The Back Story

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Someone recently asked me how I came to be living with my Dad. I guess it’s an honest question and I don’t blame people for being curious. After all, I am 50-something years old. I guess you might think it’s just weird. Well, I really don’t care what you think. How’s that for honest? Having said that, I will tell you the story of how me living with my Dad came to be.

Back in 1992, my mother lived in SW Missouri (as I do now) but she had left my Dad and her family behind. We were all still living in California. She was killed in an auto accident in 1992 when she was thrown from her pick up. She wasn’t wearing her seat belt. Although it was terribly sad and hurt my heart deeply, I knew something bad was going to happen. I just knew. (That’s another story for another day.)

After she was gone, we (my Dad, my ex and I) had started talk of moving to Arkansas or Missouri. Dad wanted us to come with him because he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to go somewhere where he could afford to purchase a home. Mom had pretty much spent every last dime he ever made and he could never afford to buy a place of his own. So, we talked a lot about when and where, and how we would pull it together. We would pool our incomes and help each other out with household duties, child care, etc. My grandmother (mother’s mother) would come with us because there was no way I would leave her in California with no one to take care of her.

The plan was that Dad was going to rent a Uhaul, pack it up with the things we didn’t want to leave behind. He would leave in May of 1993. Before he left, he bought plane tickets for my kids, my grandmother, and I. We would be leaving in July. (My ex was supposed to follow around December but it was apparent before we even left that he was just itching to get rid of us and had no intention of following us out here at all. Another story, another day.) 

Before we left, I packed a few boxes of items we wanted to keep but needed up until the last minute. I shipped those boxes via UPS to my sister’s house in Illinois. We would be staying with her for a little while until Dad found a house and got it ready for us all to move in. It took a little longer than he expected to find a place so we were at my sister’s house for 3 weeks. I bet that was a long 3 weeks for her! 

So, fast forward…. My Dad, my grandmother, my kids and I are living in the same house. I was working full time and my kids were in school. Dad took on ‘father figure status’ and took care of the kids when I was at work; he made sure they were fed, clean, nice to each other and that they did their homework. My grandmother tried to help but caused a lot of trouble in the process. (Another story.) I worked my butt off until I had the opportunity to start my own home business. I learned about marketing and how to build a website. I learned everything I could about websites and online businesses so that I could work at home. I learned how to make my own bath and body products and my business was finally being noticed. I had many repeat customers.

I could have moved out of the house and created a home for my kids elsewhere, but by then my grandmother had passed away and that would have left Dad all alone. The whole reason he wanted us to move here with him in the first place was so he wouldn’t be alone. Besides, Dad’s house was my kids’ home.

Dad is 80 now. The kids are grown and moved out. I have had health issues that have led me to close my home business. I can no longer work and I receive SSI benefits. I still try to take care of Dad, as best I can. I make sure he eats, takes his medications, get him to his doctor appointments, etc. Dad helps me too. He’s a big help with many of the household chores that are now difficult for me. He unloads the car when I go for groceries. He washes dishes and helps with the laundry. He is a very entertaining housemate, and if you read Shit My Dad Says, then you will understand the extent of humor in our house! He is my best friend and I’m not going anywhere!

So, that is the story! That’s how I came to be living with my Dad. I wouldn’t change that for anything. Questions? Just ask.

Case of the Missing Towel

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From 2012: My dad, gotta love him! He washed the dishes for me one night. He’s so sweet. He misplaced the hand towel and came and asked me if I took it when I came through the kitchen. I said, “No.” He said, “Well, I’ve looked everywhere; in the garbage even! I can’t find it anywhere.” He was truly puzzled. I looked up at him and had to snap this pic….but not before he could make a face at me! See what’s on his shoulder?? LMAO! I showed him this photo. I said, “Look on your shoulder.” He said, “The sad thing is, I looked there!” We both got a good laugh that night.

 

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Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie

 

Sssshhhh….Don’t tell him I posted his photo!

My Blog, My Drama

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I started this blog way back in 2008. It was a way for me to express myself through the turmoil that had just begun. It was therapeutic.

It has always been difficult for me to express myself verbally. I attribute that to the fact that my mother stifled me every chance she got. My opinion wasn’t important. My feelings didn’t matter. I was the child and children were to be seen and not heard.

Into adulthood, my ex treated me just about the same way. I found myself having to explain what I meant at every turn. I learned to keep my mouth shut. It was just easier than having to explain myself constantly. I think that’s what he was aiming for anyway. That was his way of stifling me like my mother always did.

So, anyway…. 2008 began with a series of events that became even more troubling as time went on. I needed an outlet. I had to do something to keep myself from going bonkers. I started writing. I hadn’t started seeing my therapist yet; that came a few years later. I think Dr. M would be very proud of me taking this blog to another level, stepping out of my comfort zone. Being Aunt Debbie has always been public, but I never advertised or shared it, except with a few choice people. I am definitely out of my comfort zone!

In July, I decided to share, share, share. I decided to let Google index my blog. I started interacting with other bloggers; I commented on their blogs, and in turn, I received a very warming acceptance. I received comments on my posts. I even started a Facebook page to pair with my blog. It has been a positive experience, for the most part.

The part that isn’t positive is when I receive confrontational comments on my posts, which have nothing to do with the post. Let me just say that I don’t do confrontational. This is MY blog. So, only MY drama is allowed. I don’t have time for your BS. Don’t like my blog? Don’t read it. Don’t like my attitude? Don’t follow me; not on WordPress, not on Facebook, not on Instagram.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not always right. My opinions differ at times. I can handle a discussion about different topics, even when opinions differ. What I can’t handle….no, what I won’t handle is YOUR attitude if you come off confrontational. I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m just keeping it real. Real simple. Be nice or go home.

 

Not My Turn….

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It never fails.

Last night, I brought dad a Boost nutritional shake to go with his pizza bites. I swear, it’s like he’s a little kid. He doesn’t want vegetables. “I get tired of vegetables all the time,” he says. How can he get sick of veggies if he never eats them? He will rarely eat a salad. He eats garbage. And wonders why he has digestive issues.

Anyway, I shook his shake and loosened the lid, as I always do. He has trouble getting them open sometimes. I always tell him that I opened it for him already. Last night, he forgot. He shook the shit out of it and chocolate shake went all over his lap, and on the carpet. He got up and I couldn’t help but laugh! It was all over him. Good grief.

Today, I reheated the stew from the other night. He said he was fine with that for lunch. I actually got him to eat a small salad, too!! Since I’m still trying to lose weight, I decided to have a salad with my Nutrisystem White Cheddar Mac n Cheese for lunch. I gathered up spoons, forks, napkins, and our food and wheeled it into the living room on my handy lunch trolley. I thought Dad might want seconds, so I put the lid on to keep the stew hot.

After we finished lunch, Dad starts to wheel the dishes back to the kitchen on the trolley. He asked me, “Are you cooking something?” I said, “No,” and before I could say anything else he says, “Did you know you left the burner on the stew?” OMG. What an idiot I am. I got up to see what the damage was. Holy Bon Jovi. I burnt the royal shit out of that stew!!! The veggies and meat were all stuck on the blackened pan bottom…..and absolutely no broth left! How can I be so stupid? Good grief.

I told Dad later, “It’s your turn.” “What?” he asked. I reminded him of his Boost bath last night, and mentioned me burning the stew today. I said, “It’s your turn to screw something up now.” He said with a chuckle, “Yeah, I guess it is my turn!”

It just never fails around here. I think I need to keep notes because every time I turn around one of us has screwed something up. Good grief.

I Can’t Win….

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Today turned out to be a gawd-awful day.

I woke up late this morning. I would have slept longer than 9:30 if Dad didn’t wake me up. We have a sort of pact between us that if he isn’t up by a certain time in the mornings then I check on him. If I’m not up by a certain time, then he checks on me. Dad is 80 and I have health issues so we check on each other.

I’m usually up by 8:00 and he’s up by 9:00. It was 9:30 when Dad came to check on me. He asked through the crack in the door, “Are you alright?” I didn’t respond the first couple of times. I think he was worried. I was sleeping so hard and comfortably (which is extremely rare) and I just didn’t hear him. When I finally heard him, I responded. I was groggy and a bit confused. Sometimes when I sleep really hard (mostly from a nap) I wake up confused and I don’t even know what time of day it is! After sitting on the edge of the bed for a bit, I regained my senses. I never sleep this late!

I was pleasantly surprised that my pain level was at an all time low. I felt pretty good for a change! I cleaned the bathroom, washed the bath towels, bath curtain, and bath rug. I washed the dishes. I had planned on making a pot of homemade stew. I fed the cats and took the meat out of the freezer. I decided to wait until dinner to make the stew and we had chicken strips and fries for lunch. Simple, because I still have issues standing in the kitchen, regardless of how low my pain level is.

So, there I was…..getting our plates ready and I turned just right (actually wrong) and that’s all she wrote. I had this unforgiving pain in my lower back. I was miserable. I rubbed a GOB of pain relief cream on my back and then ate my lunch. The pain was horrendous….as if I need more freaking pain in my life!

I don’t know what happened, but walking, bending, sitting, standing…..all became so painful I wanted to scream. I even cried. I put an ice cold gel pack on my back for about 10 minutes and then switched to the heating pad. I alternated cold and heat for about an hour. Then I decided to go lay down for a bit to see if I could relax it away.

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I got up to go to my room and the pain was so bad that I was pulling to the left. I started laughing, which hurt sooo terribly bad, but it was like that lame shopping cart you get stuck with that constantly pulls to the left or to the right. It was funny as heck, but not when I laughed. Haha.

The relaxation idea actually helped a little. When I got up, I made the pot of stew, which I almost burned starting with the meat. Good grief. I can’t seem to do anything right anymore. Except drive. I think driving is the only thing I can do competently anymore.

The stew was good, minus the carrots. I despise cooked carrots. I’ll let Dad do the dishes, as he usually does. He says it’s his job. I don’t argue.

I decided to write a little and get my mind off of my pain, but look what I decided to write about. Go figure.