|
Emerson Publications
|
|
|
The Family First
Newsletter In this issue:
Research the Drugs - Save a Life Give Time - Not Toys Tres Leches Cake
Good morning!
I took my own advice and sent about 15 handwritten notes this week. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm referring to last week's newsletter which contained one of my own articles talking about how much more meaning is attached to a personal note. If you missed it, you can find it here: http://www.emersonpublications.com/Newsletters/11-12-07.htm
Last year, shoppers like you were out $8 billion because of unused, lost, or expired gift cards. Easy money for retailers. Lost money for you. Read more about it here: http://money.cnn.com/2007/11/12/news/gift_cards/index.htm?postversion=2007111217 AND learn what Target has planned for Black Friday: http://money.cnn.com/2007/11/08/news/companies/Target_blackfriday/index.htm?postversion=2007110816
Remember the old saying, "He who dies with the most toys wins"? I had to chuckle today when I saw one that said, "He who dies with the most toys is still dead."
I want to wish all of
you a Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you'll be
surrounded by good friends and good food!
P.S. Be sure to visit our sponsors!
Research The Drugs - Save
a Life Seven years ago I became the caregiver for my elderly mother. It wasn't my choice. My brother had been caring for her for quite some time and he had just decided enough was enough. He thought it was time to pass the responsibility on to the next oldest child. That's me. At the time, my mother was living in a nursing home in Tennessee and I was in Texas. It was impossible to manage her care without being able to physically see her, so my husband and I talked about it and decided the best thing to do was to move her here. She wasn't in good shape. My brother, totally relying on the advice of what he thought were competent physicians, allowed them to give my mother Elavil, http://www.drugs.com/Elavil.html , a prescription drug to treat schizophrenia. My mother had never been schizophrenic, and in fact, these "symptoms" were actually side effects from other medication she was taking. I learned that schizophrenia isn't something you develop as an adult. It starts much earlier than that. The doctors should have known at least that much. We brought her to Houston and moved her into a beautiful apartment in an assisted living community. It was quite a step up from a nursing home. I knew it was going to be an adjustment, but I wasn't prepared for the change it was going to make in both of our lives. Even though this was a good change, it was still change, and she wasn't adjusting well. I called in a social worker, who called in a psychiatrist, and he put her on an antidepressant. When one pill helped, he decided he might see even more improvement if he increased the dosage. Before long, she was confused, disoriented, agitated and out of control. In addition to having conversations with dead relatives, she was piling her belongings in the middle of the room and waiting for me to come get her. I'd put things back and try to reason with her, but as soon as I left, she'd do it again. The assisted living manager told me she could no longer stay there. She felt mom needed to go to a nursing home where her behavior and medication could be more closely monitored. Instead, after researching my options, I had her committed to a hospital where they could get her off all unnecessary medications. My goal was to get my mother back. The first time I visited her there, I was sure she would never recover. She was cold and unresponsive. However, a week later there was significant change and she was released to go back to her apartment. I got rid of that psychiatrist and moved her into our home. She did fine as long as I kept close tabs on her medications. A visit to the doctor for one ailment would lead to a drug with numerous side effects. I had to become a detective and researcher to keep her healthy. This went on for another
five years. She'd get sick or have a new pain, I'd take her to the doctor,
and she'd come home with new drugs and develop new side effects. I was
constantly monitoring the drugs and begging the doctors to discontinue anything
that seemed to be unnecessary. I finally found one who would listen to me,
but it took years of trial and error to find this one. I keep telling my kids that if I start exhibiting any bizarre behavior, to please be my advocate and try to figure out why. People who ARE confused don't have the capability to figure it out. It breaks my heart when I remember a grandmother who lived her last years in a mental institution because her behavior was a bit odd. (I do admit that chasing her husband down the street with a butcher knife goes a bit beyond "odd," but who knows what was driving that behavior.) There is just no reason that our parents should have to live out their lives in nursing homes when their behavior may be driven by their medications. If you're a caregiver for
someone elderly, or someone with special needs, I plead with you to ask
questions and do the research necessary to help give them the very best quality
of life available. It may not only help restore their sanity, but
your own. People don't suddenly develop Alzheimers, psychosis,
paranoia or mania, but if you look closely, you may see that their new, bizarre
behavior matches the side effects of whatever medications they are taking at the
time.
Christmas is about so much more than gizmos and gifts and tinsel and trees. It's about warm memories, smiling faces, happy hearts, generous spirits, and peace on earth. If you believe as I do that the former glory of Christmas should be restored, I hope you'll get your complimentary copy of Miss Humbug, the novel about Elaina Houston - a high powered executive who learns what the Spirit of Christmas is all about.
Plunging
into
Thanksgiving
by: Jackie Papandrew What do you get when you take a dozen family members of varying ages and degrees of regularity, put them in the woods in a cabin with one low-flow toilet and then stuff them to the gills with Thanksgiving bounty? You get, of course, a calamitously clogged commode and enough tension to earn a spot on the Jerry Springer Show. This is what happened to my family last Thanksgiving.
Everything began beautifully. We encamped in the woods,
like modern-day Pilgrims, to feast and frolic, to drink
in the clear, cold air and give thanks for all our
blessings. The women scurried about, preparing succulent
fare. The men did what men do on such occasions; they
stood around waiting to begin the traditional male
holiday jobs of eating and sleeping. The children
sprinted around outside, hands and feet flying, noses
running, delirious with the joy of being out of school
and unsupervised.
When all was ready, we gathered before a table groaning
with good food. We salivated at the smell as we offered
up our thanks. We were giddy with gratitude. And then we
ate. And ate. And when we were bloated like beached
whales, every corpuscle groaning from the gluttony, we
ate some more.
The trouble began in the magic hour when men assume
their rightful positions on the couch to catch the
kickoffs, and overworked digestive systems begin the
Herculean task of breaking down all that food.
As it often does, the terrible news came from a single,
small voice. The youngest child emerged from the
bathroom shouting excitedly, “The potty’s exploding!”
There are few things less welcome at such a time than
the words potty and exploding used in the same sentence.
We scrambled toward the bathroom to assess the
situation. By scrambled, I mean the sea lion’s scramble,
the rolling, sloshing way every creature dragging more
than a ton would scramble.
When we eventually arrived, we gathered soberly around
the overworked toilet. The evidence of its rebellion was
plainly visible and set off a round of groans and gags
in the adults that made the kids giggle.
History will record the ‘90s as the decade of the bum
rap, when Congress mandated that toilets should flush
with a measly 1.6 gallons of water. Today’s children,
deprived of the 3.5 gallons that swirled through our
childhoods, are far too well-acquainted with the humble
plunger. When one was located nearby, our low-flow
generation sent up an affectionate cheer that made my
blood boil. No child should learn to prize a plunger.
The men, by nature hunters, began the task of conquering
the cranky commode. Grandpa, as the patriarch, headed up
the attack. He pumped vigorously, then gave a strong
pull that sent him flying across the room and left the
kids helpless with laughter. Tempers rose, and bladders
threatened to burst.
Each football-deprived man took his turn as a toilet
tamer, but, sadly, the effort was flush with failure.
The men began to bicker over possession of the plunger.
Sweating and muttering curses, each wielded it like a
samurai sword as he took his turn in battle. The
recalcitrant latrine gurgled and grunted, but would not
back down.
The women, watching all their hard work laid waste, did
what moms do best; we attempted to assign blame. The
children, who had earlier been engaged in an innocent
game of pull-my-finger with Grandpa, now eagerly took
part in our vicious finger pointing designed to identify
the guilty clogger.
Old insults and resentments, slights delivered years
ago, resurfaced as brother betrayed brother, daughters
cast aspersions on mothers, and in-laws were made to
feel like outsiders. Accusations of tissue overuse were
hurled, and sanitary practices questioned. Legs and
expressions were crossed, and eyeballs appeared to be
floating. The family was falling apart.
That’s when Grandma stepped in. Brooking no dissent, she
ordered everyone into their vehicles, and we headed for
the nearest service station. Later, relief registering
on our faces, we clutched hands and sheepishly
apologized for our outbursts. We returned to the cabin,
where the porcelain privy, having proven its importance,
stood clear, the damp plunger by its side. Our hearts
once again overflowed with humor and good cheer.
This year for Thanksgiving, I think we'll just gather at
the airport, home of high-powered toilets, and the call
of nature will get a grateful reply.
To read and comment on Jackie's columns, you can join
her Gather group --
Humor by Jackie Papandrew or visit her
blog.
Do you or does anyone in your family suffer with eczema, psoriasis, or dry skin? We have something that's more effective than Eucerin, and less expensive than prescription medications. Safe for any age. Even safe for diaper rash. Take a look: http://www.familyfirst.wellness.comGive Time - Not Toys by Joyce Moseley Pierce
I've always jokingly referred to my daughter's house as an annex to Toys 'R Us because her kids have thousands of dollars worth of toys and games to choose from. They have Play Station, a WII, a swing set, and a room full of Play Mobile and Lego products. There's plenty to do to keep a child entertained.
At our place, we don't keep much here for them to play with. There's a reason for that. When they come over, I want to create memories by playing with them - not just giving them things to do. The things I do have include beads, blocks, pipe cleaners and yarn. By not giving them anything with set directions, they can use their imaginations and create whatever they want with these simple items that can be purchased at the dollar store or craft store.
The kids are three and six, and some of their favorite things to play don't require anything at all except another person! Their favorites include hide and seek, or the "monster game," which means that they hide under the covers, and we pretend we're trying to pull them off the bed. One holds on to the other to try to save them from the monster. They think it's the best game in the world, but what I like about it is watching them protect each other against the monster.
They also love light sticks. Go into a dark room and break open the light sticks and they can sword fight with each other until the lights burn out. We'll connect them into small circles and then play ring toss, bringing the vertical paper towel holder in from the kitchen to catch the rings. They'll make belts and bracelets and like to watch the lights reflected in the mirror as they jump around. We find these light sticks at the dollar store and buy 10 or 12 packages at a time!
The latest entertainment involved using two strands of red beads that are meant to be draped around the Christmas tree. They each wanted a bowl to put their strand in. I had no idea what they had in mind, but gave it to them and stood back to see what they were going to do. Next, they wanted spoons, and then proceeded to make "spaghetti soup." They stirred and stirred those red beads, telling us how good their creation tasted. They offered to let us sample it and of course we made a fuss about how delicious it was.
I remembered how their mother used to love having her own kitchen. We never had any money, so I would take boxes and draw on them so they looked like appliances. She could occupy herself for hours in her little world. I told the kids about how she loved to do that, and then went to find a box for them. I drew burners on the top with a thick magic marker and told them their stove was ready to be used. I gave them hot pad holders and told them to be careful they didn't get burned. Pretty soon, one of them was cooking and the other one was taking orders on a pad of paper. The cook would then deliver the order to us. We laughed as she held the plate up over her head like the waiters in the restaurant do, and then watched her bow down as she served us. We're not sure where she picked that up, but it was just too cute.
This went on for probably two hours. We were running out of ideas for things for them to cook. I can't remember the last time I laughed for two hours. It was better than going to a movie and expecting to be entertained. Not only did we have fun, but they did, too. There was no bickering or fighting between them. They worked together and were totally and completely happy. They went to bed exhausted, and ate cereal on their magic stove the next morning. When they went home later that day, I flipped it over and returned it to its place in my office to hold oversized envelopes. Maybe some day we'll drag it out again. Who knows what we might use it for next time!
The key to all of this was that we were giving them our total attention. They didn't care that the stove was nothing more than a cardboard box. It didn't matter to them that it wasn't molded plastic plastic with some popular name on it. They didn't need water or anything messy to stir. They were creative and used their imaginations to create a magical evening, and as long as we reciprocated by complimenting their
efforts, they were in heaven.
Tres
Leches Cake (for you gringos, that's "three milks
cake")
This isn't my recipe, but it was served at a baby shower recently and I can tell you it was delicious. I'd never heard of tres leches before moving to Texas, but after the first bite, I declared it to be my favorite cake EVER! It takes a bit of work (more than dumping a bag of ingredients into a bowl and adding eggs, oil and water), but it's definitely worth it.
Be sure to make it for a crowd so you aren't tempted to eat the entire cake by yourself!
9 eggs 1-1/2 cups sugar 1 cup flour 1-1/2 teaspoon of baking powder 1 can condensed milk 1 can evaporated milk 1 cup sour cream Optional: small amt. of lime or lemon zest & dash of salt
1. Blend 6 egg yolks with 1/2 cup of sugar for 20 minutes on high speed. 2. In another bowl, blend 6 egg whites with 1/2 cup of sugar on medium/high speed until ready - approx. 20 minutes (it should raise and get thick)
3. Mix #1 and #2 together BY HAND.
4. Combine 1 cup of flour with 1-1/2 teaspoons of baking powder. Optional - you can add a small amount of grated lemon or lime zest and a dash of salt.
5. Gently add little by little #4 to #3 BY HAND so that it keeps its body.
6. Lightly butter (no flour) a 9x13 inch Pyrex and add mixture. Bake in 350 degree oven for 35-40 minutes until lightly golden brown and still poofy/soft on top. The edges should not get dark brown. Let cool completely. Poke holes with a toothpick about l/2 inch apart. This will allow #7 (below) to absorb into the cake.
7. Blend by machine on slow speed until all lumps are dissolved - 1 can of condensed milk, 1 can of evaporated milk and 1 cup of sour cream.
8. Add #7 to the cake slowly so that it has time to absorb. This takes about 5-10 minutes. Make sure to pour evenly over entire cake; otherwise, you can get random "dry spots." Since the edges of the cake tend to be harder, pour extra over the edges to soften.
FROSTING: Beat on high speed 3 egg whites and 1/2 cup of sugar until mixture is firm.
Once the milk is done absorbing, it's time to add frosting. There should not be any milk on the top when applying the frosting; otherwise, it will get messy. When applying the frosting, be gentle since the top of the cake is delicate and can "peel" during this process.
Refrigerate. Cut into smallish squares and lift out with a spatula to serve. 18 to 20 servings. Support Family First
- visit our sponsors and friends To view past issues:
http://www.emersonpublications.com/famfirst.htm
| ||||||||||