Pull up a chair
I’ve been told this is a classic stress response but I can’t remember a lot about what happened those two and a half craptastic weeks we were at my mother’s. Sure I remember this and that, but much like my childhood most of it has gone to a blur. It’s amazing considering it was only a month ago that we were living there. I guess that’s why it’s good that I felt compelled to vent to some friends and get out what was going on when it was going on so there’s some record. Why is this important? Well, like I mentioned before, my memory tends to blur these things and I forget. And like I said in a previous entry, my kids might want to know why things happened the way they did when they start putting two and eleventy-crazy together.
I’ve edited some things to to remove any personal identifiers or information to respect others’ privacy. I’ll pick up where I left off with my last entry on January 6th.
January 6, 2008
N: Does your mom need a big helping of STFUandbegrateful?
That’s exactly what she needs. It’s getting pretty hurtful some days basically being told I’m doing something to her rather than for her. I don’t at all expect my ass to be kissed but saving her from losing her home and all her money, especially considering the tremendous sacrifice we made for her in our state’s economy, isn’t exactly something that should be twisted and then thrown in my face. Honestly, if I needed it, I hope my kids will be this “horrible” to me one day. I swear to God, N, I will never treat my children like this. I am not a career victim and appreciate it when someone does something nice for me. I certainly don’t get all suspicious and paranoid about their “real” intentions.
G: Damn. Sorry she can’t appreciate what she has.
I wish she could because I’ve only meant for this to help her. Oh well. The only thing I can control is how I react to her moods and not let myself get worked up and constantly arguing. It’s been a week and now I wonder if I’ve not made the biggest mistake of my life. I know that sounds horrible. On top of it all, I have to deal with her years of clutter and hording. She was a big fan of QVC and infomercials and most of the stuff has never been used or opened. I can’t imagine the thousands and thousands she has wasted over the years.
P: Oh Annie, I’m sorry. What a rough time for you. That sucks.
Thanks. I’m just glad I have good people to vent to and to joke around with. I’m hoping my kids will do okay with all this. Each of them has told me at one point or another that they want to go back to our house and they miss where we used to live. When I go back to get the odds and ends that are still there I cry. The one really good thing, though, is that it seems this has brought Jeff and I closer. It could easily have started to pull us apart. It’s good to feel like I have an ally in this; we’re a team and that means so much.
When I would come here to pick up odds and ends to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything, I would cry really hard. I remember one night, the first time I drove here to pick up a few things to take back after we moved, the entire drive here I sobbed. I sobbed and like a lunatic I yelled over and over to myself that I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to do it. I knew that it was a mistake and I felt helpless and trapped. It was that bad that fast.
Oh, and a little Mr. Pickles to lighten the mood. Stay tuned for more (you didn’t think I’d do this all in one night, did you?).
