5 things: on caretaking.
oh darling, don't you ever grow up. plus: a terrible thriller i kind of enjoyed, the peach crumble i'm making this week, an excellent documentary, and more.
happy weekend, friends.
there is a taylor swift song i love. it’s called never grow up, and it charts taylor’s move from her childhood home to the first place she ever lived on her own—an apartment in nashville that once upon a time made headlines for the human-size birdcage she installed atop a spiral staircase. taylor is known for her bridges, and the one in never grow up always gets me.
Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room
Memorize what it sounded like, when your dad gets home
Remember the footsteps, remember the words said
And all of your little brother's favorite songs
I just realized everything I have is someday gonna be gone
if you follow me on instagram, you know that i had a rather stressful week. last wednesday, my mom had knee replacement surgery. it was an in and out procedure, done a surgical center in new hampshire, a short-ish drive from the western massachusetts town in which i grew up (and in which my parents still live). my sister took off work thursday and friday to help, and i drove up saturday morning to take over caretaker duties for the week. i’d expected saturday’s traffic to be somewhat light—the 4th wasn’t for nearly a week—but boy was i wrong. on a good day, my drive from new york city to massachusetts is about 3.5 hours, 2:45 if i’m really flying. but on saturday, it took me nearly 5 and a half. i sat in 45 mins of bumper to bumper, non-moving traffic somewhere around shelton connecticut, on a stretch of route 15 that’s generally my favorite part of the journey, thanks to beautiful tree cover and the pretty houses tucked behind them.
by the time i finally made it home, i was exhausted.
my sister had texted not to stress. everything was under control at the house. my mom was resting a lot, her pain was well-managed. things weren’t bad. i would get there when i got there. sunday morning, she came by again to help; in the afternoon, my best friend joia and her family came over to swim, and we got my mom to sit outside in the sunshine for 15ish minutes before she went back inside to rest. i knew i had a week of work ahead of me to juggle alongside caretaking, but things seemed relatively stable. and they could only get better, right? i got this, i thought, optimistic as hell.
i could not have been more wrong.
once my mom started sleeping less and being awake more, things went downhill. her pain meds made her loopy, and constipated. she fretted about said constipation, she fretted about her med schedule (a somewhat herculean undertaking given the amount of everyday meds she’s already on). narcotics post-surgery are an art, but also a science. take them too soon, and it’s too much. take them just a tiny bit too late, and all hell breaks loose. her anxiety kicked into overdrive, and though she is normally my quieter mother, she began chattering 24/7. she said the same things over and over and over again, driving both me and my other mom crazy. in addition to her meds, she required a precise amount of pillows to be toted up and down the stairs multiple times a day. she wanted to sit, she wanted to walk around with her walker, she was uncomfortable, she wanted to change positions. my moms had invested in a fancy machine that pumped ice water into a wrap we placed around her knee; it required the juggling of 8 tiny dasani water bottles that rotated in and out of the freezer, along with a fresh supply of ice to be deposited inside it every few hours. on the rare occasion i’ve left the house this week, it’s been to pick up pain meds, or to buy more ice. the ice machine was heavy; it too required toting up and down the stairs each time my mom decided she wanted to be elsewhere.
wondering why i didn’t take this week off? if i could go back in time, i would have/should have. except that everyone had told us that the first few days were the worst and that then things got markedly better. no one expected that her anxiety would kick into the highest of gears post surgery and turn a normally calm (albeit slightly neurotic—we are a family of jewish women, people) person into an insane one. also, my clients were off this week for the 4th, and so i’d told myself the week would be chill. that was before i realized that my art partner had taken the week off to go down the shore with her family and that i would be the lone creative soldier leading the team. and that actually, even though the clients were out, we had a huge workstream that needed kicking off, and organizing, and supervising, because the folks that were supposed to have gotten their shit together hadn’t done so.
for the first few days, i juggled.
imperfectly at best, but i managed. i made it to most of my meetings, and pushed the ones that weren’t absolutely necessary. i got up early and made coffee and got my mom’s breakfast and morning meds ready, and toted all her stuff downstairs before anyone got up. in between calls, i checked in: had the pain meds been accounted for in the book? did she need fresh ice? had she done her PT exercises? could everyone take a deep breath and stop shouting at one another? i kicked off multiple creative teams on a series of activation ideas and presented an 8-page document of brand new messaging. i reviewed routes in an online routing system and and onboarded a new writer on my team and tried to remember to eat lunch and drink enough water. i woke up during the night to make sure my mom had made it to the bathroom and taken her middle of the night meds. i kept my phone alerts on loud in case anyone needed me. it was not easy, but it was okay.
and then, on wednesday morning, i walked in the door sweaty and proud of my longest run in a minute.
my knee-surgeried mom was on the couch, settled in with ice and compression wraps. i bolted up the stairs, eager to tell my momma—who was still upstairs getting ready—that i’d completed a nearly 4-mile loop. with walk breaks, but still! as i went up, she prepared to go down. and then, in the blink of an eye, her socked foot slipped, and she tumbled down nearly an entire flight of stairs. and when i say tumbled, i mean tumbled. as in, she didn’t just bump down on her backside. she flipped, banging her nose and the side of her head, scraping her arm clean against the rug, grabbing onto the railing in an attempt to stabilize herself and failing, her full water glass flying out of her hand and spilling everywhere. before i could do anything, before i could save her, she was there, lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, her legs bent, her arm bloodied.
what’s going on? my mom called out from the stairs.
mom, i need you to be quiet right now, i said back. mommy just fell down the stairs.
i bolted down to the bottom and kneeled beside her.
don’t move just yet, i said. you’re okay. it’s going to be okay. take some deep breaths. tell me what hurts.
after a few minutes in which we determined that nothing seemed broken (though her nose was questionable), i sat her up and leaned her against the wall.
stay there, i said. i’m going to get something to clean off these cuts.
it was probably only ten minutes. maybe even less.
but i don’t think i’ll ever go down those stairs again without seeing her tumbling and landing in a heap. i think my heart stopped beating for a minute. i got her cleaned up, and mopped up the water so no one slipped. i guided her over to the couch, and had her sit, back against the cushions, then grabbed an ice wrap for her thigh, which she had banged up and which was already swelling into a lump, and an ice pack for her nose, which was already starting to bruise. i asked her if she felt nauseous, if she felt dizzy.
no, no.
i ran over to my laptop and told my team i would not make my 10am. i bumped my 10:30 onboarding to 10:45. and then i called my sister, who’d gone back to work for the week because i was there, to please come. next, i called the doctor’s office (where we’d been not 24 hours ago for my mom) to request a same day appointment for the other mom who’d just fallen down the stairs.
all day, she insisted she was fine. banged up, in pain, but fine.
there is a saying in my town, a mantra of sorts that we hold dear, hold proud:
northampton. where the coffee is strong, and so are the women.
still, i wanted to be sure. so at 4:45, we went to the doctor. by 6:30, we were sitting in the waiting room at the ER, waiting to be called in for a cat scan to ensure she didn’t have a brain bleed. because as the doctor had so aptly put it: 75, and blood thinners. it was a few days before july 4th, and so we’d prepared for the long haul. we’d gone home in between and packed dinner (grilled chicken and leftover peanut noodles—recipe was in last week’s newsletter). we’d put on comfy clothes and packed things to do (nytimes for her, work laptop for me).
lucky for us, the ER was relatively quiet. we were triaged within the first 15 minutes, and CT-scanned within the first 30. we were seen 30 or so minutes later by the loveliest of ER doctors who checked my mama for broken bones, reviewed her cat scan, and cleaned up her arm wounds. she was calm, and precise, and intelligent. she didn’t see a bleed on the ct scan, nor did she think anything was broken (we’re still TBD on the nose, and my mama plans to get it x-rayed this week). while she did indeed have a concussion, it wasn’t a super serious one, and she told us the whole “she can’t sleep, you have to check on her in the middle of the night” was not only outdated info, but unnecessary.
what you’re checking for is a missed bleed, she said. we’ve just checked for a bleed. sleep is the very best thing she can do.
by 10pm, less than 3 hours after we’d arrived, we were headed back out the car, our unfinished dinner in tow, with a—relatively—clean bill of health. my mama had strict orders to “rest her brain” (tv yes, reading no). when the doctor told her to ease up on the mental stress, we laughed. ease up on mental stress?! in this economy (situation)?! we’d already told her that at home, her wife was recovering from knee surgery, joked about the importance of having two daughters for situations like this one.
back at home, we got everyone ready for bed, and—after undoing the alarms i’d panic-set for 1a and 3am and 5am—i slept like the dead. the next morning, we awoke to find everyone still in one piece, albeit rather battered and bruised.
as i write this, it’s saturday morning.
we’re two full days out from our hell day. in an hour or so, i’ll get on the road back to new york, having left my mamas with strict (and perhaps, in retrospect, rudely delivered) instructions to figure out how to be patient with one another for the next few weeks as each recovers in their own time. i wish i could stay and help forever; i can’t wait to get home. to my kittens. to my bed. to quiet. to a home in which no one is asking anything of me, to a situation in which all i have to do is do my job and take care of myself. i know it’s selfish. a good daughter would be selfless, right? she would stay as long as she was needed, she would figure it out. but doing that for a mere week has drained me. i cannot imagine what it will be like once i need to do it more long term.
that time will come. it has to. aging is inevitable; in so many ways, we’re lucky that we’ve made it this far without anything more serious. my sister and i are lucky to still have both our parents, to have no dementia or cancer or als. i have so many friends who’ve dealt with far worse hands, and here i am wishing i hadn’t witnessed a single fall down the stairs. the reality is that it’s hard to grow up. i’m turning 40 this year, and in so many ways think of myself is infinitely capable. and yet, i fear i’m not capable of this. i’m not patient enough, not kind enough, not strong enough to handle it. i get annoyed easily, i wish things were different, i wish we’d had the foresight to hire medical help.
i wish i’d never grown up, as taylor says.
you could not pay me to go back to middle school, or high school, even. in so many ways, i adore adulthood. my thirties have been my favorite decade so far. but my god is it hard to wrap your head around becoming the caretaker when you’ve been cared for all these years. it is the very least i can do given all my moms have done for me, but woof. it is not easy.
yesterday marked the first time we’d all left the house together since the surgery.
we went a mere 12 minutes away, to a local burger joint that couldn’t have been more chill, given that everyone else was off barbecue-ing and firework-ing for the 4th. it was the 4th, and also, my mama’s 50th anniversary. for fifty years they have been doing this. fighting through, loving through. i suppose that’s all we can do, right? fight through, love through. for ourselves, for our people, for our country.
northampton. where the coffee is strong, and so are the women.
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and now for this week’s recs!
i don’t know nearly enough about iran. i’m sure i’m not alone in feeling that way? if you, like me, feel somewhat ashamed of how little you know about the country’s history, might i recommend this episode of the weekly show with jon stewart? it’s nearly 1.5 hours of jon talking to maziar bahari, published of iranwire.com and the author of a memoir called then they came for me, which served as the basis for jon’s 2014 film rosewater (which, having listened to the episode, i’ve added to my list). together, they explore the reality of life under iran’s current government, discuss the complexities of ‘regime change’ in iran and elsewhere in the middle east, and talk about what everyday iranians really want: peace, and the freedom to live normal lives.
interestingly, i recently went on a date with an iranian man who’s lived in the us for nearly a decade (and before that, in europe). when i asked him what drove him to leave iran (his parents are still there, he doesn’t see them often), he said that exact thing, verbatim—i left to live a normal life. i wish i’d listened to this episode before my conversation with him. i probably would’ve sounded like way less of an uninformed asshole. learn from my mistakes, yeah?
ps: while on my drive home, i also listened to bad on paper’s july 2025 three things episode, and caught up on the latest work in progress ep featuring david oyelowo.
here’s the thing about a freida mcfadden book: you go into it knowing it’s not going to be the best writing, or the best plotting. you go into it knowing that although it’s a thriller, it’s fluff. you go into it not expecting literary, but expecting it to hold your attention. if you go into the boyfriend with this mindset, you will be okay. you might even enjoy it! but you will probably also do as i did, and rank it two stars. those who’ve read mcfadden’s the housemaid (which is being turned into a movie starring sydney sweeney and amanda seyfried) know that mcfadden is capable of a truly good thriller. the housemaid is one! the twists and turns in that book genuinely got me, and i look forward to seeing it adapted for film (especially with such a strong cast!). but the boyfriend….the character development and plotting there falls a bit flat. i listened to it on my 5-hour drive from new york to massachusetts last saturday, and i will say, it kept me sane through traffic. aka, it did exactly the job i needed it to do. but as i continued to listen throughout the week, i realized: never have i read a more idiotic, obnoxious lead than sydney, a jaded new yorker who falls for a man who miiiight just be a murderer. the boyfriend could’ve used a stronger editor, it was way too long.
BUT I WILL SAY THIS: it held my attention, and i did not see the twist at the end coming! like, really truly did not. if you’re looking for something for a long car ride, and you like a frothy thriller, this will get the job done. if you’re looking for something with a little more substance, stay tuned for next week. i’ve started the new megan abbott novel (now SHE can write! if you’ve never read the fever, do!), and i can tell it’s going to be GOOD.
get it on amazon | get it on bookshop
ps: if you’re a big reader, follow me on goodreads! i try and rank/save every book i read (i read 80 in 2024!)
i imagine i’m not alone when i say i’m a big fan of mariska hargitay. somewhere in the recesses of my brain, i knew that the svu star was the daughter of jayne mansfield—but for the most part, i had entirely forgotten that she was the product of serious hollywood royalty. on thursday morning, the day after my mama’s fall down the stairs, a friend of theirs—who i’d been texting with from the er—stopped by to hang out for a few hours, granting me some blessed quiet time to dig into my inbox and my meetings, and take a deep breath. while there, she mentioned that we had to watch mariska’s recent documentary about her mother, and so that night, i called up my friend bruce to help me log into max, and turned my mom jayne. i got sleepy about 3/4 of the way through, but the portion i watched was both fascinating and extremely well done. did you know, for example, that jayne mansfield played both the violin and the piano incredibly well? or that her father died when she was little, just like she died when mariska was little? that she never really wanted to be seen as a sex symbol, but knew that sex was a means to power, and might open the doors to the types of roles she genuinely wanted? i’m generally not much of a documentary person, but this one got me. highly recommend!
ps: my mom, who is on painkillers post-surgery, dozed on and off throughout our viewing. at one point, she perked up to ask, “what’s olivia saying?” she might not know the actress, but she knows the character!
pps: this has a 100% rotten tomatoes rating. have you ever heard of such a thing?!
psst! if you like this post, it would mean the world to me if you’d hit the little heart icon, as well as consider sharing it on IG stories or substack notes—so that big feelings can be seen by more people ❤️
any cooking i did was simple at best. partially because we were all exhausted and my mom didn’t have much of an appetite, and partially because we were the lucky recipients of two meals from our synagogue’s meal train service. friends: a meal train is a BEAUTIFUL thing. when you’re going through a hard time, or have a sick family member, you request meals. a handful of nights, a week—the community (in this case, our family’s synagogue) signs up, then brings you a home-cooked dinner at night. our first meal was a delicious blackened salmon with roasted potatoes and summer squash; our second was chicken paprikash and brown rice. it’s such a nice, community-oriented thing, and i’m scheming about how i can incorporate it here at my apartment complex.
in the meantime, i’m planning on a big farmer’s market trip tomorrow morning, as well as a stock-up at trader joe’s. i did manage to snag a few nearly ripe peaches while doing a return at whole foods earlier this afternoon, and am hopeful that in a day or two they’ll be ready for joy the baker’s peach crisp recipe (pictured above).
i know this is a rather frivolous and silly shopping rec, but…i’m kind of obsessed with this phone case for summer. my current berry-colored one has seen better days, and has begun to crack around the edges. as i stare down a 2-week long eurotrip (t-minus 25 days!), i’ve entered the inevitable capitalistic urge to SHOP FOR VACATION, and this phone case? it fits the bill. i’m telling myself that it’s okay to purchase because my other one is literally breaking down, but also…it’s just cute, right?! those stripes! they scream summer. it’s also on sale for $20 this week (down from $25). while i’m at it, i’m also very intrigued by this checkered travel mug, as well as this one (tomato girl summer!).
here are a few things i enjoyed on the internet this week:
zohran on npr is a great watch (or listen!).
53 non-salad-y summer dinner ideas.
shared an unfiltered look at her fridge. man i love fridge content!how many of these popular thrillers have you read? i was shocked to see how many were on my list!
speaking of: i devoured grace’s summer reading list.
i always love katie’s ‘daily hunt’ shopping roundups. so many great finds, especially when i’m hunting for birthday gifts (i have many a summer birthday in my life!)
❤️ and that, friends, is where i leave you. if you like this post, it would mean the world to me if you’d hit the little heart icon, as well as consider sharing it on stories—so that big feelings can be seen by more people ❤️
Hi! Usually a silent reader/follower, but had to comment because this was such an honest portrayal of caretaking and hit so close to home. My mom recently had a total hysterectomy and I learned I’d make a terrible nurse. My parents have also taken care of me for the past few YEARS after I got a chronic illness that totally upended my entire life (and theirs tbh.) So a week helping my mom felt like the least I could do to thank her.
Nevertheless, your words “i know it’s selfish. a good daughter would be selfless, right? she would stay as long as she was needed, she would figure it out. but doing that for a mere week has drained me. i cannot imagine what it will be like once i need to do it more long term” hit me in the GUT. Definitely things I have been ruminating on. I’m 30 so still hope my parents have many healthy years left, but like you said, it will come.
Anyways long winded comment but I loved this specific piece of writing so much, always look forward to your newsletters and lastly I’m so glad your moms are doing better! (Also I grew up in NH and currently live in VT, went to UVM etc, but am familiar with Northampton and enjoyed reading a recount of a place I somewhat know! I bet it was a wonderful place to grow up.)
Thanks for writing these each week! I subscribe to a lot of Substacks but yours is one that I always make the time for almost as soon as it hits my inbox :) And the swiftie in me can’t end this without appreciating your shoutout to Never Grow Up. That damn Taylor writing such a gutting bridge!!!
LOL, I’ve read ‘Beautiful Ugly’ and that was it. Of course I’ve always been more of a sci-fi/fantasy girl, so 🤷🏼♀️
Glad your Mom’s are doing better. Falls down stairs are scary! Also taking care of aging parents is HARD! Dad died July 4th, 2020 at 92. Leaving a grieving and heartbroken Mom behind. Their last anniversary had been June 30th. 77 years and him in the hospital during COVID so no visitation.
We all figured she wouldn’t last three months. Yet here it is 5 years later. She’s 97 going on a VERY bratty 2. Dementia has set in, ‘NO’ is her favorite word. So far, my brother, his wife and myself have kept her home and reasonably healthy. But it’s wore us out. Everyone is fed up and short-tempered. Mom damns the open-heart surgery that put in a pigs valve 20 years ago because ‘that damn thing just won’t quit already!’
It’s not a thing I’d wish on anyone and thanks to the current administration things are only gonna get worse.
Enjoy yourself, and never apologize for doing what makes you happy!
Life is pretty darn bleak right now. 🫤