Back to Bed

I have the day off.  This isn’t like yesterday, Anzac Day, where everyone had the day off.  I decided that I’d take an additional two ADOs (another day off), giving myself a five-day weekend.  Yesterday was spent cleaning; today is for relaxing.

The first task in relaxing came in the form of sailing out to the washing line to hang washing.  It’s been raining for days on end so I’ve been able to get nothing dry.  Yesterday I had to drag a whole lot of stuff back into the house and spin-dry them so I could put them into the dryer.  Today looks like I can at least air towels prior to throwing them in the dryer.

Instead, the pile of towels remains in a basket in the garage.  I got to the line, put my hand in the peg bucket and withdrew two pegs and a bee.  So relaxing has gone quickly out of the window.  I’m anaphylactic.  In short, I’m allergic… To everything. 

The last time I was stung by a bee I had this weird swelling combination.  My knees blew up like balloons (at least it made my calves look slim); my fingers swelled up like polish sausages…  Not the hands, just the fingers, which trust me, is not attractive; and my lips, already quite full, would have put Mick Jagger to shame.

I can feel my finger puffing as I type.  Oh well, looks like the dryer is getting a work out today after all. 

The mound of washing I have is endless…  The Girl from my side is here with us at the moment.  Her life had been unraveling for a while, and last week she decided it was time to get it reraveled.  In reality, only she can change the trajectory of her life, but it doesn’t hurt to call mum and say, “I need help…”  Hell, in the scheme of things I’m glad that as a parent, she felt that she could call me and talk about the worst of it.

So the week has consisted off planning and phone calls and organization, dotted with discussion on moving forward.  None of it pretty, but a necessity.  I am at least seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, but she can’t move back to her place until I know that she will be okay.

You may figure this is easy, given that it is my kid… 

Let me put it this way; she is a young adult, not a surly kid.  She is also mine, which tends to make me like her more.  But in her depression, neatness seems to have flown out the window.  I am now on just over a week without the bed in the spare room being made.  Don’t think I haven’t mentioned this, or nagged, or ordered.  I have.  But it has fallen on deaf ears.

Okay, she gets a little grace, given the state of her life; but when she get’s home later today, she will find the Bed Fairy story I wrote and left on the kid’s pillow when he started out coming here.

And speaking of the kid, this weekend he is here.  What fun.  There will be four of us.  No idea how that is going to work.  Having said that, it will be good for me.  Why?  Because the Squeeze hasn’t said a peep about the girl being here; not one word.  Granted, he couldn’t care less if this place turned into “clean freak hell”, but still…  Maybe I just need to “suck it up” more.