Measuring Time … one school drop off and collect at a time ….

There is no pleasure worth forgoing just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward. ~John Mortimer

Last night I sat and worked out a time line focused on when the kids would be in what grade.  I was interested in the  year they would finish at a school to go to another – you know grade versus year stuff.

I was aiming to establish when there might ever be a year where I would be driving to one school with kids, or whether I would permanently be a mom-in-transit across several schools.

I got really excited as I thought 2015 was my year, but then I realized I had made a calculation error, and 2015 was not going to be my year.

I will always be going to a minimum of two schools to drop off and collect kids.  Three if we decide to send Connor and Georgia to single-sex high schools.

Some years I can look forward to:

2016 – Isabelle will start Grade 1 and it is the same year that Connor starts high school.  I will be 44 years old with a daughter in Grade 1 as I face parents entering the school with their first-born.  The bulk of them will probably be in the 25 – 32 year age range.  These parents are going to be all shiny eyed and bushy-tailed. Eager little beavers.  I on the other hand will be a complete jaded wreck!  That should do wonders for my self-confidence and ability to offend parents at get togethers.

2019 – The years I will start driving to three schools; two kids in separate high school and one in primary school.

2020 – Connor will finish high school.  I will have Georgia in a different high school.  Isabelle will still be in
Primary School.  That will be a bumper year for driving, but it will mean Connor will be getting ready for University/Fishing College.

2023 – The girls will both be in high school, so this might be the year where I am driving to one school assuming they are at the same school.

2024 – Connor will be in his final year of University (I am allowing for 4 years). Georgia will be starting University/Beauty/Art School and Isabelle will be in Grade 9.  So in theory, I could be dropping one child off at one school (I figure university = get there your damn self)

2028 – Isabelle will start university. Connor will be 4  years into paying back his University loan. Georgia will be in her first year of paying back her university loan and I will be 56 years old!  This will be the first year that I will not be driving a child to a school and fetching them again.  This is working on the premise that no one fails, and life goes to “plan.”

14 years – that is how long I will be driving to and from the EXACT SAME Primary School that my kids are at now.  Connor started there in 2009 and Isabelle will finish there in 2022.  I have been doing it for three years already and I am already bored out of my tree.

I will be 59 with a child in final year university.

Right there, that alone is an argument in favour of teenage pregnancies (as you are a younger parent when you r kids are big, incase that statement did not make sense on first read).

My friend Warren, kindly did an age progression image for me, so here is what I will look like when I attend Isabelle’s Graduation from University (I did ask him to make me look 60, I think he was aiming for 70 or 75….).

I really hope they have a Zimmer frame facilities and an open bar!

So, how is your time line looking?

Please change my colostomy bag ….

Kennith’s grandparents are probably in their mid 70’s and live a fairly independent life about two hours out of Cape Town.

Unfortunately Kennith’s grandmother has been plagued with various illnesses and a few accidents i.e those of the falling variety, rather than those of the automotive kind.  This has impacted on her ability to get around easily, and she has had several stints at a variety of hospitals, for several reasons.

She also has more medical specialists than I have friends, on her speed dial.

She relies on Kennith’s granddad for physical support and assistance when she is not well – the problem is the “not well” patches have become longer and more concerning.

Over the last few years, we have seen a definite “oldness” that has attached itself to Kennith’s grandfather, who has always been a strong man.  Over the last 3 – 5 years he has really started to look, tired, drained, and just old.

The reality is that they ARE getting old, and as much as we hate to discuss it the inevitable approaches (insert something philosophical about death and taxes here ).

A friend of ours is going through a process of selling the house that her parents have lived in for years.

Packing up possessions and relocating her parents to a retirement village.  Which as you can imagine is very stressful – for everyone.  Also the fact that one day her parents were fine and dandy,  and the next minute it is crisis stations, has caused her huge amounts of stress and panic.

My friend’s dad is ill and has been hospitalized for some time.  His present prognosis looks good and no doubt he will be getting out of hospital soon.

But it is unlikely that he and his wife will be able to manage the large house they had before he became ill, as no one knows if he will remain well, and for how long.

So, it is not just a case of downscaling in real estate.  The issue is that they need to be somewhere that is geared to “if something should happen to them.”

Of course the ideal is that your parents push a panic button and you come running, but the reality is that we work – often long hours, and have commitments, that make the ability to be flexible disconcerting should something happen. And more importantly – what do I know about caring for someone, who needs a level of medical care, albeit of a minor nature?  And if your parents/grandparents needs minor medical care now, then logic should tell you, that in 2 – 5 years, the medical care is going to escalate, and odds are you can’t fit a stent.

Retirement villages are all the rage, and we have all boned up on what is available and what the different ones mean, and more importantly what they cost.

R4 000.00 – R6 000.00 rental will get you into a fairly good retirement village in our neck of the woods.  A semi-detached 2 – 3 bed-roomed house, with 15 prepared meals a month served in the dining/restaurant in the complex.  There is usually a sports centre in the complex and other services on offer, so if you cannot travel or do not want to get in your car, you are not stranded for dear life.

The retirement villages I have heard about appear to be vibrant communities, and not these dark terrible places that one appears people are shipped off to, to wait until the grim-reaper comes knocking.

Kennith’s grandparents are resistant to going – pretty much anywhere by the looks of things.

The problem is what do you do when you can see a situation needs some serious intervention, and there is actually nothing you can do?  You appreciate that they are adults and should make their own decisions, but for what ever reason, they are not making the decision.

This weekend our friends and I were talking.  We are all in our late thirties, very early forties, so we are still able to chew food, and can manage not too get too much spittle on our chins when we talk – all a good sign.

But the reality is that in the not too distant future, we are going to be wearing blue and purple hair rinses and chewing food with teeth that weren’t ours to begin with.

The problem appears to be, that the older a person gets, the more resistant they are in seeing the value and the logic in moving to an “assisted living arrangement”  and want to continue “going it alone” when they really can’t or shouldn’t.

There seems to be this delusion amongst our parents and our parent’s parents generation, that they will live in a granny flat attached to one of their children’s homes.

I think this works in principle.

But many of us are working full time, and have our own children.  So juggling our lives, which is always past hectic, and trying to find time to do our children’s homework makes for a very chaotic existence.  I am not sure how adding an elderly parent who needs a care giver is possible or even achievable in reality.

I know a few people who have an elderly mom or dad living with them, and it seems to work.  But in these situations often the parent is in their late 50’s or 60’s and does not need a health carer.

I do think that children should care about their parents in their old age.  I do not think that children should care for their parents in the role of a health care-giver or nurse.  I really do not.

I realise this makes me sound like I am going to put my own mother in a wheel chair, and park her outside on the balcony to die from exposure.  I probably wouldn’t.

I do not want my children seeing me wearing nappies, and the creamed sweet corn dripping out of the corner of my mouth because I can no longer close my lips properly.

I really do want to spare them that, and more importantly spare me the total loss of dignity infront of my nearest and dearest.

I want to hire a pleasant nurse named Nancy, who wears a starched uniform, with maroon epaulets, whose job it will be to do wipe my bum and pat my wrinkly veiny hand, and say things like “it is all going to be alright.”

I want my kids to remember me for the total bitch I am.  I would like them to remember be being stubborn, capable, opinionated and more importantly having control over my sphincter muscles.

I plan to have a very serious conversation with my mom and my step-father when I see them.  I need them to write letters to themselves NOW, where they explain (to themselves) why they feel they need to go to an “assisted living” facility. Then I will keep the letters and give it to them when I think that we are at that point.

Kennith and I plan to write similar letters to ourselves while this entire issue is fresh in our minds.