Saturday was a slow day here at Casa Le Wacko. So we snorted spray paint. Not on purpose of course, by accident. But it led to an almost out-of-body experience.
The good news is that my office is finally finished. All shiny clean and repainted courtesy of Grandson. Trying to keep him busy, Mr. Husband gave him a new task. Repaint the iron patio furniture. We have company coming for the 4th and he thought shiny repainted patio furniture was just the thing.
During the afternoon I started feeling heavy-headed and stopped up. When my lips started tingling it was time to go outside and contemplate this situation. What did I discover? Grandson spraying the chairs a mere 6 feet away from the air-con unit. In the sunlight I saw that all the fumes, excess paint, etc. was sucking right into the unit and thus into the house. Oh good grief! Also the grass is covered with black splotches. It will grow back and so will my lung, sinus and brain tissue. It’s a good theory anyway.
What occurred to me in the ensuing delirium was this. Whenever you think you are going to teach someone they end up teaching you. This is the way of the cosmos. Grandson is a little microcosm of attention ending at the end of ones nose. He was painting away for hours and didn’t notice what was happening around him.
A real world, tangible example of not noticing how action or inaction effect others. He’s been like the proverbial bull in a china shop. He thinks he knows all, but doesn’t even know his own strength. He broke a leg off a dresser in my office. Woopsie. Well now he has learned how to repair furniture. Gouged a dent in a kitchen cabinet, it goes on. The results of a giant child man living in our house.
Grandson won’t pick up a straw off a restaurant table to put in his tea because the table might have germs. But he will sit on the floor in the kitchen next to the cat litter box and make a sandwich – on the floor. I yanked him up short on that one. Not in a graceful loving grandmotherly tone of voice either. More of a “get your lazy ass and my lunch meat up offa that nasty floor NOW!”
He boasts about how he takes care of his body, no salt, no junk food, and so on. As opposed to Mr. Husband and I who sully ourselves with impure foods. We even eat packaged ramen noodles on occasion. Oh the horror! Let’s just not mention all the pharmaceutical poisons he used these last few years.
So what am I learning from him? Patience, rely even more heavily on a sense of humor. There is more than one way to do something. However, all ways are not equally effective and some are more damaging to the surroundings than others. Pay attention to what you are doing at the moment. This is stuff you don’t learn in school. A free education. I like free.
I don’t have anything to wear. I really don’t. Let grandson have his head in my office/slash clothing emporium. He shoved all the furniture into one corner, faces to the wall so I can’t get to my clothes. He is in there with the door shut, painting the walls and listening to some mysterious young person music.
My choices this morning and for the next few days are the pajamas I’m wearing, my wedding dress, and assorted winter coats in the hall closet. I didn’t think to even grab some panties. Well duh! Who needs them anyway? Discovered a few items forgotten in the dryer so I can piece together something if I need to venture out into public. That weird place full of creatures such as myself whom I will never figure out, but always have fun trying.
It is a fascinating physical manifestation of what is going on in my head. I feel like I’m mentally and emotionally skinned alive every night and wake up the next day an entirely new person. It’s a little painful but very interesting. My hair has always had a mind of its own but now it’s my whole being is doing that. Wander to the bathroom in the morning to look in the mirror, thinking “hmm, wonder who I am today, what will I look like?”
What is causing this? It’s like going through adolescence again, but even weirder. Is it retiring that did this? Or having a young guy suddenly living in my house and seeing the world through different eyes. Is it just a normal process that people go through when they reach a certain age?
So I have nothing to wear. Even when I can get to my clothes I look at all the bland non-committal body coverings. Mildly uncomfortable, meant only to cover me up so I don’t “scare” anyone or violate decency laws. I have so much junk. What did I want with it all? Who bought this crap? Was I in some kind of coma for 30 years? Do they pump something in the white noise in corporate buildings that dulls your mind to the point that there is nothing but tofu between your ears?
And it’s not just the clothes. My whole house seems like an emporium of weirdness today. Junk and stuff and things that are “valuable” and “important” or “sentimental.” Looking around the house, I can lay my eyes on only a handful of things that I would muster up a bit of a damn if they disappeared in a puff of smoke.
If my whole house were to lift off the ground today and leave to parts unknown, I’d replace a few things. My backpack, laptop and Kindle. That’s about it. Sometimes I wonder about myself. Probably others do too. She’s gone ’round the bend again, off the rails. Eh, so what?
The beat goes on, the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain
La de da de de, la de da de da
Grandmas sit in chairs and reminisce
Boys keep chasing girls to get a kiss
The cars keep going faster all the time
Bums still cry “hey buddy, have you got a dime” Sonny & Cher
Took a night off and went with a girlfriend to see the band Little Feat. I had to make myself go. Didn’t want to. I wanted to stay home isolating and obsessing about my grandson. I’m glad I did now. We had a blast and I would have felt like crap backing out on my friend. This outing was on her bucket list.
Mr. Husband and grandson made it through one evening without me. Imagine that. Have to keep reminding myself that I’m not the master of the universe. It just rocks on without my interference and meddling. Probably better. When I got home they were both in bed and the house hadn’t burned down. Saints be praised!
I need to jump back in the pool of life now. Hiding in my bedroom isn’t doing me any good. I start looking like a mushroom on a bad hair day. That’s always been my weakness. Maybe I was a gangster in another life? When I get stressed out I “go to the mattress.” Probably not the same as the guys in the Godfather movie did it.
Feed like I’m swimming through molasses, everything is in slow motion. One day seems a week-long.
It’s not helping that Mr. Husband and his mother are locked in a control freaking sumo death match. She is using the contractor that we used and is remodeling her bathroom. She calls 15 times a day in a tizzy. She asks for Mr. Husband for advice, he gives it and then they argue about it. SUCKER! I find screaming, yelling and condescending tones of voice extremely upsetting. I’m trying to stay out of it as much as possible.
My Ipod headphones died along with every other scrap of tech gear on the train trip back in may. Going to replace those today and plug them in when the caller ID shows that hub-man’s Mama-san is calling.
No one said it was going to be easy. But darling grandson has gone from Mr. Contrite to Mr. Cocky pants in 5 days. Which leads me to ask the question. Is keel hauling still legal? OK that’s too extreme. What about a light flogging, only 30 or 40 lashes.
The honeymoon is definitely over. Now the hard work begins. To say I was disappointed and angry is the understatement of the century. I shut myself in the bedroom and cried for a while. Life is never dull. That’s for sure.
Mr. Cocky has been home from the treatment center less than 5 days and now thinks he’s knows it all. I woke up this morning to a messed up house. Soda bottles all over, some spilled on the carpet and hardwood floors. Over flowing ashtray on the patio. A half bottle of vodka gone and a kid passed out on the sofa in his underpants. The house pretty much looked and smelled like the morning after a frat party.
All righty then. I told him to get up and clean up. He pissed and moaned and complained. 2 hours later he was still piddling around and hadn’t cleaned up. Then the excuses started. “My head hurts, I feel sick.” Well yah! And guess what, that’s too bad, get up NOW. I had a come to Jesus talk with him myself. Later this afternoon Mr. Husband had another sit down with him.
We gave him a rope with the booze and he hung himself with it. So now drinking is off the list of acceptable behaviors in the house. Tomorrow morning it’s off the counselor because he admits, today anyway, that he can’t get clean on his own. Way to many issues going on in that skull of his.
O lord give me strength, and a sense of humor, and the courage to say what I mean and mean what I say.
Say what? Darling Grandson came home from infirmary yesterday. While he was there I found myself in a weird state of emotional and mental paralysis. Desperately needed something to take my mind of worrying and “awfulizing,” a word I learn years ago in counseling. Awfulizing means taking every fear and drawing it out to the worst possible conclusion and then worrying about THAT.
Crocheting didn’t help because there is mental room left to think. TV wasn’t much help either. So I went over my mental list of things I want to do before I leave planet earth. See the snows of Kilimanjaro? Nah, not an immediate solution. Have to pack and travel. A review of my Kindle books turned up Tolstoy’s War and Peace. That’s on my list of books to read. So I started it Monday. Turns out it’s a darn good book. Tolstoy had an amazing gift of describing what is going on behind the curtain in one’s heart of hearts. What a master. It also makes everyday problems seem petty in comparison. Been wrapped up in it for days now and I’m only 30% finished.
So Grandson is home. He’s being a little cocky and all “I can do this myself, I’m tuff enuff.” So I’m giving him a loose rein. Put him to work yesterday in the yard and painting in Mr. Husband’s office. Like everyone is advising me, he is a grown man and has to do this himself. Hooked up an old computer for him to use and he probably stayed up late on it. So I woke him up this morning at the crack of 9:30 (when I woke up) and told him that I expected him to get in the habit of sleeping at night and being awake in the daytime. Well if he can find night jobs in the roofing or construction lines of work, more power to him, but that’s unlikely.
I did let him know that when I was his age I found myself broke, with no options other than on my grandmother’s sofa. It’s an opportunity for a fresh start and a good kick in the pants because being at granny’s house can get a little boring. All the more reason for him to get on his feet and fly away
I’ve given up resisting the urge to hug and kiss him and do it every time I feel like doing it. Also tell him I love him once an hour. He’s just gonna have to deal with it. It’s the price of admission at Casa Grand Mama.