I come from a long line of Jewish mothers who have withstood the test of time, with all of our warnings, solutions, advice-ridden anecdotes, as well as a language that speaks, at times, backwards. For example, you may say, "I wish you would marry a rich doctor." A Jewish mother may say, "A rich doctor you should marry." Or, you may say, "She really isn't pretty." They may say, "Pretty, she is not." I'm not a master of the English language, and I realize this seems backward, but because I was raised by people who spoke like this, I understand exactly what they're saying when they say it. You should know this; or rather, this, you should know. You also have to put the accent on the right words at the right time or it's wrong. If you don't know what I'm talking about, have a conversation with an old Jewish person, and you will pick it up rather quickly. One of my favorite books, and I barely read, is "The Book of Yiddish." It's hilarious describing different words and phrases that you might not know but perhaps have heard like shlep, putz, tushie and keppy. Now, I may not spell these words correctly, but if you sound them out, you'll get the gist. When we were young, my parents would begin to talk Yiddish when they didn't want us to hear what they were saying. I still don't understand the language, but I do know a few words to spice up my vocabulary.
My mother has now been diagnosed with MRSA. I looked up what it meant and I'm copying and pasting the description from Wikipedia here: MRSA is, by definition, any strain of Staphylococcus aureus that has developed resistance to beta-lactam antibiotics which include the penicillins (methicillin, dicloxacillin, nafcillin, oxacillin, etc.) and the cephalosporins. MRSA is especially troublesome in hospitals and nursing homes where patients with open wounds, invasive devices and weakened immune systems are at greater risk of infection than the general public.
So, more than likely, she obtained this nasty infection from the rehab center, which is where she is being transferred back to tomorrow. On the bright side, she'll have her own room because of the infection, so she'll have more privacy. My mother is usually very friendly and social, but since she's been in the rehab center, she just wants to be alone. I can't blame her at all - I would be the same way. She just wants to come home, but I think it will be several weeks before she'll be able to come home. I wish I could change that for her, but obviously I can't. In the meantime, I take care of my father who is also very needy. Spoiled, would also be a good word for him. My mother has done literally everything for him all their married life. But I guess that was the day and age, the era, they lived in.
I'm not used to making breakfast, lunch and dinner every single day. I haven't cooked like that since my kids were little, and even then I made a lot of frozen pizzas, ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese. I've never been a great cook, and never really had the urge to be, and now I'm in the position of trying to figure out what to make that my father will eat. Again, it doesn't have to be a gourmet meal, because of his love affair with BBQ sauce, but it has to be edible and I find myself staring into the freezer trying to figure out what to cook. Thank God for frozen food that I just have to read the label on how to cook. My mother freezes everything. She has little margarine containers of milk in the freezer that are the exact measurement she puts in her oatmeal. She freezes FLOUR, bread and all kinds of leftovers in little baggies, most of which have been labeled as to what the contents are. That's a good thing since it all looks the same from the outside. Tonight, I "made" frozen lasagne, which was ok but left a lot to be desired. I took out some chicken breasts from the freezer for tomorrow, but I'll have to really think about what to do with them.
Well, I just got a phone call from Jason asking where the hospital is in Stoughton. Apparently, Donovan slammed the door and Jade's hand was in there. Oh the joys of raising children. I wish I could transport myself home at this moment and be with my grandkids...
In case you were wondering, shlep means to drag, putz means like an idiot or clumsy, tushie is your behind and keppy is your head. So if I were to say, "That putz schlepped his tushie in here and hit his keppy," you'll know what I said...
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