Throw Momma from the Train

Not my momma… your momma.

We went South this weekend to hit the Costco and do some looking around. Crashed a couple of open houses, bothered a realtor or two and checked out some very nice, very expensive showhome models. Big adventure. A lot to talk about. I’m working on a list right now of points to consider, features that we like, features we can’t live without, and things I think we should have big huge arguments about. Like our Mothers.

Lets set the record here- I LOVE my mom. She is amazing in ways and for reasons I will have to list another time. She is my hero. I wouldn’t be even half the brilliant super tough can-do-all-the-things chick I am if she were an iota less the incredible woman that she is. But I don’t want to live with her when she’s old and crotchety and mean and crazy. I want to visit her and take her shopping so she can heckle the poor underpaid staff at the walmart. Take her banking once a month so she can shout at the teller and I can yell in her good ear what we’re there for. Sit with her and cackle about things she’s done to the visiting nurse. Smuggle in jars of Marmite so she can fling gobs of it at the visiting nurse… As soon as she’s not able to actually care for herself (and I honestly don’t see that ever, ever happening), I plan to pay someone really well to deal with the screeched obscenities and the flung gobs of poo-like substance. And just so you know I know I’m not going to hell for not wanting to have her live with us, she made me promise I would do this. She made me promise that when she’s crazy and unmanageable, that I would not try to take on her care myself.

His mother is already Crazy and Unmanageable, and she’s not even old and unable to care for herself. Except she is going irreversibly blind resulting from several combined conditions. I have lived with her in the past, and it went well enough she thinks. And it’s true- I still believed there was something wrong with me and I should try harder to cram my head just a little farther up her ass and she would finally approve of my existence. I kept my  mouth shut whenever I felt slighted or stepped on and I made more and more accommodations and gave all the ground at every issue. Of course she didn’t mind living with us. She was in charge. My home was her turf. And I have no intention of letting that ever happen again. If she wants to take over my life and my marriage, and if he thinks that’s just fine, then may the two of them find every happiness together. Without me.

So, something that’s come with all the rolling over through the years, is it takes a little more effort to make my point and be taken seriously. And I have to stop worrying about being harsh or rocking the boat. It’s difficult- because it seems like all I do these days is rock the boat. Every time I open my mouth I’m rocking it. And it’s not fair to these guys now, but it’s never been fair to me. Ever. So now we find the compromise, or he can learn to give on something entirely, or the entire issue is dropped and we go at it from a completely different approach.

Just like I reserve the right to veto a property because I think the street-name is stupid (we are not living on Cockburn or Westmews or anything designated as a “Wynd”), I also reserve the right to look forward to being the only woman in charge of MY home and family.

H “Well, having the walkout basement would be nice- when Mom loses her sight she can move in”

Me “Then whats the point of having all that extra space? The two of you won’t need all that space”

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About staggeringduck

Look, I'm just awesome ok?
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