The Cook Escapes

Ingrid and I took a little trip to the Dixon Gallery and Gardens. This was one of my favorite museums when I lived in Memphis, and it's still a small yet wonderful place to spend a couple of hours, even with a two year old. We made it just in time to hear the last few minutes of Mary LeCompte from Lake Charles, Louisiana tell stories about growing up in Cajun country. Then we walked through the gallery at a toddler's pace to view The Blue Dog: The Art of George Rodrigue exhibit. Ingrid loved it. I did, too. Those blue dogs are joyful and uplifting. Then we walked around the gardens and took pictures. That was Ingrid's favorite part. She got to run up and down a wooded path, talk to sculptures, pick up rocks, socialize with people captivated by her cuteness, throw pennies in a fountain, walk over bridges, and pick more stuff up.

It was just what we needed after spending the past three days cooking and planning meals for my parents. I had not left the house since Friday night. I was hoping to be able to address some of the food issues in the house, and how to avoid caregiver fatigue, but no one wants to hear me preach the gospel. So I just cook and hang out with Ingrid and my dad, and my mom when she's not working. Every once in a while, I retreat to my old room and read. Unfortunately Ingrid's not getting much quality grand parent time. My folks are stressed out. They talk to her through me, avoid hanging out with her even when I beg for just some time to take a shower. (The house isn't childproofed at all.) I think Ingrid's having a moderately suck ass time, but at least there's cable, a friendly dog, and frozen yogurt.

I have recused myself from giving injections, but tomorrow and Tuesday I'll be doing it again. I'm really good at giving injections. I'm rusty on being a nurse, and the drama that surrounds injection time grates my nerves. I sound like a bad daughter. Really, I'm just a impatient nurse. I'm glad to be able to help out, family drama and dynamics notwithstanding. The alternative is much, much worse, and my dad looks better every day.