Gak !  I am so totally decadent, or maybe not decadent. Techno. Nope. Um…..weird?  Maybe.

 

Sundays, public tv, laptop, bath, starbucks home brewed coffee, (no wine, it’s only 9 am), my favorite cat on the ledge of the tub.

 

Laptopping in the tub with color digital tv and a remote.

 

I have achieved nirvana.

 

The junkie daughter is in the kitchen, playing at being supermom, betty crocker and Susie homemaker all at once.  Other than wanting to vomit, I am also grateful that she is in there, and I am in here.

 

Last night, before bed, I made an announcement to the 17 yr old that since she was such a super daughter and I was such a giving mother, that she was going to get up with the babies for me in the morning so that I could sleep in.

 

After her outraged cry of “nnoooooooooo,&rdqu o; I went to bed.  And slept in this morning.  Clear to 8 am.

 

There are certain things I really like to do on Sunday mornings.  Spend an hour on the toity, drinking coffee and watching Norm Abrams and the New Yankee Workshop.  I am a New Englander.  Born and partially raised on Cape Cod.  I grew up watching This Old House and Norm Abrams. I love him.  He can fix anything. He has taught me much.

 

I like not being rushed in the mornings.  I really don’t do mornings well.  I think that mornings only exist to keep late night and afternoon from bumping into each other each day.

 

Life has thrust me, complaining and screaming all the way into having to do mornings.  HOW RUDE !!

 

I should have been born independently wealthy. Oh. Wait. I was born that way. Shit.  I forgot, I walked away from all that at the age of 13.  Independently wealthy is not all it’s cracked up to be.  But the wealth part of it is nice.  Sometimes I miss that. Other times, I realize how shallow an existence my parents lived, and am extremely happy that I do not participate in that lifestyle.  My children, however, are NOT happy about not participating.  They have grown up with a Mom who could easily make ¾ of a million dollars a year, and chooses not to.  They think that my aberration of morals is wrong. WRONG.

 

The junkie got up this morning and went to the methadone clinic. Came home and complained that she had tried calling us to tell us that there was a nail in the tire of her Dad’s car, and NO ONE answered the phone.

 

No ONE got up with the baby.  She was outraged.  Of course, the baby monitor was on, the baby had been in and out of our bed for two hours, and earlier when I said I slept in till 8 am, it was really wishful thinking.  I did however, STAY in bed till 8 am.  And, the baby is 4 years old.  AND, there were two teenagers in the same room, sleeping on the sofa and recliner respectively.

 

Note. When laptopping in the tub, move VERY slowly when you change position.  There is this thing called physics of motion which causes water to move when you do.  And, not to mention that the laptop is expensive, AND more importantly, plugged into ELECTRICITY (see former posts about my lack of knowledge regarding electricity).  Be very, very careful.

 

The junkie can really piss me off.  She forgets all the times she was in a heroin stupor and I parented her children, finally to the point where I took them away from her.  She does this thing where she gets on a high horse and becomes super person, and then runs around the house bitching about everyone.  She doesn’t realize she does this.

 

I finally gave up yesterday and took the kids outside in the barely rain. Dressed appropriately, and let them play for 2 hours.  The whining stopped.  The other caregivers in my home aren’t smart enough to put two and two together and come up with a reasonably accurate answer when involving small children.  Most of the time, kids don’t whine unless they are sick, or bored. That is why there is an “outside” to go to.

 

Yesterday, I fixed the dishwasher.  Another example of brain dead family.  I turned it on and immediately realized it was making the wrong noises.  No one else did.  They had been bitching for two days that the dishwasher wasn’t cleaning the dishes well. Their answer?  Keep running it over and over on the same dishes.  The merest thought of perhaps washing them by hand had not even speculated about wandering through their brains.

 

I am not a rocket scientist.

 

I opened the dishwasher. Water in the bottom. AT the beginning of the cycle.  My logical, well organized brain (this is sarcasm guys) jumped to the conclusion that one of two possible things were happening inside the mystery of the dishwasher.  One, the pump is gone.  Two, the outlet is clogged.

 

I spun the dial around to the drain spot where there was some movement of water, though not a lot.

 

So, it is situation Two then.

 

After two hours of spinning the dial around to the drain spot, it finally got rid of the water in the bottom.  Lift out the bottom rack.  Find the screwdriver that accepts a bit that accepts the metal thingy that FITS the hex bolts that hold the screen thingy in the bottom of the dishwasher. Take it off.  Of course, the batteries are dead on the screwdriver. But they work anyway if you lock them in position and turn the whole flipping thing. Which I did.

 

Stick my hand down in there, and Yeppers.  Crud blocking the outlet.  Mom’s are the only people on the planet that will clean crud for free.

 

Put it all back together. Eureka!! It works.  Start it. Go to bed.

 

Now, the son and d-i-l were making apple pies. At 1 am.  They did not empty the dishwasher. Both sinks were full of dishes this morning.

 

This offended the junkie.  Who burst into my bathroom to complain.  Who was promptly told, empty it then.

 

No sympathy on a Sunday morning when you violate the sanctity of my bathroom.

 

Water in my bath is cold. I am letting it out, to then just sit here in the empty tub and let me air dry.  Air drying your body is a waste of time that I absolutely LOVE.

 

I am remembering a conversation with my youngest. About, um..five years ago. In my mother in laws bathroom, upstairs.  We were talking about the junkie daughter.  She was very frustrated at the fact that we were letting her live with us while going through the first methadone treatment program.

 

I can be very cold sometimes.  I told her that, at times, I hated my daughter.  I asked her, “which would you rather do, cry at her funeral and wish that we had done ANYTHING and EVERYTHING within our power to save her so she wouldn’t be dead, or just buck up and help her and hope it works?”

 

Sometimes, as a parent, you have to make really hard choices. Sometimes, you are wrong. You never really know though, because we are not God.

 

So, we still help the junkie. Until the new baby is born. That is where I have finally drawn the line.  The other children are safely in our custody now. The new baby CAN be in our custody if necessary.

 

She will be cut loose and kicked out after the baby is born.  Either grow up or not, your choice.  But she will finally walk that road alone.