Now that the umbrella of stress, that was getting the Island house ready to lease, has cooled to a few remaining chores, I find myself responding and reacting to what I’ve named, ‘bomblettes.’ Little bombs. They were going off all the time during the last two years, but due to the overriding stress, I didn’t really ‘feel’ them. Now, from a more relaxed place, I feel them distinctly, like splinters, or screaming toddlers at a movie. In the last not quite two weeks, the following bomblettes have been like shopping carts bumped into my Achilles’ tendon:

  • The five day agony of getting mom a ride to the dentist.
  • Mom leaving voicemail to tell me she’s ‘done here,’ and we need to make a plan about getting her home.
  • Finding out from the dentist that she did break a tooth, and does need a crown.
  • Figuring out rides, and shifting the dental appointments wasn’t so bad this time until the concierge wrote back after mom brought the card with the now incorrect dental appointment on it. This caused the concierge to write to me and ask if all of our planning for appointments and rides, just hours earlier, was still current. For the love of God, remember the conversation we just had, and DO NOT BELIEVE ANYTHING my mother tells you.
  • Receiving a new assessment for mom in today’s mail. Her monthly care is increasing by over $300. I don’t disagree, necessarily, with what’s being called out, as I knew about most of it, but BOOM.

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