It hit me last night, as we were on our way home from Moe’s, and no it wasn’t the Corona.
#2 is graduating from High School. That didn’t cause the sinking feeling. I’m happy about that.
No, it’s the “festivities” surrounding that event.
See, logically, in my head on a very intellectual level, I knew. I knew that Sweet Daddio’s parents would be here. That was fine. I knew that my parents would be here, also fine.
Then it hit me. Both sets of outlaws would be in my house AT THE SAME TIME.
Dueling Grammas.
Oh Dear Lord stock up the vodka, I’m gonna need it.
The Grampas will be fine. They get along ok, they’ll look under the hoods of each other’s cars and tell jokes and hang out on the patio with a beer in their hand.
But the Grammas. Dear gussy. The air will be ripe with the odor of feminine competition. Which gramma do the boys love best. Who’s had them for the longest during breaks. Who cooks their favorite foods and lets them watch TV the most. Who lets them blow up more stuff.
Anyway, the emotional impact of what I’d known intellectually hit me and I had to go lay down.
We haven’t had them in the same room since…our wedding, 22 years ago.
Maybe #3 will opt for the GED and not graduate formally.
Filed under: Dewicate feewings
So, I’ve talked to just about everyone I can think of about the Chevy Dealership and their shenanigans. The Better Business Bureau has responded that they’ve opened a file, and will be all over them like white on rice if anyone else lodges a similar complaint. They’ve also informed the dealership that They Are Being Watched. GM Corporation has talked to me twice, determined that I am not trying to get a free car, and has promised they would take appropriate action (alerting the district and local field managers, and letting the dealership know They Are Being Watched).
So I’m happy. That’s all I wanted, was to know that some other person wouldn’t be put through the stress and inconvenience that we were.
Now I feel drained, like someone pulled the plug and everything just left in a rush.
I really don’t handle stress well. The Good Dr. H has told me many times (like every 6 months, when I see him) that I should avoid stress. Like that’s possible with a houseful of teenagers, a husband who works, and a budget that doesn’t include a personal assistant. I know I should avoid stress, but that would be avoiding LIFE.
Am I supposed to sit on my velvet cushion at home, watching A&E and eating popcorn while Sweet Daddio leaves work to get a kid who’s broken his finger, or buy a car, or fight the crowds at Walmart? That wasn’t part of the deal, 22 years ago.
So, I deal with it how I can…drink…drugs…general irresponsible behavior as long as it doesn’t involve handcuffs.
Sweet Daddio and I took his new truck out for a spin last night. He’s happy to have a truck. It turns out the people at the plant were making fun of him and his tan-man-van.
SD named it Fred because it’s not a Bubba truck (y’know, full-size Z-71 4×4 long bed w/ mud tires and whippy antenna). but it’s not a teeny little hamster-wheel job like the truck I got from Grandad. Which, BTW, is going to #3, but he has to buy it from me. Because I’m mean like that.
It has that luscious new-car smell, and! it came with OnStar, which we played with, and XM Radio, which he is finding most exciting, since he has a 30 minute commute.
Y’know, he’s constantly sacrificing his own dreams and desires for the sake of the the rest of us. I’m really happy he’s getting something of his own.
