Ah...
And on the feedback... breaking the kids' toys is taking it out on them, which is inappropriate. They don't need to suffer in this; it's not their fault. Cerek, I may try your approach on it -- put it in my car and save me the extra walking. Work with me or against me, your choice. And John D, if there were thought that went into her gifts, it would be different. There is none, and there never has been. At least, not that I can see. If it were "oh, he likes Thomas the Tank Engine. I'll buy him one", that would be one thing. It's more along the lines of "you got this because it was cheap and in clearance. Hope you can find a use for it. And pat me on the back, too -- I got it for 90% off with my senior discount." F the senior discount....
Usually I can let it flow off my back more easily. This week I've come down with something, and I have much less tolerance than usual.
'Course, she just raised the ante.
We just picked up part of her Christmas gift (new wheelcovers for her car, so we were driving her car) and were heading home. She asked where we were going, and I told her. She said that she wanted to get gas, but she could do that later. I said we could stop at the gas station near the house and get some there.
We get there. We stop. She sits there and does nothing. I mean, no effort to get out to put in gas, no effort to get out a credit card to give me to stick in the machine... nothing. As if I'm supposed to serve the queen and be gracious of the opportunity.
Fine. I gas up the car, pick up the gas cap from where it fell when I tossed it toward the car, and get in. Then she does manage to thank me for the gas.
What thank? I'm being manipulated into corners. I see it coming, and it's getting to the point where the only way I'm going to start getting out of this stuff is to blow up. And that's something my kids don't need to see me do -- not that emotions are bad, but when I get as pi$$ed as I feel (and I mean that in the American way, not the Aussie way [img]smile.gif[/img] ), I know just what buttons to push, strings to pull, and parts to slice to make the other person feel like leftover cow dung. My kids don't need to see or hear me do that to their grandmother. I grew up with divorced parents, and one thing I learned was to keep the kids out of the problem. Keep it between the involved parties.
And now I'm down here in the office (on my day off), doing work because it's more peaceful. And she wants me to call my aunt to see what time we're going over there today. I don't know and I don't !$%!#$^% care!
*huff*
And she wonders why I rarely visit... nothing ever changes. It hasn't for the last 37 years, and I don't anticipate it changing soon.
At least she's got my brother, the "good son". It works for me... now, if he'd only get some children so he can be on the receiving side of this crap.
I'll probably be grabbing down a brew or two. Or more likely, some foofoo mixed drink. Maybe with a parasol... and a pineapple...
