Dad slept until 10:30 a.m. He got up and went into the den; he didn't have his teeth in or his hearing aids in, and had one pant leg shoved up to his knee. He puttered about 10 minutes, came back out and said he thought he'd just go back to bed. Well. I checked on him in his bedroom about 10 minutes after that, and he was sitting on his bad buckling his belt. Nope, didn't go back to bed.
I'm checking into something. On another blog of elderly people, the author said the elderly will choose the last choice you offer them. Since Dad's schedule is fluxing so much, I don't know whether to give him breakfast or lunch. So I offer him a sandwich or bacon and eggs. Out of 2 days, he's chosen the last thing I offer him.
Gave Dad supper at 5:00 p.m., pork chop, turnip greens, corn. Have no clue how much he ate as he must have gotten it into the trash before I could see. I saw him in the kitchen getting a tomato about 7:00. At 7:15 he came in asking me if I was going to cook any supper. Went into the kitchen to make him a hot dog. A plate was sitting on the counter with 1/2 a banana, an apple and a tomato - all peeled and ready to eat. I took it to him. He thanked me very nicely.
Between supper and this snack we had Today's Round 1 over mowing. I was going to go home on Saturday, changed it to Sunday, decided it was going to rain again, changed it back to Saturday. With him on this friggin' mowing bash, and with it looking like it won't rain Saturday, I changed it back to Sunday. I really need to go home then.
Last night at midnight I had to physically turn the TV off the royal wedding coverage and make Mom go to bed. Gads, I thought I was going to scream. She'd started watching it about 1 in the afternoon. Everytime the ceremony came on, about 11 times in 11 hours, she'd ask me if I didn't want to watch. Rolling eyes, criminy no, Mom, I've seen it alright already?
She had a bit of a bout in the bathroom last night. I've been slack about forcing her to drink, although I'd actually forced her to drink a glass of milk with a piece of cake earlier and had been chiding her about it. Sure enough, at midnight she was fighting problems with having a bowel movement. That's life in the fast lane.
So it's Saturday morning, and after Dad finally puts his teeth so I can feed him, Guess What? I'm off to mow the field.
Sure wish I could, as Max said, talk him into letting the damn field be a field instead of 7 acres of lawn.