"You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!"

The other day I was cutting Mommy's fingernails and noticed they were pretty dirty. I said "Maybe you should soak these. 'You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!' Remember how you always said that?" She smiled and nodded.

We all hated to wash the dishes. I don't know why. As far as chores went, it was cooler and easier than say, weeding the garden or cleaning your (multiply-occupied) room. "It's not my night! I did them last night." (I, for one, put it off as long as possible, often finally getting around to it during the 10 o'clock news. I don't know how Mommy could stand to wait that long for me to get them done.)

But she never missed an opportunity to extol the many curative powers of dishwater...
"My hand (finger, arm, head, foot) hurts!"
Her answer, "You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!"
Any ailment or heartache was no match for the magical properties of hot water and suds (For humans...poor Kim probably heard all about the wonder that could be found in the kitchen sink, and flew in search of that restorative fountain of youth...alas, parakeets, apparently find the bubbly incompatible with life).
They all were met with this sage advice, "You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!"

That line was (what Matt and Mike would refer to as) her catch-phrase.

Anyway, the dirty nails made me realize what I had been trying to ignore... She's really been neglecting her hygiene. Going weeks without washing her hair, not even bothering to comb it unless I urge her to do so. I'd say, "Let me help you wash your hair." Sometimes she would submit to my clumsy attempts to do so at the kitchen sink, or she would wash it herself. But the time had come to make it more of a routine thing. John and I got a shower chair for her tub, and with a folded towel on the seat, it's sturdy and somewhat comfortable. With my help, and the bathroom heat blowing hot, she and I managed to get her hygiene needs taken care of. The hand-held shower was much easier to manage hair washing, and served the dual purpose of getting the rest of her clean in the process. She and I both dreaded it, beforehand (it represents one more thing "lost", her independence and ability to care for herself) and neither of us wanted to acknowledge that, but we've jumped that hurdle and it will be easier from here on out.

I got her some new "pink curlers" (you know the sponge ones she always uses) and she rolled her hair. This morning when I went in the apartment, she was sitting on the couch with her hair looking so beautiful...just like always.