Of Parenting Adults by Konnie Enos

My youngest child is now nineteen. He needs a doctor’s appointment.

One day I was talking to him about this need and telling him he needed to call the doctor’s office and make the appointment.

He started ranting about how I didn’t throw his siblings in the “deep end” when they turned eighteen.

His brother, my twenty-year-old, walked into the room during our argument.

I turned to his brother. “Tony, what was the last time I made an appointment for you?”

“Eye doctor, a few days after I turned 18, but you'd made it before my birthday, the appointment was after it.”

I remember it. I had an appointment too. They handed us paperwork. I handed one clipboard to him. “Here, you’re an adult now. This is your job.”

He sighed and did his own paperwork.

I have not dealt with any of his medical care since including him finding his primary care doctor, setting up his appointments, and making sure he had a way to get there.

All of my other children have since confirmed that I have not made any appointments for them since they turned eighteen.

I have and do drive kids to their appointments, but I don’t make them nor do I attend them unless my perfectly capable adult child asks me to. They are capable of making their own decisions.

For example, my oldest is now married, with a child.

I have no right to tell her how to raise my grandchild or how many kids she should have. I have no right to tell her when and how often she should visit us. I can’t tell her how to spend her money or what to spend it on. I can’t tell her where to live.

If she asks me for advice, I can give my opinion, but I can’t expect her to follow it. That’s between her and her husband.

My other children are still at home but I still have little say in how they run their lives.

I cannot dictate where they work or who they see or even if they attend college/additional schooling or not. I can’t tell them when to be home.

I can tell them to do their chores. I can tell them to let me know things such as where they’re going and when they expect to be back. Its common courtesy to let those you live with know where you might be and when to be expected.

Even as their parent, and even if I’m paying all their bills, I have no legal right to talk to doctors about their health and/or care or teachers about their grades or classwork unless my child gives consent. I have no right to know how much they are earning or what they are spending their money on, nor do I have a right to tell them how to spend their money.  

I am their mother. I can be worried about them all I want but they are adults.

I’m always astounded when I hear of parents who still want to dictate the lives of their adult children and even get upset when those children cut them out of their lives.

What did you expect?

They’re adults and can make their own choices.

Seriously, if we can expect these kids to be intelligent enough to vote then they are smart enough to make their own decisions. If you honestly think your kids can’t handle it (assuming they don’t have a diagnosed condition which can diminish mental capacity, like Down’s syndrome), then you need to reexamine your parenting.

I’ve tried to raise my kids to be responsible adults.

Now I have to convince my youngest that he is capable of dealing with adulthood. I mean it’s not like his dad and I aren’t right here to back him up.

In all honesty, because he is on the spectrum and has some learning delays, I have gone to his appointments and will continue to do so until I’m sure he can one) understand everything he’s told at these appointments and two) remember it long enough and well enough to relate anything I do need to know to me. His siblings didn’t need this kind of back up.

I do however stand my ground. As I told him. “I’m not going to be around forever.”

 He is as capable of learning how to be an adult as he is of learning how to cook his food. Which he has been doing.

The other night he made himself tuna casserole.

I may never see him fly the nest, but at least I’ll know he can take care of himself when I’m gone.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Word Usage by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Okay I just have to let it out, because this is bugging me big time.

It’s actually several things, and sort of just one.

What is this pet peeve?

Simple.

Commercials. Specifically, commercials where poor grammar or a lack of understanding of the English language is employed.

You want an example of what I mean?

Well, here goes:

A commercial shows an older woman sitting on the ground rubbing her ankle. A voice comes over the monitor she’s wearing. “We just had a fall detected, are you okay?”

“Yes,” the woman on the ground answers then a second later she says, “I fell and hurt my ankle, I don’t think I can walk home.”

Do you see the problem?

For those of you who don’t see it, let me draw your attention first to what the person on the monitor asked. She asked if the woman was okay, and in answer to that question the woman said, “Yes.”

She clearly said she was okay, yet just a second later, she says she’s not okay.

Lady, please make up your mind. Are you or are you not okay? 

Which is it?

That’s sample one. Here is sample two:

A man and woman are sitting across from each at a table, laughing. The man looks at the lady and says, “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”

The lady smiled at him and says, “Sure.”

Let me stress the fact that she just said that she DID mind him using her facilities. He asked if she minded, and she answered sure, as in sure I mind.

Yet, a second later she points and says, “It’s right there.”

Excuse me? You said you minded! Why are you telling him where it is? If you minded him using that room, why didn’t you just chase him out of your place?

I don’t get it.

This falls into the category of asking someone if you can borrow their restroom. My sister-in-law has the perfect response to this nonsense. She replies, “As long as you put it back when you’re done,” or sometimes she says, “I don’t know, can you?”

Because of this, I tend to stick with, “May I use your facilities?” or something on that line, more direct and less likely for any misunderstandings to occur, or quips like the above.

But back to commercials.

Here is another one:

A lady is describing the steps needed to utilize the product she is selling and ends her little speech with, “And you’re GRAPE to go.”

Now I’m fully aware she really means great, not grape, but I promise, I’ve seen this commercial enough times to know that she isn’t enunciating properly, and it makes me wonder how good the company is that can’t even make sure their actress is pronouncing their words clearly before they blast their commercial all over the TV.

But can I really blame them? Maybe they aren’t hearing the mistake. Or maybe I’m hearing things. Some people only hear what they expect to hear. But honestly, I expect to hear great in that sentence, not grape.

And it isn’t only commercials with this problem I’ve watched TV court shows where the plaintive said, “I borrowed him X amount of money.”

Excuse me?

I’m confused.

Borrowed is synonymous with TAKE not GIVE.

By using the word borrowed, this person was saying they took the money from the defendant, not that they gave the money to the defendant.

And I’ve actually heard the word borrowed used where loan was the correct word more than once. I’m glad to note the judge in every case corrected the person making this egregious error. 

Doesn’t anyone teach proper English anymore? Have they stopped teaching vocabulary in school?

I did see a post the other day on Facebook talking about words that can mean both the negative and the positive but believe me, borrowed isn’t on that list. And I wish I could find it now because I can’t even remember the name that was given to these types of words. It was totally new to me.

And that’s saying a lot when I grew up with a person given the nickname of Dictionary. I know I’ve mentioned her before, because I know I’ve mentioned the incident from 6^th grade where she helped me with a couple of boys who wouldn’t stop chatting over and around me during class.

My vocabulary is considered on the large side and I did not know this word and now can’t remember it.

If anyone knows what this word is, let me know. Okay.

I did know the words on that list. And I had already realized those words could mean its own opposite. I just didn’t know there was a word for that.                                                              

Anyway, happy writing, everyone.

Of Isolation and Concentration by Konnie Enos

Being stuck in my bedroom for weeks on end is one thing.

I have my tablet, phone, and laptop. I have books. I have my handcraft supplies. Every family member, even the ones I live with, are no further away than a phone call. I can talk to my beautiful granddaughter every night if I wanted to, and see her face via video chat. When I need food or anything from the rest of the house, I have plenty of people here to get it for me.

Being stuck here means I get to do whatever I want, whenever I want to. So, I should be putting a lot of effort into writing since I have so much time on my hands.

This is not happening.

I am recovering and can breathe better now, but I still have issues with fatigue and just generally not feeling up to speed. I also can’t concentrate.

It’s so bad that I’ve noted when my writer's group meeting was and planned on attending (they’re on Zoom, so easy to do) but I never make it.

Why?

Because I completely forget about when the actual time of the meeting is generally remembering after they’re over with.

As far as writing my post. I did remember I had to write one for today, but I wasn’t feeling well yesterday and couldn’t think beyond what was going on with my body, and what I had to do help me feel better. So no typing, especially not any posts.

I’m feeling better this morning, at least at the moment, but as I’m still dealing with this virus and all the side effects (it and my medications are messing with my blood sugar levels) I’m sure I’m going to have more bad days between now and full recovery.

So, while I’m on the mend, I’m not completely better yet and I'm not getting done as much as I should be able to do considering I’m just sitting in my bed all day.

Frankly, I’ve often thought how nice it’d be to be able to just sit here all day and do exactly what I want to, mostly reading and writing. Funny how getting what you want doesn’t always work out the way you want it to.

Right now I’m thinking about all the things I could and would be doing if I could leave my room.

If you are still isolating, or like me forced to isolate, are you getting things done still, or is your concentration off the rails like mine is?

Are you stimulating your brain, learning new things, or just relaxing?

Are you, like so many others, wheedling down your to-do list? Cleaning out your storage areas, doing household repairs, or major projects you’ve just never had time for before?

Or are you like me. Sitting around doing very little and not having the energy, concentration to do more?

Here’s hoping it gets better soon.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

The Tyranny of Clocks by Bonnie Le Hamitlon

I wish Patches could tell time.

If he could, maybe I could get some more sleep.

As it is, my day usually starts with Patches jumping onto my abdomen from probably my dresser. Not sure, because my eyes were closed, being as I was asleep and all. All I know is I get woken up more times than I care to count by twelve pounds of cat landing in my bread basket!

And when he isn’t trying that, he shoves his nose into my face!

Have you ever tried to sleep with a cat shoving his cold, wet nose into your face?

Not fun.                 

The worst part is he starts way before my alarm is set to go off! I have even been in the bathroom, after my bladder protested the twelve pounds of cat bit, when my alarm went off! “Patches, that 

means you woke up early.”

“Meow.”

I can’t tell you how many times I was already up, thanks to Patches.

Why do I even have an alarm?

I turned the thing off. Who needs an alarm when they have a cat? Or a dog for that matter?

I have had to push Patches away from me dozens of times, then when I finally give up, sit up, and grab my glasses, it isn’t even seven in the morning! Geez.

“Dang, Patches! It isn’t morning yet!”

“Meow,” he says from the window sill. I guess he’s trying to tell me the sun is up.

Blasted cat.

He doesn’t seem to understand that I was up late the night before, either reading or writing or usually a little of both.

It was worse a few nights ago.

I stayed up until about midnight writing then I got comfortable on my bed and did a little reading until around one in the morning. Then I turned on my oxygen machine, turned out my light, and started to drift off to sleep.

BEEP BEEP!

I sat up. My oxygen machine was making that noise, but that’s all it was doing, no air at all. A second later it dawned on me the power was out. I’d barely been in bed an hour.

I contacted the power company.

They already knew about the outage and promised it would be about an hour and a half.

I can wait that long.

I start reading again. Two hours later, there’s still now power.

I called the power company again. It’s going to be another hour and a half!

Dang.

I have to dig out my charger pack for my phone, the only light I have. And I keep waiting.

Finally, at around 5:30 in the morning, as the sun is starting to come up, the power comes on. Great. I can get some sleep now.

An hour later, Oof! “Patches! I just got to bed! Let me sleep.” I push him away and try to get back to sleep.

Patches doesn’t give up, switching between jumping on my belly and shoving his nose in my face I have no idea how often or how regularly because I have no desire to grab my glasses or check my phone.

But eventually, I sit up. “Okay, you win! I’m up!” I put on my glasses and look at the clock and glare at Patches. “You do realize I only got to bed like three hours ago, right?”

“Meow.” He stares at me all innocent.

I groan and get about my morning routine, which of course includes feeding him.

About an hour later I crash for a couple of hours.

When I wake up, it dawns on me I have a fully charged solar generator!

Why didn’t I go get that? I glare at Patches. “Why didn’t you remind me I have a solar generator?”

“Meow.”

“Yeah, right. I got that before I got you! How were you supposed to know?”

“Meow.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You don’t understand a single word I’m saying.”

I only wish he could learn to tell time.

The problem is, he can. He tells time by when his stomach is empty, because, obviously he’s a cat, not a human being.

Which is why all farmers hate daylight savings time, because no matter what the clock says, they have to get up and feed the animals, so six months of the year they’re getting up an hour earlier, but it isn’t really an hour earlier, the clock just says it’s an hour earlier.

Good luck trying to figure that one out if you don’t have pets or livestock, but the rest of us know.

Clocks have no meaning to animals. When their body says its time to eat, well, by golly food better be available!

Though knowing this might just add some fun to a story. Something to think about.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone.

About Isolation by Konnie Enos

As some of you may recall, my last post was a paragraph about how I’d been too sick to write my post. Also, in her last post, Bonnie mentioned I’d been in the hospital with COVID. (I’m home now; they released me the same day of her post.)

Considering how sick I was, I’ve been told to continue isolation through July 1^st, which means I’m not leaving my room unless it can’t be helped. (In other words, the only time I’ve left my bedroom in a week was the one time I couldn’t get anyone to get me some food. The biggest issue at the time was I needed to take medicine, with food.)

On the plus side, I’m able to see and talk to my family members and they aren’t all gowned up when they are in the room with me. However, my girls are keeping their distance since they haven’t come down with COVID yet. (Here’s praying they don’t.)

One thing I remember about my hospital stay was yet again thinking about all the reasons Heavenly Father didn’t send me down as a singleton.

I certainly don’t mind having my alone time, but even when I am quietly reading, or writing, I prefer to have someone nearby. They don’t have to be talking to me or even doing the same thing I am, I just prefer to have someone else in the room with me.

I can remember attempting to have a room of my own when I was about 11 or 12 and it lasted maybe a week. I couldn’t stand it, even though my sisters were both in the next room and we had a connecting door. I didn’t have a bedroom of my own until I was about 16 but even that didn’t last a full year because our baby brother was born and I was the only one without a roommate.

I went off to college at 20 and spent a week living alone in an apartment but most of that week I ended up spending with my best friend and her family. (After that I had to move to campus approved housing so I had roommates.)

When I served a mission for our church I had companions built in because we always serve in sets. And at least one of my companions noticed my unconscious need to always be in the same room as her.

One day, I believe it was because of heat warnings, we were stuck in our apartment. A rather spacious space consisting of three rooms. The bathroom and bedroom plus a large living room kitchen area. We spent most of the day studying our scriptures or making phone calls.

At the time, I did not notice I was doing it, but every single time my companion changed the room she was in I inevitably followed within a few minutes. Both of us studying in the bedroom, she gets up to do the dishes or something in the kitchen and I end up in the living room (still studying). She moves back to the cooler bedroom and guess where I end up less than ten minutes later. I know for a fact, now, that I was irritating her that day but I honestly hadn’t noticed I was following her around the apartment. I moved each time for my comfort.

My point is, being so completely alone in the hospital room without someone else nearby, even if I wasn’t talking to them, was hard on me. And Heavenly Father must have known I couldn’t handle complete aloneness because he sent me to earth with a constant companion. My twin sister. He also sent me to a large enough family that I very rarely had a room of my own. Then when I did move out of the house he sent along the man I very quickly married. (We’ll be celebrating 30 years of marriage this coming November.)

Anyway, I’m super glad I’m home now and surrounded by my family (human and fur babies). I wasn’t built to be alone and Heavenly Father has seen to bless me with plenty of family to keep me company.

The other thing I’ve noticed this week is the spattering of gray I’ve had on either side of my forehead (noticeable only when my hair is in a ponytail, which it generally is) is now two distinct streaks of gray. Apparently stress, such as a major illness really does make you grayer.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

COVID-19 and Patches by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Patches turned a year old this past Monday, and I’m so broke, I couldn’t buy him a gift beyond a can of cat food to replace his dry food for one meal. And I honestly thought I couldn’t give him more than that.

But the end of last week, as I headed out to pick up my cousin, to give him a ride, and as I got to the nearest stop sign from my place, I spotted a rather large cat tower by the stop sign. When I got up to it, I saw a sign on the tower, which simply read, “Free.”

Well, so I took it and returned home with it.

Patches got a big birthday present just a little early. Nice.

I guess I should also mention that Patches was full-sized weeks ago. He’s a big cat.

Okay, not that big.

My siblings should understand if I said he was O’Malley big not Scamper big.

For the rest of you, many eons ago I owned a cat named Scamper, and he was huge! Full-grown, Scamper weighted in at twenty-five pounds! But he wasn’t fat, I have a picture of him. He was just huge.

Anyway, around the same time my picture was taken, our neighbors had a cat named O’Malley. Now O’Malley was a large tomcat, and before we moved to the neighborhood, he was the only tomcat around. Needless to say, he didn’t like Scamper moving in on his turf which included several stray females.

O’Malley also didn’t like that Scamper was younger by several years and bigger than he was. If I recall correctly, O’Malley was five or six and Scamper couldn’t have been more than two.

To say the least, there were a lot of catfights between the two, and O’Malley, who had chased off every other tomcat around, couldn’t chase off Scamper. There was just no way O’Malley could win. Scamper was younger and bigger.

It was like a teenaged Hulk battling a middle-aged Mike Tyson. No contest.

Anyway, Patches is O’Malley big, not Scamper big.

Though recently, I realized that Scamper’s heritage might have included a Maine Coon, since they are extremely large, and I recently saw a picture of one that looked a lot like Scamper, including the tufts at the top of his ears.

We always thought he was part lynx. His mother was a stray tabby. But well his father could have been a Maine Coon. Scamper looked more like a Maine Coon than a lynx.

Anyway, enough about Patches and Scamper.

On to family.

I have one nephew how also had a birthday on Monday. So Happy Birthday, Brandon Gene Hamilton.

Now about Konnie. She’s still sick. It is in fact COVID. She’s in the hospital.

Where I am concerned, as far as I know, I have had no physical contact with anyone who has been exposed, or has tested positive for COVID-19. Emphasis on physical, since I have a niece who had the misfortune being exposed at work, from a coworker who had the gall to go to work sick during a pandemic.

But I have not seen my niece since just after Christmas. She lives in Twin Falls.

And then there’s Konnie and her husband, who are both sick.

Yes, I have talked to Konnie, but her family lives even further away than my niece. After all Twin Falls is only a couple hours’ drive away. Vegas is between a ten-and twelve-hour drive away. Yeah, not doing that anytime soon and that has nothing to do with the fact that both Konnie and Jerry have tested positive for COVID-19. I just can’t afford the gas.

Though sometimes I wish I could see Konnie. Except it wouldn’t do any good right now. At present, she’s stuck in an isolation ward and the only people she’s seeing are medical personal all covered in protective gear, as in, she can only see their eyes.

I’m glad it's not me! That would drive me crazy.

Actually, it's driving Konnie crazy. It would drive anyone crazy.

Though if it were me, I’d have the added problem of finding someone to take care of my cat.

Konnie has a dog, but she doesn’t live alone.

So, here’s praying that no more family members become sick, and the ones that are sick survive! I also pray this pandemic will end soon. And that everyone currently sick survives. I also pray for peace to return to this country, that the problems are solved for the benefit of all.

But think of all the fodder this is giving all us writers!

Happy writing everyone!

My Apologies by Konnie Enos

I'm sorry but I've been unable to get a post up this morning do to being rather ill. I'm assuming a flu bug since I can't eat anything without feeling sick to my stomach. Hopefully I'll be able to get over this soon and go back to life as usual.

Take care everyone.