Gramma,
Five of the thirteen grandkids spent last weekend with us. After school was out, they arrived from three different directions, each about an hour away. The girls chose to share the queen size bed in the guest room, a room as big as a living room and outfitted with a fireplace and tv. That left the boys with the little room. The girls watched DVD's. Much to their chagrin, the boys wanted to hang out with them. Eventually, I sent them to watch tv in their room.
It took all morning to get them ready to go to a play. We stopped at Walgreens so I could pick up a prescription. They all chose a snack item and vitamin water for the road trip. Then they railroaded me into buying them each a small toy item. We were the first ones at the theatre. We looked at art displays while we waited. The kids couldn't believe the prices.
We saw "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Costumes reflected the sixties-seventies era. The father came out in the most hideous leisure suit I have ever seen. I almost said WTF out loud, which I related to him afterwards. The story revolved around two families from different sides of the track and a Christmas pageant run amok when the usual director was out of commission.
It was funny and poignant at times, interspersed with inappropriate behavior that delighted the kids. The mean girl was fond of smoking cigars in the church bathroom. She had no idea who Jesus was. The boys were terrified of her and her younger sister. The draw for this financially challenged family was free refreshments. In the end, the three wise guys brought peculiar gifts to the manger, including a canned ham from their welfare basket.
During intermission, the kids roped me into buying cookies, which I had intended to avoid, but it was a fundraising effort. I hadn't been to this bare bones theatre with open seating in a hodge-podge of chairs. We had seen all the plays at the usual venue, where the special effects and seating reflected a high degree of sophistication. In the car, I asked what they liked best. The naughty kids won out.
The last year of the Macy's Christmas display was showing in Minneapolis. In line, there was some annoying old bag in front of us. Her short dark hair was sprayed into a helmet. She held a winter scarf up to her nose and mouth the whole time, as if she were fending off chemical warfare. I began a barking cough, caused by dust, cobwebs and the smell of cigarette smoke on coats. Each time I coughed, she looked at me in horrified disgust. So I took pains to cough when I didn't need to.
The animated displays were worth the wait. Santa's gift shop beckoned at the end. Stuffed items were thirty percent off. I wanted to be young enough to own one of those soft treehouses with stuffed animals poking out all the knotholes. I asked the twins if they would like to share one. "We don't like to share," I could understand that. Everybody got their own.
The kids unboxed gingerbread houses before I could change out of my good clothes. I was tired and put some leftover hot dish in front of Dave. Veve and Ollie got into it over some triviality. Ollie stormed upstairs. I sent Dave after him. Eventually, he put down his book and rejoined us. Five houses were uniquely covered in frosting and candy. The table was littered with leftovers.
The kids ate pizza in the living room before heading to bed, which meant falling asleep with a movie. House cleanup the next morning took upwards of two hours. The twins were leaving around ten to go see Santa. Dave watched the Vikings play at noon, while I took two kids to Wisconsin. Dave took Ollie home while I watched the Packers play.
Memories were made. The twins said I was much more fun than their other gramma, and could they come for a week in the summer. I hoped so. More waffles with free reign of Reddi Whip and sprinkles. More hands for the dogs. More carrots for the donkeys.
Veve's mother called the following week to tell me that the kids were told to draw something that reminded them of Christmas. She drew a picture of a building with Macy's on the front of it.
Showing posts with label Grandkids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandkids. Show all posts
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
The Twins Were Here
Gramma,
It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend. The girls turned eight on Halloween. Their mother died of MS a year ago. The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off. They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment. They do not have legal custody. I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and they wanted a break. I fully expected to be hit up for money for something.
The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing. He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls. He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time. He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion. When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave. The dog was not special to her. He got another dog. I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do. We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information.
Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise. Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids. No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you. No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles. There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting. Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse. There is a ladder and slide involved. No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse. Get off that ladder. No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you. Yes, there is a monster.
A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice. Nope, that's not an option, choose something else. The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me. Grampa came along. He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart. I do not go on a Saturday. I get pissy just thinking about it. The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event. Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye. It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes. He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake. I rubbed my fingers together and smiled. He waited in the car.
The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor. They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event. I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer. We got stuck and unstuck more than once. We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up. Then we had more ice cream cake outside. And more popsicles. They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home. I always start the process two hours in advance.
They think we live in a mansion. I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle. My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had. I hope they tell their cousins all about it. They were here once, three years ago. Maybe they will pester to visit. More kids is not much more work. In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up.
In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend. We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids. It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road. Their mother is watching. I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit. Dragonflies were their mother's thing. They are not in season here in late fall. This is all good for Grampa's spirits.
It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend. The girls turned eight on Halloween. Their mother died of MS a year ago. The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off. They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment. They do not have legal custody. I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and they wanted a break. I fully expected to be hit up for money for something.
The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing. He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls. He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time. He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion. When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave. The dog was not special to her. He got another dog. I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do. We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information.
Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise. Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids. No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you. No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles. There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting. Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse. There is a ladder and slide involved. No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse. Get off that ladder. No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you. Yes, there is a monster.
A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice. Nope, that's not an option, choose something else. The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me. Grampa came along. He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart. I do not go on a Saturday. I get pissy just thinking about it. The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event. Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye. It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes. He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake. I rubbed my fingers together and smiled. He waited in the car.
The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor. They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event. I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer. We got stuck and unstuck more than once. We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up. Then we had more ice cream cake outside. And more popsicles. They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home. I always start the process two hours in advance.
They think we live in a mansion. I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle. My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had. I hope they tell their cousins all about it. They were here once, three years ago. Maybe they will pester to visit. More kids is not much more work. In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up.
In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend. We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids. It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road. Their mother is watching. I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit. Dragonflies were their mother's thing. They are not in season here in late fall. This is all good for Grampa's spirits.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
New Lives
Gramma,
The new granddaughter finally arrived. She's a noisy model. Her days and nights are mixed up. Mom gets no sleep. She complains often on Facebook at all hours of the night. Mom wanted to call her Jazzerine. She wanted to call the first one Aquila. Though I do not object, these are not white girl names. The protesters won. She is called Lundon Violet. She is breast fed, so I will not be relieving mom for awhile. Baby formula costs more than alcohol.
Three of the grandkids spent the weekend here. So mom got a break from Bubba acting out because he is no longer the baby. He just started kindergarten. He is always fun to have around. He likes to be very very busy. The other two kids are older and do not want his company. I need to have this set of three at the same time, as otherwise they would not be able to see each other at all. Ollie's dad is not welcome anywhere but the bar these days.
We decorated for Halloween, This is a big tradition. There are menacing, bloodthirsty weapon wielding clowns, complete with dead bloody doll babies and stuffed rabbits. Blood spattered toddler sized zombies colonize outside the iron gates. Anybody trying to invade will be shanked by rose thorns. I do this for the kids who ride the bus. Today, I will zip tie upside down skeletons to very long poles. They will be reminiscent of Cirque de Soleil. These will flank the gates.
Lighted spider webs stretch across the gates. There is a Bates Motel sign. The "vacancy" light flickers. There are caskets in the yard. Skeletons sit on a collection of colored toilets talking on phones, drinking beer, holding their skeleton dogs on leashes. There are witches, signs, pumpkins, tombstones and spiders. The annual Witches Ball is always the last Saturday of the month.
Inside the house, the kids form a chain gang on the stairs to bring up boxes of decorations. Veve helps set up the villages while the other two fight over the I-Pad, making Grampa testy. Purple and green cobwebs are stretched on the chandelier and over pictures. It looks like Halloween threw up all over the house. I am overwhelmed by the mess.
Kids are noisy things. And demanding. Also, they always want something. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. Can I have a donut. Can I have fudge for breakfast. GRAMMA, tell them it's my turn. Bubba spilled his milk. You made me. Ollie won't put away the scooter. He used it last. "Did you fart Bubba." "No, my ass blew you a kiss." Wonder where he got that. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I was just holding him back by the throat. Can I pick some flowers to bring to mom. There is enough racket to give the devil a headache.
And so it is, with great amusement, that girlfriend's partner of thirty-some years is leaving her for a woman with six frequent grandkids. Freeloader has no concept of cute, adorable tiny ninjas of death who are the right height to punch you in the balls. He has no experience with grandchildren, or children period. He does not like them. He does not like noise, or to be interrupted when he is watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. Kids monopolize the tv. It is best to let this happen, as the alternative is more noise.
The new living space is tight. It is likely section 8. There is no garage. Except for his storage unit, Freeloader will have no manspace to call his own. The kids will be in all his shit. No escape. The new girlfriend gets around in a golf cart. Freeloader will be picking up and dropping off kids. He has always been tight with money. He has plenty, he just doesn't want to share it. He contributed $400 a month to live with my friend. This included his own office, bedroom and pole shed. And he was ornery. Had I known, this would not have been happening. She lives paycheck to paycheck.
AND, there is a new grandbaby, freshly hatched. We wish we could see the shit show up close and personal. Freeloader reignited a decades old relationship on Facebook with a woman who had wronged him every which way to Sunday. He is over seventy. He has visions of reclaiming his studly self. She smokes. He hates smoke. Nothing like kissing an ashtray. He snores like a Harley. She talks incessantly. She is on disability. He will be the meal ticket for many.
AND, he is headed for South Carolina with his Indian motorcycle in the back of his pick up truck. He paid cash for these things. The bike is too heavy for him to manage since his back surgery. There is a record-breaking hurricane heading up the coast. His girlfriend has been biting him in the ass for days to get out there and drive her to safety. It is a two day drive and the truck is acting up. The bike will be pelted with hail. A tarp will not help, as it will beat on the bike and rub the paint raw. We think this is funny, because we are shallow that way.
He didn't even say goodbye to his cat. Weed and paraphernalia was left behind. After a lifetime of toking, he is quitting. I am amazed that guys never quit thinking with their dicks. The honeymoon will be short. We figure he will beg to come back in the spring. "You can come back to Minnesota, but not here," she will say. We will laugh and drink and smoke in the hot tub on the deck. Maybe we will take a bike trip to South Carolina to see the devastation. Stay tuned....
The new granddaughter finally arrived. She's a noisy model. Her days and nights are mixed up. Mom gets no sleep. She complains often on Facebook at all hours of the night. Mom wanted to call her Jazzerine. She wanted to call the first one Aquila. Though I do not object, these are not white girl names. The protesters won. She is called Lundon Violet. She is breast fed, so I will not be relieving mom for awhile. Baby formula costs more than alcohol.
Three of the grandkids spent the weekend here. So mom got a break from Bubba acting out because he is no longer the baby. He just started kindergarten. He is always fun to have around. He likes to be very very busy. The other two kids are older and do not want his company. I need to have this set of three at the same time, as otherwise they would not be able to see each other at all. Ollie's dad is not welcome anywhere but the bar these days.
We decorated for Halloween, This is a big tradition. There are menacing, bloodthirsty weapon wielding clowns, complete with dead bloody doll babies and stuffed rabbits. Blood spattered toddler sized zombies colonize outside the iron gates. Anybody trying to invade will be shanked by rose thorns. I do this for the kids who ride the bus. Today, I will zip tie upside down skeletons to very long poles. They will be reminiscent of Cirque de Soleil. These will flank the gates.
Lighted spider webs stretch across the gates. There is a Bates Motel sign. The "vacancy" light flickers. There are caskets in the yard. Skeletons sit on a collection of colored toilets talking on phones, drinking beer, holding their skeleton dogs on leashes. There are witches, signs, pumpkins, tombstones and spiders. The annual Witches Ball is always the last Saturday of the month.
Inside the house, the kids form a chain gang on the stairs to bring up boxes of decorations. Veve helps set up the villages while the other two fight over the I-Pad, making Grampa testy. Purple and green cobwebs are stretched on the chandelier and over pictures. It looks like Halloween threw up all over the house. I am overwhelmed by the mess.
Kids are noisy things. And demanding. Also, they always want something. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. Can I have a donut. Can I have fudge for breakfast. GRAMMA, tell them it's my turn. Bubba spilled his milk. You made me. Ollie won't put away the scooter. He used it last. "Did you fart Bubba." "No, my ass blew you a kiss." Wonder where he got that. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I was just holding him back by the throat. Can I pick some flowers to bring to mom. There is enough racket to give the devil a headache.
And so it is, with great amusement, that girlfriend's partner of thirty-some years is leaving her for a woman with six frequent grandkids. Freeloader has no concept of cute, adorable tiny ninjas of death who are the right height to punch you in the balls. He has no experience with grandchildren, or children period. He does not like them. He does not like noise, or to be interrupted when he is watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. Kids monopolize the tv. It is best to let this happen, as the alternative is more noise.
The new living space is tight. It is likely section 8. There is no garage. Except for his storage unit, Freeloader will have no manspace to call his own. The kids will be in all his shit. No escape. The new girlfriend gets around in a golf cart. Freeloader will be picking up and dropping off kids. He has always been tight with money. He has plenty, he just doesn't want to share it. He contributed $400 a month to live with my friend. This included his own office, bedroom and pole shed. And he was ornery. Had I known, this would not have been happening. She lives paycheck to paycheck.
AND, there is a new grandbaby, freshly hatched. We wish we could see the shit show up close and personal. Freeloader reignited a decades old relationship on Facebook with a woman who had wronged him every which way to Sunday. He is over seventy. He has visions of reclaiming his studly self. She smokes. He hates smoke. Nothing like kissing an ashtray. He snores like a Harley. She talks incessantly. She is on disability. He will be the meal ticket for many.
AND, he is headed for South Carolina with his Indian motorcycle in the back of his pick up truck. He paid cash for these things. The bike is too heavy for him to manage since his back surgery. There is a record-breaking hurricane heading up the coast. His girlfriend has been biting him in the ass for days to get out there and drive her to safety. It is a two day drive and the truck is acting up. The bike will be pelted with hail. A tarp will not help, as it will beat on the bike and rub the paint raw. We think this is funny, because we are shallow that way.
He didn't even say goodbye to his cat. Weed and paraphernalia was left behind. After a lifetime of toking, he is quitting. I am amazed that guys never quit thinking with their dicks. The honeymoon will be short. We figure he will beg to come back in the spring. "You can come back to Minnesota, but not here," she will say. We will laugh and drink and smoke in the hot tub on the deck. Maybe we will take a bike trip to South Carolina to see the devastation. Stay tuned....
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Seven Week Shit Show
Gramma,
It's been a seven week shit show since I last posted. My daughter-in-law is raging hormone pregnant with number three and ornery as a billygoat kept from his harem. She has been punishing the five-year-old and the eight-year-old for their age appropriate transgressions by not letting them visit gramma. They are driving her nuts. Way to shoot yourself in the foot. I would have jumped at the chance to be rid of them. We had it out. I called her a very bad word and she heard about it. It was accurate, but for the sake of the grandkids, I apologized to make nice.
Then I had a bike accident. A friend in our bike club rear-ended me when we were taking off from a stop sign. Both our bikes went down. My right foot was trapped under the floorboard with about 800 pounds of weight on it. My bike was weighted down by the bike that ran into me. There were two riders on it, so more weight. The other bike, which was stuck on my tailpipes, had to come up first.
When my bike was lifted off me, I had to lay on the road while the pain subsided. We were about seventy miles from home. I asked Dave and the other guy to help me up by grabbing me under the armpits so I didn't put weight on it. I didn't take my boot off for fear that I wouldn't be able to get it back on. It hurt, but I rode my bike home anyway, stopping for a few beers on the way.
Two weeks later, I had ex-rays done. With two fractured toes and a fractured ankle, I went home with a mechanical walking brace. It is man-sized, and I hate it. Feels like I'm dragging a log around. I don't wear it consistently, but I wore it through the airport on an emergency trip to Denver. It got me better seats on the way there and back.
My daughter's boyfriend put her in the hospital. She had a black eye, concussion, dislocated jaw and he had pulled out plenty of hair. The doctor gave her the name of a good plastic surgeon.
Her boyfriend called before I found out about this. He was distraught and told me my daughter was on meth and seeing a Mexican guy with tattoos on his neck. She wasn't making her condo payments and hadn't been to work in awhile. My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. He didn't know why she was doing this and he wanted to get her some help. He wanted to work things out. He had been crying non-stop over their broken relationship. He didn't understand. He had done so much to help her. Then he says, "I shouldn't have done it, but I hit her."
After a long, pregnant pause, I asked "Why did you hit my daughter?" Because she just kept pushing me and pushing me and pushing me. And he was crying. After I hung up, I called my daughter. Reluctantly, she admitted that she was in the hospital. She didn't want me to come out. She sent a picture to her brother. I asked him to send it to me. She was the face of domestic violence. Ashkahn had made it sound like he had hit her once.
He kept frantically calling and texting both of us while we were on the phone. He wanted to know if I knew anything, if I had heard from her. I said I had not and that she rarely responds to my calls or texts. He knew that was true. He just wanted her to get help. I said, I will be out to get her some help."
to be continued....
It's been a seven week shit show since I last posted. My daughter-in-law is raging hormone pregnant with number three and ornery as a billygoat kept from his harem. She has been punishing the five-year-old and the eight-year-old for their age appropriate transgressions by not letting them visit gramma. They are driving her nuts. Way to shoot yourself in the foot. I would have jumped at the chance to be rid of them. We had it out. I called her a very bad word and she heard about it. It was accurate, but for the sake of the grandkids, I apologized to make nice.
Then I had a bike accident. A friend in our bike club rear-ended me when we were taking off from a stop sign. Both our bikes went down. My right foot was trapped under the floorboard with about 800 pounds of weight on it. My bike was weighted down by the bike that ran into me. There were two riders on it, so more weight. The other bike, which was stuck on my tailpipes, had to come up first.
When my bike was lifted off me, I had to lay on the road while the pain subsided. We were about seventy miles from home. I asked Dave and the other guy to help me up by grabbing me under the armpits so I didn't put weight on it. I didn't take my boot off for fear that I wouldn't be able to get it back on. It hurt, but I rode my bike home anyway, stopping for a few beers on the way.
Two weeks later, I had ex-rays done. With two fractured toes and a fractured ankle, I went home with a mechanical walking brace. It is man-sized, and I hate it. Feels like I'm dragging a log around. I don't wear it consistently, but I wore it through the airport on an emergency trip to Denver. It got me better seats on the way there and back.
My daughter's boyfriend put her in the hospital. She had a black eye, concussion, dislocated jaw and he had pulled out plenty of hair. The doctor gave her the name of a good plastic surgeon.
Her boyfriend called before I found out about this. He was distraught and told me my daughter was on meth and seeing a Mexican guy with tattoos on his neck. She wasn't making her condo payments and hadn't been to work in awhile. My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. He didn't know why she was doing this and he wanted to get her some help. He wanted to work things out. He had been crying non-stop over their broken relationship. He didn't understand. He had done so much to help her. Then he says, "I shouldn't have done it, but I hit her."
After a long, pregnant pause, I asked "Why did you hit my daughter?" Because she just kept pushing me and pushing me and pushing me. And he was crying. After I hung up, I called my daughter. Reluctantly, she admitted that she was in the hospital. She didn't want me to come out. She sent a picture to her brother. I asked him to send it to me. She was the face of domestic violence. Ashkahn had made it sound like he had hit her once.
He kept frantically calling and texting both of us while we were on the phone. He wanted to know if I knew anything, if I had heard from her. I said I had not and that she rarely responds to my calls or texts. He knew that was true. He just wanted her to get help. I said, I will be out to get her some help."
to be continued....
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Shit Barrel
Gramma,
It's hot and sunny with no wind. It's supposed to rain later today. I hope so. Yesterday I went to buy wild bird seed and came home from Fleet Farm $300.00 lighter. Plants were seventy-five percent off. I also bought candy. I had to go home and get the truck. The back of my van could only fit so much. No garage-sales for the rest of this month.
I've been planting for a three hours and need to take an extended break. Too much heat makes me sick and I end up down for the rest of the day. I'm resisting the urge to take a nap. I've eaten a pound of maple nut goodies and the sugar spike doesn't help. Princess, my minnie Aussie, is in heat. She is whiney and taking a nap. Nobody would know if I took a nap too. But, I am full of dirt, so no.
My daughter-in-law seems to be avoiding me--not returning my calls. I wanted the kids for a few days during the week. They keep me upright. The hell with it, just an hour is all. An hour and twenty minutes later, I head back out to dig more holes. I wasn't sleeping, but I wasn't moving.
Girlfriend called this morning to tell me how crappy her mini-vacation was. She took her soon to be ex-husband's sister with her. Why is beyond me. Icky Vicky whined the whole time about her husband and her brother. The rule was that neither of those things were up for discussion. Vicky said she didn't think that was going to work for her and wouldn't shut up. No hotel reservations over the Fourth equaled a $200.00 a night room. They came back from Michigan early.
Another girlfriend called to tell me the latest drama with her kids. One of her grandsons didn't want to hang out with his cousin while gramma spent time with her sisters. So brat boy calls his daddy and protests loudly. Daddy calls gramma and gives her what for about not watching his kids (for free).
Gramma dropped the kids off anyway. The granddaughter tells the her aunt, a new mother, that she is a baby killer. One of her children died in a freak accident last year. Of course, she heard that from her dad, who is, of course, an asshole. So, the texting started between the two brothers.
"You're a bad parent. Your kid died because you weren't watching him."
"You're a bad parent. Maybe you should have given your daughter up for adoption at birth so she wouldn't have gotten molested by your in-laws.
"You should get a job and maybe your wife wouldn't fuck around on you with your best friend, loser."
You should quit your job and quit embarrassing dad with your shitty work." (They work for the same outfit and the kid is a fuckup.) "Shove another turkey baster of meth up your ass."
Things deteriorated from there. We all have something. I am grateful for the peace and quiet of this day. It is not my turn in the shit barrel.
It's hot and sunny with no wind. It's supposed to rain later today. I hope so. Yesterday I went to buy wild bird seed and came home from Fleet Farm $300.00 lighter. Plants were seventy-five percent off. I also bought candy. I had to go home and get the truck. The back of my van could only fit so much. No garage-sales for the rest of this month.
I've been planting for a three hours and need to take an extended break. Too much heat makes me sick and I end up down for the rest of the day. I'm resisting the urge to take a nap. I've eaten a pound of maple nut goodies and the sugar spike doesn't help. Princess, my minnie Aussie, is in heat. She is whiney and taking a nap. Nobody would know if I took a nap too. But, I am full of dirt, so no.
My daughter-in-law seems to be avoiding me--not returning my calls. I wanted the kids for a few days during the week. They keep me upright. The hell with it, just an hour is all. An hour and twenty minutes later, I head back out to dig more holes. I wasn't sleeping, but I wasn't moving.
Girlfriend called this morning to tell me how crappy her mini-vacation was. She took her soon to be ex-husband's sister with her. Why is beyond me. Icky Vicky whined the whole time about her husband and her brother. The rule was that neither of those things were up for discussion. Vicky said she didn't think that was going to work for her and wouldn't shut up. No hotel reservations over the Fourth equaled a $200.00 a night room. They came back from Michigan early.
Another girlfriend called to tell me the latest drama with her kids. One of her grandsons didn't want to hang out with his cousin while gramma spent time with her sisters. So brat boy calls his daddy and protests loudly. Daddy calls gramma and gives her what for about not watching his kids (for free).
Gramma dropped the kids off anyway. The granddaughter tells the her aunt, a new mother, that she is a baby killer. One of her children died in a freak accident last year. Of course, she heard that from her dad, who is, of course, an asshole. So, the texting started between the two brothers.
"You're a bad parent. Your kid died because you weren't watching him."
"You're a bad parent. Maybe you should have given your daughter up for adoption at birth so she wouldn't have gotten molested by your in-laws.
"You should get a job and maybe your wife wouldn't fuck around on you with your best friend, loser."
You should quit your job and quit embarrassing dad with your shitty work." (They work for the same outfit and the kid is a fuckup.) "Shove another turkey baster of meth up your ass."
Things deteriorated from there. We all have something. I am grateful for the peace and quiet of this day. It is not my turn in the shit barrel.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Fuckitol Meds Not Working
Gramma
I don't think my meds are working. The pharmacy has been using another manufacturer to fill one of my prescriptions. Since then, things are less than. My daughter's insurance company is forcing her to take a generic form of Abilify. It gives her migraines, and the co-pay is astronomical, whereas the name brand provides a manufacturer subsidy that makes it affordable. We need our Fuckitol pills to work right.
Last week I did not blog. I sat in the driveway/patio area contemplating the hanging trees again. And I was incredibly crabby. My beer supply was exhausted, and didn't want to use my limited funds on more. It didn't help that my tractor was in the shop. If I don't hound them daily, it will be fall before I get it back. I spend a lot of time on hold. If I leave a message, they won't call back.
The neighbor stopped over with a beer in hand and a backup to put in the freezer. I told him I was out. He said he would give me one, but that will just agitate people like us. He was planning to drink himself stupid and suffer the hangover. After he left, I drank Dave's last Chelado with an old Hamm's chaser.
Dave was in union negotiations all week, which ramps up his blood pressure and puts him in irate overdrive. I was hoping he would bring home some calming fluids. When he showed up empty-handed, my inner bitch went silent treatment, which rarely happens.
I went to bed early to escape with an episode of Grace and Frankie. The gay guys were throwing temper tantrums and the women were making bad decisions. Next to my dearth of beer, this was ridiculous. Disgusted, I opted to listen to the frogs.
It is not like me to want to stay in bed when the weather is nice. On Friday, I couldn't overcome the gravitational pull of my mattress. I got out of bed at noon to pick up the grandkids. Having them around usually lifts me out of a fugue. Bubba and Veve were sitting in Dave's big man's chair when I overheard Bubba say, "Grampa's foot is bigger than your head." They make me laugh, the next best thing to Fuckitol.
I don't think my meds are working. The pharmacy has been using another manufacturer to fill one of my prescriptions. Since then, things are less than. My daughter's insurance company is forcing her to take a generic form of Abilify. It gives her migraines, and the co-pay is astronomical, whereas the name brand provides a manufacturer subsidy that makes it affordable. We need our Fuckitol pills to work right.
Last week I did not blog. I sat in the driveway/patio area contemplating the hanging trees again. And I was incredibly crabby. My beer supply was exhausted, and didn't want to use my limited funds on more. It didn't help that my tractor was in the shop. If I don't hound them daily, it will be fall before I get it back. I spend a lot of time on hold. If I leave a message, they won't call back.
The neighbor stopped over with a beer in hand and a backup to put in the freezer. I told him I was out. He said he would give me one, but that will just agitate people like us. He was planning to drink himself stupid and suffer the hangover. After he left, I drank Dave's last Chelado with an old Hamm's chaser.
Dave was in union negotiations all week, which ramps up his blood pressure and puts him in irate overdrive. I was hoping he would bring home some calming fluids. When he showed up empty-handed, my inner bitch went silent treatment, which rarely happens.
I went to bed early to escape with an episode of Grace and Frankie. The gay guys were throwing temper tantrums and the women were making bad decisions. Next to my dearth of beer, this was ridiculous. Disgusted, I opted to listen to the frogs.
It is not like me to want to stay in bed when the weather is nice. On Friday, I couldn't overcome the gravitational pull of my mattress. I got out of bed at noon to pick up the grandkids. Having them around usually lifts me out of a fugue. Bubba and Veve were sitting in Dave's big man's chair when I overheard Bubba say, "Grampa's foot is bigger than your head." They make me laugh, the next best thing to Fuckitol.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Train Wreck
Bad Gramma,
Called my girlfriend and asked what she was doing. She's trying to find out online how long meth stays in your system. Her son and a dumbass friend of his decided to shoot meth up their asses using a turkey baster. You will get higher faster for longer, said Bevis to Butthead. More than a week has passed and she thinks he is a little off. Maybe there was a booster shot somewhere in there.
I laugh because this reminds me of the time I called the department of psychiatry at the U of M to ask how long it takes for a meth addict's pupils to undialate. My son had been in prison awhile and his pupils were still dialated. The other end of the line said, "We haven't had much opportunity to study that segment of society."
Girlfriend went to pick up the dog at her son's house, as he would be working late. The feds and the police had removed the front door in a most violent way and were tossing the sad little house. Girlfriend asks what the hell they are doing there. Someone held up a pipe and some weed. "You don't know your son is dealing meth?" She says he's not. They say they have found a bunch of needles. She says they were from his ex-wife who stopped by recently to visit the kids.
The ex-wife is a POS ho bag drug addict who deserted the kids and took off with one of her boyfriends for greener pastures. The kids think their dad is keeping their mother from them. She rarely shows up and always brings trouble. This time she said she was clean and was hoping to get the kids back. She is probably doing squeal for a deal on some charges she's facing and left the used needles for props.
The feds told girlfriend she should keep picking the kids up after school. She asks how they know she does that, They play back the details of her past week's activities, how she took the kids to Toy's R Us in the cities so they could pick out something for their birthdays. On Sunday, we were out riding bikes with club members. We stopped at the Dairy Queen. We are badass.
Girlfriend has two other son's, both with new babies. One son spent a night in jail last week for disorderly conduct at a bar. The other one is friends with Bevis, and they are often up to no good. The feds should follow Bevis around for awhile and they will find out who is dealing what and where. Bevis got a big inheritance, which is making some drug dealers pretty flush these days.
Most of these kids were raised in good homes, by good people, who set good examples. In a recent session with the school counselor, girlfriend's grandkids revealed that their dad is on drugs. Making memories. There is not much you can do here, but watch the train wreck.
Called my girlfriend and asked what she was doing. She's trying to find out online how long meth stays in your system. Her son and a dumbass friend of his decided to shoot meth up their asses using a turkey baster. You will get higher faster for longer, said Bevis to Butthead. More than a week has passed and she thinks he is a little off. Maybe there was a booster shot somewhere in there.
I laugh because this reminds me of the time I called the department of psychiatry at the U of M to ask how long it takes for a meth addict's pupils to undialate. My son had been in prison awhile and his pupils were still dialated. The other end of the line said, "We haven't had much opportunity to study that segment of society."
Girlfriend went to pick up the dog at her son's house, as he would be working late. The feds and the police had removed the front door in a most violent way and were tossing the sad little house. Girlfriend asks what the hell they are doing there. Someone held up a pipe and some weed. "You don't know your son is dealing meth?" She says he's not. They say they have found a bunch of needles. She says they were from his ex-wife who stopped by recently to visit the kids.
The ex-wife is a POS ho bag drug addict who deserted the kids and took off with one of her boyfriends for greener pastures. The kids think their dad is keeping their mother from them. She rarely shows up and always brings trouble. This time she said she was clean and was hoping to get the kids back. She is probably doing squeal for a deal on some charges she's facing and left the used needles for props.
The feds told girlfriend she should keep picking the kids up after school. She asks how they know she does that, They play back the details of her past week's activities, how she took the kids to Toy's R Us in the cities so they could pick out something for their birthdays. On Sunday, we were out riding bikes with club members. We stopped at the Dairy Queen. We are badass.
Girlfriend has two other son's, both with new babies. One son spent a night in jail last week for disorderly conduct at a bar. The other one is friends with Bevis, and they are often up to no good. The feds should follow Bevis around for awhile and they will find out who is dealing what and where. Bevis got a big inheritance, which is making some drug dealers pretty flush these days.
Most of these kids were raised in good homes, by good people, who set good examples. In a recent session with the school counselor, girlfriend's grandkids revealed that their dad is on drugs. Making memories. There is not much you can do here, but watch the train wreck.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Making Memories
Gramma
Had the grandkids for the weekend. Started Friday after school with some garage-saling on the way home and a stop at the Dairy Queen for ice cream. Fresh baked bread, which they love, was dinner. They don't get "good" food at grammas. Saturday morning, there were home-made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Made a trip to town to get provisions for chocolate chip cookies for lunch.
While in town, we scanned the Goodwill and Helping Hand for "stuff." Fee came away with two pairs of new silver sandals, and an insulated water bottle. It's just like the one her best friend has. Bubba found a truck that does one trick. It's just like the one his best friend has. Neither wants anything to do with the stew I made for Dave. Pizza rolls for dinner. Gross.
The kids love bedtime. We read a story, and then another and another. They each have a heated lap warmer on their beds. They let me sleep in while they take turns playing on the I-Pad in bed or watch cartoons and turn on the fireplace to warm up the living room. As soon as I'm up, they want chocolate milk, donuts, and/or sugar based cereal. My offer of eggs is turned down.
Even though it's cold, they want to be outside making parade laps around the driveway with the scooter they got for Christmas. Periodically, they come in to refuel with sugar and warm up in front of the fireplace. While I am seriously cleaning and organizing my shed/she cave, they play with the toy inventory. Meanwhile, mom posts on Facebook that she is bored without the kids. Take a nap already.
Sunday is a short day. I give them their choice of which playhouse to clean. Up to the treehouse we climb with supplies. Bubba loses interest first and plays in the tube slide. Pretty soon I am finishing the job myself. But, it was about involving them in maintenance. One down, two to go. Next time. I send them home with the rest of the bread, sweet rolls, chocolate milk and more than half of the cookies, which I had a hard time resisting for breakfast this morning.
On the forty-minute trip to the halfway meeting place, which is a Dairy Queen, they watch a movie on the car DVD players. I drive a POS mini-van, but the inside is nice. I was a half hour off on the time, so we traipse through the local antique store. It has been a good weekend, no biting and no more than the usual arguing over who's turn it is. When I am old, will they still visit me? The reality is, not so much. I already tell them to bring me beer when I am in the nursing home. I miss them already.
Had the grandkids for the weekend. Started Friday after school with some garage-saling on the way home and a stop at the Dairy Queen for ice cream. Fresh baked bread, which they love, was dinner. They don't get "good" food at grammas. Saturday morning, there were home-made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Made a trip to town to get provisions for chocolate chip cookies for lunch.
While in town, we scanned the Goodwill and Helping Hand for "stuff." Fee came away with two pairs of new silver sandals, and an insulated water bottle. It's just like the one her best friend has. Bubba found a truck that does one trick. It's just like the one his best friend has. Neither wants anything to do with the stew I made for Dave. Pizza rolls for dinner. Gross.
The kids love bedtime. We read a story, and then another and another. They each have a heated lap warmer on their beds. They let me sleep in while they take turns playing on the I-Pad in bed or watch cartoons and turn on the fireplace to warm up the living room. As soon as I'm up, they want chocolate milk, donuts, and/or sugar based cereal. My offer of eggs is turned down.
Even though it's cold, they want to be outside making parade laps around the driveway with the scooter they got for Christmas. Periodically, they come in to refuel with sugar and warm up in front of the fireplace. While I am seriously cleaning and organizing my shed/she cave, they play with the toy inventory. Meanwhile, mom posts on Facebook that she is bored without the kids. Take a nap already.
Sunday is a short day. I give them their choice of which playhouse to clean. Up to the treehouse we climb with supplies. Bubba loses interest first and plays in the tube slide. Pretty soon I am finishing the job myself. But, it was about involving them in maintenance. One down, two to go. Next time. I send them home with the rest of the bread, sweet rolls, chocolate milk and more than half of the cookies, which I had a hard time resisting for breakfast this morning.
On the forty-minute trip to the halfway meeting place, which is a Dairy Queen, they watch a movie on the car DVD players. I drive a POS mini-van, but the inside is nice. I was a half hour off on the time, so we traipse through the local antique store. It has been a good weekend, no biting and no more than the usual arguing over who's turn it is. When I am old, will they still visit me? The reality is, not so much. I already tell them to bring me beer when I am in the nursing home. I miss them already.
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