waterfall and telling the love of his life. “No matter what, I will find you. Survive!” This is what I tell myself when I’m really stressed. (FYI guys, All and I do mean ALL girls love that scene).

Choose one thing–whether it’s riding around looking at lights or baking Italian wedding cookies from your great aunt Sophia’s recipe–pick one thing that means Christmas to you–and do it. Don’t get hung up on what doesn’t get done, and what gets screwed up.

The perfect Christmas/Chanukah/holiday is  really more than the human race is capable of.

Zero in on what is most sacred, most precious to  you. That’s all that matters.

One small thing. 

For me, it’s going to hear the Edward Water’s choir sing. They’re amazing, and sitting in a tiny chapel with warm wood walls and stained glass windows while 20+ college students belt out the Carols with soul and spice is the perfect way for me to celebrate the season. I attended last year, and tears streamed down my face–I clapped and sang and felt more in touch with the season that I had in years.

Each of us have to find our own way, what touches our heart and lifts our spirits.

If you’re caregiving, think really small. Hot tea and a cookie while sitting in front of a fire might be just right.

~Carol O’Dell, author of Motheirng Mother

Family Advisor at Caring.com

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