Quake Mania

Yesterday I arrived at my parents' house to do their grocery shopping for the fortnight.  My dad wanted me to go over the list with them out loud this time.  I assume he messed something up last time and didn't hear the end of it from my mother, but that's all hearsay and conjecture. 

In going over the list, I came upon a line where he'd written down Quakes.  In case you're unfamiliar, Quakes are a type of bite-sized rice cakes made by Quaker Oats which come in various flavors like cheddar cheese, chocolate, etc.  They usually have me pick up 3-4 bags of them.  They were on sale the last time I went though, so I ended up buying 10 bags.  To me, this meant they probably still had some left.  All he had written down was "Quakes - Creme Brulee & Blueberry."  I questioned this, because I had previously been told that my mom didn't like the creme brulee flavor.  We discussed that point for a couple of minutes, then I asked how many I was supposed to get.  

My dad told me: "20." 

Crisis Averted!

Yesterday, while I was waiting for my lunch order at a local restaurant, I noticed that I had missed a call from my father only minutes before.  He had left a message.  I checked it right away.  The message was cutting in and out, but the gist of it was:

"Hello, it's me.  I have a question for you.  <unintelligible>.  It's not an emergency or anything, but <unintelligible> call me back right away when you get this.  I'm going to leave the phone on for awhile in case you happen to get this right away."

Something with lemon

A couple of months ago, my dad asked me if I could start picking up one of his prescriptions for him.  It's a particularly strong medication that is heavily regulated, which means that the doctor's office can't simply call it in to the pharmacy.  Someone designated by my father needs to travel to his doctor's office, sign for the prescription, and take the form to the pharmacy to be filled.  He had been doing this himself, but explained that the last time he went to the doctor's office, people were honking at him.  I really don't want him driving anyway, and I'm all too happy to make a trip once a month to pick up his medicine for him if it keeps him and other motorists safe, so I told him that was no problem at all.  I asked him to call me a few days before he ran out of medicine to give me some flexibility to take whatever time off work I would need to drive out to his doctor's office before they closed.

"Oh, they're open til 8 or 9 o'clock," he told me.

I was sure that wasn't right, but I didn't bother arguing.  "When you call the doctor's office to have them get the prescription ready, make sure you ask what time they close and let me know for sure, okay?"

Welcome to the craziness

It would be difficult to give a lot of background information on my parents that would enable you to understand how they think and what their world is like.  My parents are some of the oddest people I've ever known.  It took quite a long time for me to figure this out, because as a child, you accept the reality with which you're presented.  You don't realize that most peoples' mothers don't consider "starting a load of laundry" to be an integral part of "getting ready to leave the house" when you've grown up with that.  I don't have a lot of childhood experiences in common with most people.  I'm not here to talk about how my childhood messed me up though.  That would be a topic for a whole other blog, and it would be pretty depressing anyway.

No, I'm here to talk about the off-the-wall things my parents do and how it somehow makes perfect sense to them.

I'm now in my 30s, and my sister is in her 40s.  We've grown up, moved out, and seen the world outside of the madness, which gives greater perspective to how absolutely strange my parents really are. 

My parents are both physically disabled and need quite a bit of help from us with their lives.  Again, I'm not here to talk about their disabilities or their medical problems.  It's not my intention to call attention to their disabilities or to poke fun at their medical problems in any way.  I bring it up now only because it adds context to why we need to do certain things like picking up supplies for them and performing odd jobs around the house.  In all reality, the strange things they say and do have nothing to do with their disabilities.  They would be saying and doing these things no matter what; they would just be saying and doing them in secret. 

So, with all of that out of the way, please join my sister and I as we tell stories about the nonsense that we put up with, and put up with willingly.  After all, for all their craziness and faults, they're still my parents.