Mary Anne's 90th

Last year at this time of the year, my MIL was wondering what we'd do for her 90th in 2020. She went back and forth between ideas, and we all had fun giving her our thoughts. 

Of course, who knew 2020 would look like this?

The eldest daughter, Beth, led the charge to celebrate despite COVID. She organized a video production from friends and family, a birthday card drive, and a local driveby. Nancy and Richard took care of the flowers and gifts. Julie planned the evening with the family locally, and Tom thought we should flock Grammy. When we discovered those companies only flocked at homes, we came up with the idea of doing it ourselves with balloons. 

Madison hopped on the research wagon. Her findings were mylar balloons would last over regular balloons, purchasing helium balloons got us more balloons than buying a helium tank and doing it ourselves, and our van could hold 30+ balloons safely. Tom came up with putting them in the ground, and we did a test run overnight with two balloons at different heights. The night before the big 90th birthday, we began operation balloon sneak.

I'm not a balloon person. It's not like a fear of clowns--I like balloons' happiness--but I don't like the sudden pop of bursting latex. Using mylar balloons made me happier, but driving to Grammy's with a car full of bobbing and weaving balloons made me nervous. Madison came to the rescue. She stuffed six balloons in trashbags, so we only had about ten balloons free to roam space in my van.

Madison and I dressed in black. We know stealth. The Boos brothers, not so much. Richard, who flew first class in an N95 mask from CA to social distance outside with family, wore white and Tom gray. I do not believe they read the Hardy boy books as children.

We had sixty balloons, and we hung them from trees, tied them to bushes and objects, and used Tom's craft sticks to poke them in the ground. A security light on Grammy's garage and a city light on a pole gave us enough light to see around most of her area. Madison and I took the not so lit areas since we were appropriately adorned. I made sure to hang the smiling balloon right in front of Grammy's kitchen window so he'd welcome her when she came to make her coffee on her big day--which he did!

It didn't take long to distribute the festive birthday message, and we were not discovered by her neighbors, nor were the police called. We used the leftover sticks to spell out 90 since we'd forgotten all about making the sign explaining the balloons. Oops.

Mary Anne discovered the balloons when she noticed something fluttering outside her bedroom window. She went outside to her back patio where several balloons greeted her, and she just knew there would be more.

Mary Anne: "I said, oh, those kids, what have they done? And then I had to get dressed because I didn't want the neighbors to catch me taking out my trash can in my nightclothes if my driveway was decorated."

And it was! The neighbors loved it. Operation balloon sneak was a success, and so was the video, the cards, the phone calls, the drive-bys, and the flowers. There was Thai food, wine, cake, and champagne. We ate outside and then wore our masks to come indoors for the video and family Zoom call. There were many tears and much laughter during the 45-minute video of well wishes, memories, and photos. Oh, and Grammy was a great sport about letting us drape her in Princess Birthday decorations! She played the part well.

Happy 90th Birthday, Mary Anne! We love you, and we're looking forward to the next 10 years, and to gathering everyone together for next year's celebration!

At least we got outside

Saturday, three of us agreed to join the hubby in his blueberry adventures. Granted, it was Tom's typical spur-of-the-moment invite thrown out five minutes after I'd awakened and made myself a coffee. He gave us ten minutes.

Me: "Maybe you should call the blueberry place to make sure they are open."

Tom: "Why wouldn't they be open?"

The blueberry farm is a good hour drive from our house, north of where Grammy Mary Anne lives, and I accompanied them only because he agreed to do a social distance visit with his mother after we picked blueberries. Typically, this trip begins in the early dawn hours, and we are usually the first wave of pickers. This time we didn't get there until noon, and I was already regretting my choice of a black shirt as the sun shone through my side of the car window, but alas, I could've saved myself some stress.

I'd like to say that I was kind enough not to point out the obvious, but we all know that didn't happen. Although I did keep it to three I-told-you-to-call (s).

None of us really complained because, well, the drive and conversation was different than our quarantine lifestyle. Yippee!

Grammy met us in her driveway, and we stayed six feet apart for an hour of chatting before Tom suggested we move to the pool area. There, we were able to sit--six feet apart--and we spent another two hours socializing. In between the chatting, Oleg and Tom disappeared into Grammy's house--wearing their masks--to work on her computer since she missed out on the family Zoom call a week ago. A neighbor, on her way back from cutting another neighbor's hair, took their place in our circle.

Eventually, the men returned, and when the neighbor found out they were computer gurus, she asked if they could help her hook up her printer. Darcy worked out an exchange--computer work for two haircuts as both men kept whining about their need for a barber--and off the three went, leaving the girls behind. That gave us plenty of time for girl gossip and men bitching.

It was almost four o'clock by the time they returned, and only Tom had taken the neighbor up on her haircutting. Oleg opted for him to go first, and then decided he'd stick with his professional barber. The women exchanged knowing looks, grateful we'd had our time alone to get things off our chests.

We washed down the pool chairs and table as required, ordered dinner to pick up on the way home, virtually hugged Grammy, and climbed back in the car to head out, waving good-bye.

Mary Anne: "Thanks for coming! Oh, and thanks for the blueberries!"

Darcy and I snickered quietly all the way home.

What's with the trees?

As parents age, children keep a close eye out for the dreaded loss of memory. Here in Florida, it's just par for the course. We have a lot of elders, and many are missing some brain cells. My MIL, however, has her wits, and all we need to do is keep her from getting knocked down by Christmas trees.

Wednesdays, my SIL, niece, and I have dinner at my MIL's house. I arrived first last Wednesday after my drum lesson, and my MIL and I sat and talked about the week. She started telling me a story about a tree that had toppled. She has a glass-roofed atrium between her den and extra bedroom. It's an odd thing to have, and I sometimes try to imagine what the builder thought when he dreamed up that little gem, but my MIL has plants and a waterfall in the atrium. Occasionally on chilly evenings when she has guests, she opens the sliding glass doors.

As she talked, I pictured a plant out in her atrium. The woman lives in a townhome in an association that takes care of the trees and shrubbery outdoors. The only place I could think of that she'd have a plant as large as a tree was the atrium. I did not get up to go look.

MIL: "I mean, it just toppled right over." She made a clucking noise with her tongue and a hand gesture of cutting a tree at its base. "Right at the end. It fell over. I heard it. It made a loud noise. What would cause it to do that? I have no idea. It's a fake tree. I paid a lot of money for it. It's heavy. I drug out what I could, but I'll need to hire someone to get the rest, I suppose."

When people talk to me, imagines appear in my head. Tell me something, and I immediately picture it, and nine times out of ten, it isn't the same picture as the reality. At this point, I had an image of the atrium, a fake palm tree, and my MIL hauling out palm fronds.

Me: "Why would you hire someone? Can't your grandson do that? Or better yet, your daughter, who is always telling us how much iron she pumps on Wednesday? When Julie gets here, we shall assess the situation. I'm sure if she can't do it, her son can. I would do it, but I'm not supposed to lift things. We'll worry about it later."

Cut to later. We were playing cards and discussing Julie's MIL, who has dementia, and eventually, the topic turned to the toppled tree.

Julie: "Where is it?"

MIL: "In the other room. I just don't understand why it would do that. Just topple over. I can't lift it. I don't think you can either. I'll have to get someone."

Me: "Julie can get it. She just finished telling us she lifted two fifteen-pound weights today at the gym. She's a beast. She can handle a fake tree."

Julie: "I can do it. Where is it?"

Me: "I'm not sure, but I think it's in that little atrium area. Let's go assess it."

I got there first, peering through the sliding glass doors of the atrium. There was no tree. Confused, I turned in a slow circle taking in my MIL's surroundings as my brain tried to figure out where she had a fake plant as big as a tree. Not by the piano. Not in the living room. Not on the porch. By the time I'd circled back to the atrium, Julie was peering out the glass doors.

Julie: "Where is the tree?"

Me: "I don't know. I thought she meant it was in the atrium, but obviously, there isn't a tree."

Julie: "What? Where did she have a tree?"

Me: "I don't know. Listen. I know you were talking about dementia earlier. If your mother comes out here and can't point to a tree, we are going to have to be very concerned."

I was joking. I have no qualms about my MIL and her mental stability. Julie and I snickered. Rolled our eyes. Old people. Ha.

My MIL appeared.

Julie: "Mother. Where is the tree?"

MIL: "What tree?"

Julie and I were struck dumb. I mean, struck into total silence, dumbfounded, and we stared at my MIL with our mouths agape.

Then I lost it. I started laughing so hard I had to bend over and clutch my stomach. Julie, however, with her MIL's condition at the forefront of her brain, panicked.

Julie: "What tree? WHAT TREE? The tree you told us about. WHERE IS IT?"

MIL: "You mean the Christmas tree?"

Julie's horror-stricken face brought me to my knees. I mean, seriously? What was happening just now? One minute ago, we'd just discussed this tree. 

My MIL's brain suddenly caught up to where we were, and then she too started laughing. The two of us cackled like hyenas while Julie stared at both of us until she also decided it was better to just join in.

I had been correct. The fake palm tree had been in the atrium--in a basket placed into a planter the size of a small pony. It sat in the corner, and for reasons unknown, had broken and toppled over. My MIL carried out the broken tree but left the basket inside the planter. 

Julie and I went into the atrium and stared into the basket inside the planter. The fake tree had real dirt in it, and parts of a stump could be seen poking out of that. I thought maybe my MIL was mistaken about the tree being fake. Who puts real dirt for an artificial tree?

It took two of us to get the basket out of the ginormous planter. I used my foot to hold it down, and Julie wiggled it out, resting it on the planter as if it were heavy.

MIL: "You can't carry that."

Julie: "I can. It's fine."

MIL: "Well, I don't want it to drip dirt and water all over my house. We should put tin foil on the bottom. What do you think?"

Me: "I think we're not baking it. How about a plastic bag?"

MIL: "That's good. There are trash bags in the garage."

She and I headed in that direction, and when we turned around to go back into the house with the trash bag, Julie was carrying the basket. I quickly opened the trash bag, worried that her muscles might be over contracting with all that weight. She set the basket inside it.

MIL: "Did you get dirt all over my house?"

Julie: "I didn't."

But Julie went to double-check, and my MIL got a broom to sweep up the dirt that had fallen out during the bagging. Unfortunately, the basket was sitting on top of some of the soil, and since Julie wasn't there to lift it, and since I couldn't lift it, I decided to drag it out of the way. That's when I discovered that 90 percent of the basket contained foam, not real packed dirt. Julie played that off very well.

More giggling ensued when Julie came back and realized she'd been caught. We still don't understand why there was a fake tree in a basket of real dirt inside a planter inside the atrium, but frankly, Julie and I don't care. 

We're just glad to know that dementia thus far has escaped my MIL. 

Trees, however...well, that's what we still have to watch out for.

More on Christmas 2018 and pics

It will go down as the Christmas Grandma got taken down by the Christmas tree. Oh, there were runner-up shenanigans but nothing that toppled Grandma Mary Anne's saga. 

I mean, how often can one say that she broke her back by being felled by her very own Christmas tree? I'm only sorry that Madison and Teddy never finished their song on the incident sung to the tune of Oh, Christmas Tree, because it would have just added some spice to the story.

Grandma likes real trees for Christmas, and last year she had the tree up and waiting for the grandchildren to decorate. She decided that would be a tradition, and my husband took her out this year to get her tree, setting it up for her and stringing some lights. He left it sitting like that for the arrival of the grandchildren. The date for decorating was set for Friday.

Thursday, Grandma got knocked over by the Christmas tree. Friday, the grandchildren deemed the tree unworthy of decoration. A punishment I'm not sure the tree minded. No heavy ornaments to bend it's branches? Score.

The tree was bare with minimal lights but still part of the holiday. As soon as the new year rang in? The tree was disposed of. Off came the lights, and in one fell swoop, the tree hit the curb to be taken off to wherever it is that discarded Christmas trees disappear.

I picture them carted off to Santa's acreage where they're replanted and reborn. I'm not sure what Santa will have in store for this very naughty tree, but perhaps there is redemption. At the very least, it will live on in our retelling of Christmas of 2018.

As for the rest of the holiday, it was terrific. Always great to spend time with family and friends. Our Christmas morning was quiet and un-hectic. We slept late, awoke to cinnamon rolls, opened gifts, and then hiked to Grandma's for the rest of the day.

Nancy and Beth created and cooked a delicious Christmas meal that was then consumed in the amount of time it took to open a bottle of wine. Certainly faster than it did to prepare and make. Dessert was eaten, and our traditional Yankee Exchange occurred. Tons of games were played, including our family favorite with this group: Mafia. 

After Christmas, the days were spent on trips to the beach, the children's museum, and Darcy's campus. Oh, and more gaming and tons more Mafia.

Also, there was some rearranging of Grandma's house so she could maneuver the walker in case a Christmas tree jumped out at her.

We were sorry to see everyone head back home. I was sad to see my girls return to college. But all good things come to an end, and we put 2018 to bed and got back into our routines. 

Here's hoping 2019 is just as exciting!

Grandma got knocked over by a Christmas tree

In my family, we collect Christmas stories--the zany things that occur over the holidays and immediately go into the family lore to be repeated each Christmas, so that the next generation will continue to pass it down. 

Some star in multiple episodes more than others, but no one is immune.

This year the holidays started out with a bang-- only not on my direct side of the family. This happened on my husband's side, but, yep, no one is immune. I told my MIL this was going down in history.

MIL: "It's also going in my book. Under the chapter titled, The Finale."

My MIL awoke yesterday and went to get her paper. It was not where it should've been, and--please know the retelling of this tale has changed multiple times--it is my understanding she went to check to see if the paperboy had put it at her back door, which is at her enclosed porch off of her living room where the not yet decorated but fully lit Christmas tree resided.

When she stepped down into the porch, she stepped into a water puddle she discovered was coming from under the back door. We've had several rainstorms for two days, and she has an issue with drainage. She opened the back door and attempted to clean out the leaves and muck she felt was the cause of this catastrophe. Having accomplished that, she came back inside to mop up the water. With the towel that was under the Christmas tree.

MIL: "I pulled the towel, and the tree fell on top of me and knocked me to the floor."

Me: "Why would you pull that towel? You have a million other towels you could've used. Why would you use the one that was UNDER the Christmas tree?"

MIL: "Because it was there. I thought the water might be under the tree. Anyway, the tree toppled over, and then I toppled over."

Me: "With the tree on top of you?"

MIL: "Yes, and I hugged the tree and said, "Oh, Christmas tree, why would you do this to me?"

The story makes people chuckle or laugh until it comes to the part where my MIL fractured her back. That puts a downer on the regaling of the story where we spent four hours in the hospital. Until the story continues. You see, instead of pushing her alert bracelet for medical attention, my MIL called her daughter.

MIL: "I thought, well, maybe this isn't so bad, and Julie can help me."

Her daughter Julie was at the dentist's, and her phone was off. So Grandma figured she'd better push the alert button, and then while she lay there, she called her son Richard who was just in the act of turning off his own phone as he boarded a plane to FL.

Me: "Why would you call your son in CA?"

MIL: "I wanted him to know I wasn't going to be able to pick him up at the airport."

Richard called me, and I called Julie's husband and sent him to the rescue. He got there the same time as the firemen.

Nurse: "Were the firemen good looking?"

Julie: "YES! YES! YES!"

Julie and I both got the call from the alert team informing us help was on the way. Julie went to Grandma's and met her husband and apparently the firemen. An ambulance transported Grandma to the hospital, where I met her.

MIL: "I have everything done. I made cookies. I bought all my gifts and wrapped them. I'll need to let you know where I put those. Oh, and I made caramel rolls. I didn't get to have one of those this morning with my coffee. Darn it. I don't even know if they are good or not."

Julie: "They are. I had one."

Me: "While staring at the hot firemen?

Julie: "Exactly!"

Me: "No, really, you ate a caramel roll before you packed your mother's clothes and medicine and met us at the hospital?"

Julie: "Yes. They're her caramel rolls!"

The entertainment went on like this at the hospital. The staff got Grandma up and walking because not much is done for a fractured back except pain management. She'll have to see a specialist for further evaluation, but at least she is home for the holidays. I tagged the son who landed in FL to take over from our duties on her release. We waited forever for him to arrive, only to find out he'd taxied first to Grandma's house to unload his stuff.

MIL: "I just want to go home and have a caramel roll."

Son: "Wait? There were caramel rolls? I didn't see those when I was at your house."

I think maybe this in-law family lore might just top my own.