"Mom"-proofing the House

When my kids were little, they used to get into things that they weren't supposed to. On several occasions, each of them had gotten into my make up and rubbed it all over their faces. I remember one time, my son got into the Desitin and rubbed it all over his cheeks. Vaseline, baby powder, flour...those are just a few of the things they had fun with. One of my favorites was the time that my daughter took apart her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and smeared the insides of the sandwich all over face!

My kids have long since outgrown the phase of getting into things and rubbing it on their little faces. But my mom, on the other hand, has been obsessed with rubbing things on her face. It stems from her make-up obsession, which you can read about in a number of previous posts. Her routine has changed over time; she went from putting on make-up nicely, to wearing dark eyebrows and foundation so thick you could peel it off,to applying make-up in all the wrong places of her face. She was making such a terrible mess with all of the make-up that my dad had to phase it out, leaving her with mostly empty containers in her drawer. She no longer puts on make-up, but she does go through the motions of applying it. After I get her dressed from her shower, for example, she will grab a tube of mascara and, without opening the lid, rub the plastic tube all over her face. Sometimes she will dip a powder sponge onto the lid of her eyeshadow or loose powder and rub it on her face. The motions of putting on make-up seems to be the last ritual left that she remembers, though I don't think she understands the significance of it. She has been in the habit of rubbing something on her face, and that compulsion still lingers.

We aren't limited to make-up anymore. It is the act of rubbing something-anything- on her face that compels mom and it doesn't matter what it is. It used to be whatever she could find in her bathroom: toothpaste, deodorant, soap, shampoo, ky-jelly (we got a good laugh out of that one), lotion, diaper rash cream. Dad removed everything from her bathroom in an effort to stop her from putting things on her face. Not to be deterred, Mom recovered more items from the front bathroom: Dad's after shave, shaving gel, more soaps and shampoos. So, we put a childproof handle on the doorknob. Problem solved. Except that now she opens up the peanut butter containers and rubs that on her face. She got into the laundry room and found cleaners and laundry soap and started to put that on her face (Dad now keeps the laundry room locked). Her newest thing has been opening up water bottles, dumping the water onto her hands and then "applying" the water to her face. And within the past week, she has been opening up the curio cabinet, taking out a crystal bunny knick-knack, and rubbing that on her face! Luckily, Dad is able to lock the curio cabinet; we were afraid she was going to break something!

Needless to say, the house is being childproofed all over again and Mom's skin has been red, bumpy and irritated. A couple of weeks ago, it was so dry and red that it started to peel. I brought over face moisturizer and we've been using that on her face twice a day. That, and locking up everything she could possibly rub into her skin, has helped her skin to improve.

I suppose it's only a matter of time before she loses this last sense of herself that she has been grasping onto. It seems like just yesterday that she wore blue eyebrows, and now that is gone. This, too, shall pass. And when it does, it will be bittersweet.

Mom's Grand Entrance

I had just sat down in the pew at church this morning with my family when a lady in my ward caught my attention and mouthed the words,

"Your mom is looking for you."

I glanced behind me to the doorway which separates the chapel and foyer, and saw my mom. She was wearing her pink "mother-of-the-bride" dress, which hangs loosely on her now, adorned with delicate beading on top of layers of chiffon. Underneath her short sleeved dress, she wore a long sleeved, pink cotton shirt. Thick, white cotton socks peeked out from underneath the hem of her dress. She wore the only shoes she ever wears: her brown, tennis-shoe-style Skechers that have velcro straps criss-crossing her foot. Her face was splotched with dark, orange foundation which stopped harshly at her jawline, contrasting her pale white neck and the areas she missed around her eyes and mouth. Her eyelids were smudged with dark, brown eyeshadow. Surely, she was a sight to see.

In our church, we separate ourselves by geographical boundaries into wards; think of it like boundaries for schools. Even though I live five minutes away from my parents, we attend different wards. At one time, before a boundary realignment, my parents were a part of this ward (so they know many of the church members in our ward); when the lines were redrawn, their neighborhood was put in the next ward over. However, we do attend the same building. Our congregation services overlap by 1/2 hour; my parent's ward is finishing up in their class just as our ward is arriving for our main meeting (called sacrament meeting). Mom always looks for me during this overlap time, so it was no surprise to see her in the doorway looking for me (although usually I catch her in the halls). To tell you the truth, I think it's sweet that she looks for me and I look forward to her finding me each week at church.

When I saw mom, I stood up and walked toward the doorway (we still had another minute or so until our service started, and I could tell she wanted to say hi). As I walked towards the back of the chapel, I glanced up and saw a new couple that I had never seen before in our ward (which goes without saying that they don't know me, or my mom). The husband turned his head towards the doorway and immediately I saw his eyes bulge open in wide surprise as he caught sight of my mom. He leaned over to his wife and whispered something in her ear and I saw her eyes move towards the doorway as well. They both looked at my mom, as if she were in some kind of freak show and instinctively I approached my mom and put a protective arm around her, turning her away from spectators. I gave her a hug and told her I was happy to see her. Of course she wasn't satisfied with my greeting alone; she wanted to see the kids too.

"Is that Jeff too? And where's Maurina and Am-Amber, is that them too?" she asked, peering back into the chapel.

She marched right into the chapel and stood, as the service was beginning and with everyone else around her sitting, in the pew where my family was sitting. She talked in a rather loud voice, greeting each of the kids and my husband. I followed in behind her and convinced her to sit down with us for a few minutes. The opening prayer was given and mom talked right through it,

"I used to know so many people in this ward, I don't remember so many people anymore but there was that one man who was a bishop so long ago and his wife too..." she continued to talk as I gently rubbed her arm and whispered to her that they were giving a prayer, suggesting that we should fold our arms and be quiet. She didn't follow my lead. Fortunately, a lot of people know my mom and are aware of her situation, so they simply smiled or pretended not to notice; I imagine some might have found it a bit amusing. But for those people who don't know my mom, I'm sure they were caught a little off guard with this bizarre woman.

After a couple of minutes, mom became restless and told me she was leaving back to her class. She abruptly got up and walked out of the chapel and when I turned back to watch her exit the room, I saw the couple look her again.

To be honest, I can't blame them for looking twice at my mom; she does stick out like a sore thumb. Admittedly, if I were in their shoes, I might do the same thing. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of my mom in the least; obviously this is something she can't help. But as the congregation began to sing the next hymn, I found myself blinking back tears for my mom and swallowing a lump in my throat. My beautiful mother, in her right mind, would be completely embarrassed to be made a spectacle of. She always took great pride in her appearance. Thankfully, she is unaware of the attention she attracts when she leaves the house. I'm not mad that people turn their heads, but it hurts all the same; the pain is for my mom. This is definitely a learning experience for me. For one, I have to learn to have a thick skin; no easy task for a girl who was always pegged as being "over-sensitive". For another, I have definitely learned to think twice before I stare at or make assumptions about a person's appearance. You never know what battles a person is fighting.

Changes

Sometimes it’s hard to gauge just how much mom has changed in a year. This blog has been valuable in documenting those changes but for those who don’t engage with her regularly, her appearance is the most apparent way to see how much she’s changed. 2009/2010 was when we really started noticing the changes in mom. But only within the past 2-3 years has mom’s appearance been changing. Gone is the sparkle in her eye. Every now and then it comes back, but her whole demeanor has changed. Most obvious is her ability style her hair and make-up as she once did. Mom was always so well put together. Her hair always had style and laid just right. Her make-up was always nicely done. As with all of her abilities, this one is fading fast. In fact, it’s on the fast track over these past few months.

 

2010

 

 

 

 

 

2011

 

2012

2013

2014

Honestly, the camera flash tames it down just a bit. It looks much more dramatic in real-life. Over the past few months, mom’s make-up is gradually becoming worse and worse. She wears harsh, orange lines around her face and hairline from her beige make-up (she insists on buying shades too dark because she doesn’t like being white) and sometimes there are dark, uneven splotches on her face. She’s really caking on the eyeshadow and the eyeliner as well. I’m sure you’ve read my other posts about her hair…

I’ve tried to help her to tone it down, but unfortunately she doesn’t comprehend much of what I say these days. I’ve decided that instead of wasting the energy to try and correct her make-up, I will just tell her how lovely she looks instead. After all, it IS a great thing that she is still putting in the effort! The day that mom stops wearing make-up is the day we’ll know that we’ve passed the point of no return.

You will always be beautiful to me mom!

Mom’s Beauty Routine

I always thought my mom was pretty. She always took great pride in her appearance. I think a lot of that was due to her insecurities about her fair skin, her red hair, her blonde eyebrows and eyelashes. She never left the house without a fresh face of make-up on and her hair perfectly put together
(unless it was to pick us up from early morning seminary…in which case she wore her sunglasses). She always looked beautiful and nicely put together.

I remember my mom once telling me, when I was a kid, that she wanted to look good for my dad. I always thought it was sweet that even after years of marriage, mom wanted to look her best for my dad. Of course he loved her whether her make-up was on or off, but I’m sure he appreciated the fact that she made the effort to always look her best for him.

One of my mom’s obsessions now is her looks. However, it’s much more extreme now than it was before the dementia. She hides away from us until she is no longer a “Plain Jane”. She never worried about us seeing her without her make-up on around the house when we were kids. She doesn’t even like my dad to see her without it nowadays. She keeps it on at night (her pillow is orange from the residue of her foundation), washes her face in the morning and immediately puts on a fresh face before she steps foot out of her bedroom. But…she doesn’t quite have the talent she once had in doing her hair and make-up. Those who know her have noticed the change in her abilities.

On Monday, like many other days that I have gone over there, I arrived at my mom’s house and knocked on her bedroom door before she was “put together”. It usually takes several knocks before I get a response of any kind…if I even get a response at all. This time, I had a Mary Kay lip mask and balm that she had ordered from me and has been impatiently waiting for. I used that as bribery for her to open her door for me.

Immediately upon opening the door, mom fidgeted with her bangs and shyly turned her face away from me, stating,

“I didn’t want you to see me like this like a Plain Jane.”

I reassured her that it didn’t matter to me and invited myself in her room. I stood beside her at her bathroom sink and tried to converse with her as I studied her beauty regiment. First, she squirted a half-dollar-sized amount of Mary Kay foundation into the palm of her hand (which is highly pigmented…the size of a dime would be more than enough). She rubbed it onto her face, missing underneath her eyes and not blending into her hairline or jaw line whatsoever. Next, she took the same amount of a dark tan-colored Maybelline foundation and did the same.

“Whoa mom, let’s rub that in a little better,” I remarked, trying to help her blend in the lines. “I think this color is a little too dark for you,” I added.

“No I need to do this darker too cuz I don’t like that I’m such a really white person too. This is really good too and Bud really likes this color on me too,” she said, as she slathered it on.

“I remember this lady in Corona when we lived in Corona and she taught me us how to do these things really good too…” she told me. She submerged her powder puff into a container of powder and, without tapping any of it off, patted her face, re-dipping the powder puff after each pat on the various parts of her face (cheeks, forehead, nose, etc).

“My Aunt and Uncle say I look okay too, even though I feel like I look weird and differently too now in my 50’s but they say I still look okay too thank goodness, and other women at church too say that I still look good too which is so good too,” she continued as she slathered it all on.

She turned off the light in the bathroom and turned on a small light-up mirror which sat on her counter.

“This is such a good thing too. When Joe lived in that different place I had a different kind of mirror thing like this too and I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know if he has it still too,” she said. She swirled her cheek brush in a bright colored pink blush before vigorously rubbing it on her cheeks.

“This is my most favorite color,” mom remarked, as she applied her favorite navy blue eyeliner. “And Bud really likes it too, he really likes me this way too,” she added.

Mom continued to finish up her face: mascara (which she smudged on her eyelid), dark brown eyebrows and dark, pink lipstick. When she was finished with her make-up she turned her attention to her hair. After running the curling iron through her hair, she took not just one, but two cans of hairspray and explained to me that “that girl” who does her hair uses two different kinds of hairspray. She held the first can an inch away from her hair and sprayed, making her way around her head. When she came across a rogue hair, she would comb it down and plaster it with spray! When she was finished, she repeated the process with the second can. To finish up, mom took a bottle of Bath & Body Works spray and gave her hair several close-range squirts as she narrated,

“I tell Bud I put this on my hair too, he likes it too.”

She opened her blouse and put a few squirts down there as well as sprayed her arms and her hair-again.

As I watched my mom throughout this process, my initial reaction was to dive in there and tame down her “look”. But once I realized she wasn’t listening to a word I was saying (as I tried to help smooth out that jaw line) I just stood back and watched on. I admit it was partly amusing but a larger part of it was touching. I saw that innocence in my mom as she happily put her on make-up in an effort to look good for my dad. With every stroke of her brush and comment that “Bud likes it when I do this” I couldn’t help but to smile at the sweetness of it. Before, when I looked at my mom, all I could I see were the dramatic lines and colors that were too way dark for her complexion. Now, I see things a little differently. I see a woman who wants to look good for the man she loves. I see love.