So I did something I maybe shouldn't have.  But then again, I don't like being disrespected the way I have since 2013 when my crazy ass cousins started this entire thing off.  If you haven't read about this before on my blog, my cousin's daughter read an anonymous blog post (well, two) I posted (how she got a hold of it, I have no idea) about the abuse I endured as a child.  And instead of feeling bad for me, she showed it to my entire family, who haven't spoken to me since.  All because I accused them of standing idly by and letting it happen, which they did.  Truth hurts, eh?

Let me tell you, if someone accused me of that?  I would feel horribly guilty and would apologize profusely to the family member and would try to make things right with them.  Granted, I won't let someone play the victim forever, playing games like "Oh, you owe me!".  But I certainly would not get angry at them for bringing it up in the first place.  All I got from my entire family was flat out vitriol.  Which is how you know you're dealing with narcissists.  Because it's all about them.  Always is.  "Oh, you were abused?  But what about meeeee??"

Anyways, that little...um...sweetheart is getting married.  Whoopty-doo.  And she sent my mother an invite to her wedding.  The funniest part is that the invite was only addressed to her, even though we all live in the same house.  No "and family" on any of it.  The even funnier part was that it was sent a month after guests are supposed to RSVP.  Um, okay.  Why send it at all then?  And a week later, she sent an invite to her wedding shower.  Again, only addressed to my mother.  Dat bitch can't drive!  Which they all know.   So this is a clear message to me:  "Let me slap you in the face".  Granted, I'd never go in a million years, but to send the invite to the house I live in and not include me, even though I am family, is just douchey.  But think about it for a moment.  She knew damn well my mother could not go.  What was her ulterior motive?  Hmmm...

And so what, I'm supposed to drive my mother there and not attend?  Um, yeah, that's so not happening.  But then it dawned on me: all that little cunterson wants is money, which is the only reason she sent an invite to both things.  

So, I went out and bought my cousin's shitty little daughter a wedding card for a dollar from the Dollar Tree, with a bride and groom standing on top of a cake grabbing each other's asses.  Inside it read "Get it while you still can!" or something of the sort (I can't actually remember, but it was silly and tad vulgar, which I can only hope offends them).  And I wrote "CONGRATS!" inside at the top, and signed my mother's name first, then mine, and my hubby's, and kids' names.  Take that, cunterson!  You're going to diss me in my own house?  So you'll get a nice card, with a nice sentiment, but fuck if we're sending your ass any money, which is the only reason you sent the invites to begin with (they live hundreds of miles away!).  Ha!  And to let you know a) I'm in charge of this shit, not my mother, and b) you can't pretend like I don't exist.  Then again, I hope she keeps pretending like I don't exist, because I want nothing to do with any of these idiots.  I just want them to leave my mother alone, too.  Fucking vultures.  They all got my mother, who has dementia, to sign her life insurance money over to them while I was no contact with her.  But the jokes on you guys!  Haha fuckers!  She let it lapse and there's no money at all now!!  Wheeeeee!  

When we moved in here together in 2020, my girl cousins (one is the mother of the person I am talking about here) sent my mother housewarming gifts.  Nothing for us (me, my hubby and kids), which again, who cares.  But still, it's a total dismissal of the fact we live here and are taking care of my mother, just as I helped out with their father every single day when he had dementia whilst they ignored him.  So they can fuck right off to fucking town thinking they are better than me.  You got your card, little girl.  Now leave us alone.  I hope my card sends that message to her and the entire family.  Do not hit us up for money, because there is zero way you're going to get any.  

When I was helping taking care of their father?  My mother had dementia herself and was fucking up his meds.  So I had to keep making sure it was getting done right.  I even went to his doctor to tell her what was going on, because my cousins could not give two shits, just as long as someone else was doing their job for them.  My mother was paying his bills, too.  And buying his groceries and paying his goddammed rent.  And we did everything for him.  And what did my cousins do?  Nada.  Nothing.  Zero.  They took my mother out to dinner twice.  That was it.  No thank yous.  Nothing.  And they think I'm the bad guy here.  Because I posted two anonymous blog posts (one was about my grandparents, and how I took care of them and they never helped, not once--EVEN THOUGH MY FATHER WAS DYING, and the other was about my childhood abuse that they all let me rot in).  And because I went no contact for a bit with her and they had to drive her a few places.  Oh wow.  I mean, I spent every single day with their father watching him deteriorate from dementia and they were nowhere to be seen for years.  And now they had to drive my mom a few places and they were the ones put out?  Geezus fucking christ, talk about some martyrs.  They once told my mother not to play the martyr.  Yet, they are worse!

So, hopefully in a few months, my memoirs will start coming out.  I've written four so far (in a year!).  All around 300 printed pages each.  And I'm writing more as we speak.  And I do not feel bad about it.  All of these horrible people deserve the truth to be told.  I mean I get they aren't 100% horrible.  They used to be little kids with hopes and dreams and abuse of their own they endured.  We all did in our family.  But so what?  I didn't grow up to be a cunt (well, not like they are) due to me being abused.  I didn't become a narcissist because of it.  I am kind and caring and helpful (and so very sweary).  But I also don't take shit from shitty people.  Which is why shitty narcissists do not like me.  Oh well.  Like Anne Lamont said, if you didn't want to be written about, you should have behaved better.  

Fucking narcissists.  Sigh.    

Three years ago my mother sat me down after coming back from Fartknocker, MO, where my family became homeless and was forced to move back in with my mother after being no-contact for a year and around five months.  It was not what we wanted for our lives.  My plan was to never have anything to do with her again.  And by that point, I was finally getting my shit together, mentally and emotionally, finally detoxed from all her shit.  But back the lions den we were thrown, because the only other alternative was to separate our whole family, including our pets.  There was ZERO way I was going to do that, so above my mother's apartment we went.  

So on this day, after we moved in on the 19th or so, my mother sat me down and tried to have a "talk" with us.  Which meant she was going to accuse us of all sorts of shit, including her telling me "You are the reason your father drank so much.  You're the reason he was abusive.  He had to work all those long hours and then come home and deal with you, a terrible teenager."  I scoffed.  Up until that moment, I had to sit there and let my stomach tie into knots, and say nothing, because she held our freedom in her hands.  We had no jobs, no car, no furniture, no clothing, no bedding, nothing.  And the only option we had to do anything was to let her drive us places.  Luckily, my hubby got a job really quickly, but at the same time, it wasn't lucky, because we had no car (ours had broke down in Buttstank, MO).  But it was lucky because it gave us money that we so desperately needed.  But up until that moment, I couldn't say a word about anything to her because she held our fate in her hands.  If she decided she would not drive my husband to work?  He would not work.  If she decided to get her landlord to throw us out?  We'd be homeless.  We had nothing.  We had nowhere to go.  And we had nobody else to help us.  And my mother knew this.

So she felt perfectly safe in accusing me of causing my father's alcoholism.  Except for the fact he had been one since before I was born.  I said to her "Oh?  You're going to accuse me of being the cause of his drinking?  What about when I was three and he called me 'that little bitch in the other room'?  What then?  What was I doing at three years old to make him drink so much?"  

And of course, in true Warden (her nickname--see also: Seahag) fashion, she said "That never happened!!!"  How can one person be so fucking stupid that they can pretend things never happened that so clearly did?  How can one person be so fucking stupid that they think that we will buy this bullshit that they say?  

I deal with that every single day with her.  There is always something she's lying about or being stupid about.  Today she decided to take my cup that I use for water with my heating pad (I have a sock filled with rice and tied shut, and then I put another sock over it the other direction that I use for a heating pad--it works just as well as the ones you buy--the second sock keeps the first one clean, so you only have to wash the outside one).  I put the water in the microwave with it (because with rice you'll burn it if you don't--plus you want moist heat for muscles), along with spritzing the whole thing with water, and heat for six minutes.  I have chronic pain due to migraines, cervicogenic headaches, and POTS.  And I use my heating pad almost daily.  And I have a special cup I use for the water.  My great-aunty Lutefisk (she's in my memoirs, which hopefully will come out soon) used to paint ceramics and this cup is one she painted.  It's a bit ugly (though she was an amazing artist), and a tiny cup (compared today's coffee cups), and I've had it for years, and have always used it for this.  Nobody want to drink out of it, as it's so small, so it's the perfect cup to use for my heating pad.

Today I went to warm up my heating pad and the cup was missing.  I keep it on top of the microwave with my squirt bottle.  And I finally found it on the counter, filled with vinegar.  I can't stand the smell of vinegar (I am very sensitive to smells which aggravate my sinuses) and I said to my mother, who was in her room, "Please do not put vinegar in my cup.  I need to use it and now it's going to stink up the entire microwave!  I have to wash the crap out of it, but it's still going to smell.  Please do not put vinegar in my stuff."  She said "Your aunt made that cup, I want to keep it!  Use it something else!"  Ugh.  I said "That cup is mine and has been for over ten years, please do not put vinegar in my stuff.  I need to use my cup right this very moment and now I'm stuck washing it out."  She says "Well, I don't want it to get ruined!"  I said very plainly "Do not put vinegar in my stuff.  And if you clean out your coffee maker, do it while I am sleeping so I don't smell it, please.  You know I am sensitive to smells like that.  I've told you that since last year."  She got mad and said "FINE!"  The fact that she wanted to steal my cup for whatever reason and have say-so over how it's used is not okay.  It's MY cup, not hers.  And this doesn't qualify as a lie, but it does qualify as being combative, which is what she was doing three years ago when she said that to me.  She wanted to try to hurt me, make me feel guilty for something that wasn't my fault, and it didn't work.  It doesn't help her agenda when the person she's guilting or being combative to thinks she's a moron.  Not much she can say is hurtful anymore.  Stealing my stuff though?  That angers me.  Ever since we moved in here, I've had to hide all my shit from her, because she steals it or hides it from me (which is the same as stealing).  I even have to have a 2nd dresser in my room to hold all my bathroom supplies (even cleaning supplies) because she will steal it from me.  

Yesterday, I found bottles in the recycling bin with the lids on.  I've told her many, many years ago that the plastic lids on bottles are not recyclable.  So she's been following my advice for years on this.  But I found this bunch in the bin with lids on, so I talked to her about it, and she made excuses, saying I told her to the keep the lids on.  I said "No I did not.  Never once have I said that to you.  There are no plastic lids that are recyclable."  She said "You even brought home bottles that said on the bottle to keep the lids on!"  I said "I think you are mistaken" (and I meant crazy, she's fucking batshit looney with the shit she says sometimes) "there is no such thing as a water bottle that says 'keep the lid on'.  That makes no sense."  She said "Yes you did!  I think they were from Aldi or something."  Sigh.  She loves to lie when she feels like you're accusing her of something.  I then said "Mother, I am not accusing you of leaving the lids on.  Rick and Morty did it (my sons).  They were their bottles.  What I am saying is, you insist on taking the recycling out, so your job before you throw them into the bin is to remove the lids.  I think you should just leave it to me.  I also found non-recyclable plastic in there, too.  Just leave it to me and I will go through the bag and pick out what should be in there and what shouldn't.  Okay?  It's important to me and I can't expect everyone to follow those rules.  So I will just do it."  I am not sure if she agreed or not, but I hope she'll just leave it for me to do from now on, as she's always throwing in random shit that doesn't belong in there.  Then she lies about some story that her friend was collecting bottle caps because they aren't recyclable, and they were going to recycle them themselves.  I told her that melting down plastic is toxic and that's probably the dumbest thing they could do.  And the I asked if she meant they were recycling cans, which makes way more sense, because my kids have a forge they can use with aluminum.  She said no, they melted down the caps to make a chair or a table or something.  I said "Um, okay."  I do know that people iron plastic, but melting it down to make a chair sounds like something she made up.  Who knows, though. (My hubby looked it up just now and saw I guess people do this...so maybe that really happened? LOL)

The day before that, she made a comment about me being barefoot.  AGAIN.  Like always.  I said "You make a comment about me being barefoot every single time I don't have shoes on.  I am in the house, mom, what does it freaking matter?"  She said "Well, ever since my doctor told me that you should never go barefoot, I guess I am just looking out for you."  I giggled.  I said "Your diabetes doctor told you that, because you have diabetes.  Because you don't have as much feeling in your feet.  That's why.  Not anyone else."  She said "Well, that's true.  But before that, I guess it never really bothered me.  I'd go barefoot all the time."  I said "No you did not.  You have never been barefoot in my life.  I have never once saw you without shoes on, unless you were showing me your foot or swimming.  And you haven't swam since I was like ten."  She said "No, I used to go barefoot all the time!"  I said "No you didn't.  You can even look at pictures, you always wear shoes.  Like, from the time you wake up and until you go to sleep."  See, she has horrible toenail fungus, ever since I was a kid.  There is no way in hell she'd ever be caught without shoes.  This one was totally made up.  

Whenever she thinks you think she did something wrong, she will make up stories just to get you stop accusing her or so she doesn't have to say sorry or accept responsibility of doing something wrong.  I normally don't say much to her about this stuff, but this week she's been super off and so have I, so I've been a little more vocal about asking her to stop doing things I don't like.  One time I asked her to stop screaming when I had a migraine, so she yelled louder.  Which made me actually yell at her and say "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"  But I never yell at her unless I absolutely have to, which is very seldom.  Now when I have migraines, I don't leave my room so she won't see me in pain and try to make it worse (which she always does).  

But we've come a long way since 2018.  Not with her (though a little with her).  But in our lives in general.  Now we make more money than she does and she has zero control over our lives.  Just now she asked me to eat some soup for dinner that I bought the other day.  I told her I was making it this weekend for everyone, which is why I bought so many.  She literally got annoyed with me.  Sigh.  Oh well.  I will just hang out in my room with my migraine and let her go be noisy out in the rest of the house.  Fun.  I am just grateful it's not 2018 anymore.  Fucking hell, that was a bad year for us.  I am grateful for where I am on this day three years later.  Because while it's not all unicorns and rainbows, it's nowhere near the amount of putrid shit 2018 was.  Yay for that!  

Well, it's been a quiet week for the most part.  Most of the issues we've had have been just little comments, here and there, always downing everything I do for her.  But also, there was her big day out on Saturday, in which we all brought her to Wal-Mart.  And that was a very annoying day.  But other than that, mostly it's been normal.  

But the little comments never ever stop.  I never realized just how much she complains until I started paying attention.  Today, for instance, I bring home red grapes.  Every time I bring home green grapes, she complains they are not red.  So today I bring home red grapes and she says "Boy, these are small, aren't they?"  I reply from the living room "They are all same size, ma!"  And she laughs.

Yesterday I made her tuna casserole and put it over rice.  She loves tuna casserole.  So I got excited to make it for her for dinner.  I should have known better.  Because every single time I get excited to give her something, she always says something demeaning or covertly (and sometimes outwardly) rude.  Every.  Single.  Time.  Not only when I get excited that I made her something, but also when I get excited I buy her something she loves or always wants.  Which is also what happened at Wal-Mart.  But yesterday she looks down at her plate and says "Oh.  I get a mixture tonight.  Interesting."  I said "Ma, it's tuna casserole."  She says "Oh?  I couldn't tell."  And then she changes her tune and says "But I love tuna casserole!"  

Also, every single time I bring her something to eat from somewhere out of the house anymore she will say "Oh, no chocolate shake?"  Even my kids are getting annoyed with her saying that.  They're like "Grandma, not all meals come with chocolate shakes.  Plus, they're like $3-$4 a shake at least!"  

And that brings us to Wal-Mart.  So mother has been asking to go buy new shoes, new jeans, and whatever else was on her list.  So I said we'll get it all done in one place: The Almighty Wal-Mart.  She then took it upon herself to decide we were going to Famous Footwear to get her shoes.  We always go to Shoe Carnival, because we money off after spending so much there.  I mean, we've gone there for at least ten years.  And this time, she decided we were going to Famous Footwear.  Like hell we were.  I said "Wal-Mart first, if no shoes work, then we go to Shoe Carnival.  Period."  She did not like that, but oh well.  I am the parent here.  I decide.  Yes, if WM had nothing for her, and then SC had nothing, of course I'd take her to FF, but we weren't starting with that.  My mother likes to call the shots.  And for my entire life, I've let her.  No more.  FF made no sense to go to first, so it wasn't like I was trying to be controlling or anything.  

Anyways, we went to Wal-Mart.  And my list was bigger than hers, so I said "Okay, who's going with Grandma?  She needs someone with a phone.  I need to get the stuff on my life.  If we all go together, this will take a billion times longer."  And my hubby said "I'll take your mom."  That poor man.  He didn't have to.  My son is very equipped to deal with her and she doesn't bother him the way she bothers us.  And he's her favorite, so she's nicer to him.  But alas, my hubby was taking one for the team.  

Can I just tell you how much I fucking hate Wal-Mart on a Saturday?  Good grief.  So I had to make sure we got out of there in a good amount of time.  So my son and I went off to find the stuff on my life and my poor hubby kept calling me.  "Shay, your mom is pissed.  There is plus size section."  I laughed.  "Yes, there is.  There is a sign."  He replied "Yes, but she can't find it and when we asked where it is, the lady sent us to the wrong place."  So I had to quit what I was doing and I found the section immediately and texted him and said "I am in front of register two.  There is a HUGE sign that reads plus sized women's clothing."  He found me and my mother look around with a shitty face and exclaimed "I HAVE ALREADY LOOKED THROUGH ALL OF THIS!  THERE ARE NO PLUS SIZED CLOTHING!"  Sigh.  I gestured to all the clothes.  "These are all plus-sized clothing, ma.  I don't know what to tell you."  Then we left again to go finish finding what was on my list.  

I get another call.  "Your mom is super huffy and being a jerk to the people that work here.  She's mad and refuses to go look for shoes."  Geezus fucking christ.  "I'll meet you by the shoes," I responded.  I found them and pulled her down an aisle and she literally wandered off without a fucking phone.  So went spent time looking for her and finally wrangled her back to the shoe section.  And guess what?  No god damned seats to try shoes on.  But she found two pairs.  And her cart was filled with random crap, which was fine.  She has her own money to spend.  She asked me "How much money do I have?"  So I told her.  And she said "What if what I buy goes over that amount?"  Sigh.  She had almost $200.  There is ZERO reason to go over that amount of a money as someone with her type of life.  She doesn't buy groceries.  She doesn't buy cleaning supplies.  She only buys what she wants.  So I said "Then you'll have to put something back, won't you?"  Then she stomped her feet and looked at the ground and put on her pouty face and said "I guess so."  

Then we left to go finish my list, and we all met up by the cash registers.  She saw I had apple cider donuts and said "Oh you got some too!"  I said "No, I didn't" and put them back.  There was no reason for us both to buy them, we're 5 people, not twenty.  So I let her buy them.  But she kept saying (demanding) that I keep mine.  Over and over until I said "We only need two each, NO MORE than that, mother" pretty forcefully.  Then she shut up about it. 

I didn't look in her cart.  I should have, but I didn't.  Because she also bought pies and about $50 worth of fucking candy.  And ask me if I've seen that candy since she's gotten home?  I have not.  Growing up, my father and I were shamed for our love of sweets by her.  Mother was all high and mighty on her high and mighty horse who never ate sweets.  Now the seahag can't stop shoveling it into her mouth (which is why she's not allowed to go to grocery stores).  She also bought disinfectant, even though we have some at home, except she's not allowed to use it (she sprays things that should not be sprayed and stinks up the house--I am VERY sensitive to cleaners).  Apparently she also tried to goad my hubby into picking a cleaner that wouldn't bother me, and he kept saying "Don't buy any!  They all bother her!  That's why she makes her own!"  But she refused to listen and behind my hubby's back, stuck some lemon-scented antibacterial spray in her cart.  Which is now in my room.  

I showed her "Look, I found you a box of oatmeal!"  I was happy that I found her something she loves.  And then she picked her her box of oatmeal and ignored what I bought and her screamed in glee "LOOK!  I FOUND APPLE CINNAMON OATMEAL!"  I said "Yes, you like that.  I am glad you found some.  The box I got has your three favorites, apple cinnamon, cinnamon, and maple."  She ignored me again and screamed "YES BUT DID YOU SEE MINE??  IT'S JUST APPLES!  YUM!"  Now, may sound her dementia, but it's really not.  She's always like this.  She gets super excited over strange stuff and she always does that to me.  What I do is below what she does.  All she had to say was "Oh, thank you, I got some too."  But instead, she makes a huge deal over her little thing so my little thing looks like nothing compared to hers.  It's just a box of fucking oatmeal.  She gets apple cinnamon all the time.  But it's a big deal because I got her oatmeal, too.  It's so fucking silly, but at the same time, it's demeaning and hurtful.  But I just threw my box into her cart and went about my business.  She used to do that if I bought something when I was alone at the store and I'd come over to her house and tell her what I found.  She'd then pull out something she found at the store, ignoring my words, and would act exactly the same as above.  It's all game to her.  Who found the best stuff.  Who's right about the weather.  Who's whatever whatever.  She has to one up you, even if it means she'll lie.  It's a fucking game I no longer want to play.  

By the time we came home, my hubby was going out of his mind with aggravation because she drove him fucking nuts the entire time.  I felt so bad for him.  But now we've made a new rule in the house: she's not allowed to go to the stores anymore, PERIOD.  She can go to resale shops.  That's it.  No more Walgreens.  No more Wal-Mart.  No more dollar store.  NOTHING.  She fights everyone on everything (us and the people that work there), is embarrassing and rude, and that is now coming to an end.  No more.  

Feels good to know I don't have to drag her around to stores anymore.  If she wants shoes? I will take her to get those.  But clothes and everything else?  I will buy her online.  And we'll go to resale shops, that's fine.  Once a month when she gets paid.  If even she wants to go.  

I stopped letting her to go to grocery stores back when the pandemic started.  And since then, I told her she's not allowed to go there again, since I am in charge of the groceries and all the cooking.  There is never a reason she needs to go there.  Not since the last time when I spent $200 at the grocery store, and she went out and spent $200 at the same store, and literally bought everything I just bought.  Again, not dementia, she just wanted control of the food (which is something else she does--she buys food and doesn't let anyone have any of it unless she says they can).  So she hasn't gone since.  She's not asked to go either.  Thank goodness.  

The other issue is: her dementia is getting worse.  Almost every single day.  And I think she couldn't find clothes in the plus-sized section because her dementia wasn't letting her understand what she was seeing.  Also, her dementia is making her more agitated.  Which is a very bad thing.  My mother is an angry person.  Deep down, under her fake persona, she's pissed, like all the time.  And always has been since I've been a kid.  And she used to take it out on people by controlling them, hitting them, berating them, and just being an all around jerk.  But see, she can't be a jerk to me, or my family, now.  As we hold all the keys to her freedom.  So her anger just simmers under the surface, waiting to come out in certain situations, like in public, or on days we do things.  And I am scared knowing that soon, it will start manifesting at home (again) and she will start hitting people or getting agitated thinking she can do things she can't (like when she had a MELTDOWN outside of her food doctor's office, thinking she could climb a curb after foot surgery).  Which is why I need precautions put in place soon (like a lock on the basement door, etc.).  So not letting her go to stores that confuse her is a good thing.  Especially not ones she could get lost in, as she almost did at Wal-Mart on Saturday.  And not ones that will agitate her and make her worse. 

Even though she's been raving ever since "OH MY GOD!  IT WAS SO FUN GOING TO THE STORE!"  But also adding in whenever I say "Well, Saturdays are too busy there" she'll say "Well, it's not like I even noticed because I never get to go anywhere!"  And she's right.  I don't take her out much.  But she's always wobbly and total fall risk, or she's in horrible amounts of pain (she has another foot doctor appointment next week), or she's tired.  And most of the time she spends all her monthly money on cigarettes or stuff online, so she doesn't have money to spend out of the house.  Which is good thing, because I really hate taking her places.  She's utterly embarrassing by fat shaming people loudly or talking about black women's hair or something else.  It's not fun for anyone, except apparently her.  

Winter is coming.  Say sayeth Ned Stark.  And that means mother will be in the house more often and will get more stir crazy.  And I have no idea how to entertain her.  I am afraid she will ask to go to the store more often.  But I think I'll stock up on tons of books for her (I bought her two more today), and make sure her Netflix and other streaming services are working in her room (though now she forgets how to pick her profile and just uses mine--so much fun to turn on my streaming service and see tons of old 1950's shows mucking up my "Continue Watching" LOL--though I don't honestly care, at least she's still using it).  And I think I'll also figure out how to create an outdoor place for her to sit and smoke in the cold, that will keep her warm (otherwise she just stands on the porch--luckily I finally got her railings done so she doesn't fall).  

Yeah, so that's this week in Narcissistic Adventures.  I am sure there is more.  But you get the gist.  Same shit.  Different week.  As always.

Today I made a sandwich.  And all I could think about while doing so is when the time when my mother's deceased husband (who was alive at the time) picked on me because I made a single piece of bread with peanut butter on it when I showed up for my work.  See, I used to work for my uncle, who lived downstairs from my mother.  She would pick me up every day, and when she got a boyfriend (they weren't married at the time yet), all of a sudden, I was a nuisance.  I kept hearing his voice as I made my sandwich "Don't you ever eat at home??!"  Like, what I was taking from her was greedy, or selfish, even though it was just a small piece of peanut butter on a single piece of bread.  Back then, my anxiety was through the roof because my ex had taken me to court to put my kids in school (as they had been homeschooled up until that point).  I was alone all day, and the only thing keeping my sanity together was leaving the house to work for my uncle.  When I didn't, I would collapse into a pile of despair and sleep as much as I could.  I was also verging on being suicidal, due to how bad it got.  Not like making a plan or anything, but I wanted no not wake up from one of my many naps, so I didn't have to feel that way anymore.  

And all my mother did was scream, yell, and complain she had to drive me every single day, as though she had anything else to do.  

It was all over him.  Because she wanted to maximize her time with him, even though he could come over afterwards and soon after, he moved in with her.  She would yell at scream about me to him in front of me.  And I would just sit there, trying to breathe, because it was all I could do.  

I couldn't stop hearing his voice today.  And I had to keep reminding myself "This is my food. I paid for it.  I shopped for it.  I cook it.  It's fucking mine.  Nobody has a right to tell me I cannot my fucking food."  Because it's not just his voice I heard, it's also hers.  When we first moved in, I treated this house like mine.  I did what I wanted, where I wanted, like a normal person.  But my mother, little by little,  cattled me into my room.  Meaning, I had to stop doing stuff outside of my bedroom if I wanted to get anything done.  On top of that, if I made food for lunch in front of her, she always had a comment for me.  "Oh, you're going to eat now?"  "Oh, that's a big salad, geez!"  "Oh, you're making something to eat?  Make me one too!"  "Oh, you're eating again?"  "Geezus, you're going to eat now?  That's crazy!  No thank you!" (it was noon, normal lunch time for most of the world).  Last year, she even had to nerve to tell me I was fat...though that part was more than likely her dementia (but then again, who knows).  She's always saying something to me, and my oldest son, to shame us for wanting to eat.  She shames him for eating too quickly or how much he eats.  Or just eating anything at all.  And it wasn't like we ate all the time or massive amounts.  We eat like normal people.  But she has her scapegoats (my oldest son and me) and apparently us ever wanting to eat at all was just too much.  And it was getting out of control.  

Then she went away for a few months to rehab, and when she came home, her mind wasn't the same.  So, we stopped eating around her.  All of us.  I make her dinner first, around 5:30pm.  And she eats alone.  Because if she doesn't?  She will nitpick every little thing everyone does at the table.  How much we're eating.  How much we're not eating.  Though that's been getting better, too, since we've stopped eating with her.  

But during the day?  I have to sneak out of my room to get food before she sees me.  Why?  Because I don't want to hear her comments on my food.  And I don't want her to ask me to "make one for her", as she knows perfectly well how to make her own lunches.  I could just not care and tell her to shut the fuck up if she says something stupid.  And I probably should.  But it's a huge issue with me.  Eating around her.  Before she went to rehab, I was getting to the point I was going to stop eating dinner with my entire family at all.  All of my food anxiety was coming back, something plagued me for over thirty years that I finally got rid of.  But now, living back with her?  It's all coming back.  And it's not fucking fair.  But thank goodness my hubby works nights and the rest of us eat later, because that changed the dynamic so we don't have to eat with her at all.

But as for sneaking lunches?  I really need to stand my ground about it.  And not care.  But easier said than done.  I would much prefer to not have my food anxiety and be able to eat my lunch without a stomachache.  Sounds stupid, I know.  But I guess it works.  Kind of.  

As for hearing his stupid voice again?  Like I said: I bought the food.  I picked out the food.  I made the food.  Nobody can tell me, not even in my own head, I can't eat the food.  

If she'd just stop making constant comments on every fucking little thing.  "Oh, I bet your feet are cold!" or "I like your shoes!" (both said if I am barefoot).  "Oh, I like your shirt!  It's so bright and loud!  I could find you in a crowd if you were wearing it!" (she said this today to me, actually). "Oh look, it's a party now!" (said every single morning when I let the dogs out).  Every thing a person wears, looks like, is doing, etc. HAS to be commented on by her.  Every.  Little.  Thing.  I think I will just say "Oh wow, this is fun.  Captain Obvious is back again!" until she shuts up.  Or "Thanks for pointing out, ONCE AGAIN I am not wearing any shoes.  So much fun hearing your comments on every little thing I do."  It will piss her off.  But it will piss her enough to get her to stop.  

Maybe.  

Anyways, I ate my ham and cheese sandwich in peace in my room while watching "On Becoming a God in Central Florida".  Which is funny, because I had just watched LuLaRich on Netflix, which is a documentary about the stupidity and horribleness of pyramid schemes.  I am assuming the other show is making fun of Amway.  Which I didn't even know when I started watching it.  Funny.  Pisses me off that I didn't get in on the LuLaRoe tidal wave back in the day, but then again, I am not a salesperson and I probably would have squandered the money I made (though I know better now).  Oh well.  Money doesn't last, because that's the nature of it.  It's meant to be constantly passed around.  Kind of like my mother's comments.  She just keeps passing them as though they are payment for whatever it is she thinks you did to ruin her life, or something.  

I wish my memories didn't bother me anymore.  I wish I could let go of the hurt they still cause me.  The guilt I feel while making a simple sandwich.  I am forty fucking four.  I can eat any damn time I want to.  Yet I was so scared she'd find me and say "Oh, you're eating now??  At four pm?  You know it's almost dinner time!"  Whey do I care if she says that?  Why do I give a flying fuck?  She's a horrible person and has no idea how to be a human being, much less a mother, so why do I care what she says?  Her judgment of me means nothing.  Yet, I let it mean everything, that I am willing to hide from her just so I can eat.  Geez.  I just want to be able to break free of this mindset.  I just need to do it.  Just go out there, and make food, and who cares who sees me.  And then I need to correct her when she says stupid things.  I don't like standing up for myself.  I don't like being seen as rude.  But why?  Sometimes you need to be a little rude to keep someone else from being ruder to you.  

Ugh.  Well, it's dinner time for her, so I better go make her food.  At least she doesn't knock on my door to remind me to cook for her anymore, as she used to.  Good grief.  

No, that's not him.  That pic is from Unsplash.  Though he is around the right age as he is.

Anyways, good grief.  My birthfather is completely insane.  And I mean that in a loving way.  No I don't.  He's nuts.  And he's one of the biggest narcissists I've ever had the displeasure of knowing.  The funny part is, I had no idea who he was until 2017.  I found him through Ancestry.com, through a family member I was related to.  I always thought he was this one guy, who I even had contact with and kind of liked.  We talked a lot and we both assumed we were father and daughter.  Though he refused to get a DNA test with me.  So I found a relative of his on Ancestry.com, a cousin, and she said "Well, I will do one with you.  I will get a Ancestry DNA test and we'll see if we're related."  She didn't even know me!  And they aren't cheap, so I was so grateful she did that.  But as it turned out, we were not related.

At that point I was in contact with the guy's daughter, someone who he never wanted me to contact.  He had stopped talking to me out of the blue years prior and I said "I'll be damned if I won't get to know my brother and sister!" and found them on Facebook.  Turns out, his daughter had severe codependency on her mother (who is a HUGE narcissist), and his son was an outcast that the family hated (which made me feel for him, because I know what that feels like).  And she refused to give me a DNA test too.  So I wrote to her and said "Look, tell your father not to worry, his cousin did a DNA test and I found we are not related so now he can let this go."  In actuality I was a bit meaner, as I was beyond angry that he was dodging me the way he was.  And I really regret being mean, because a few weeks later, he died.  Yeah, I hope his daughter didn't tell him exactly what I said, that he was "too weak to stand up to his wife to see if he had an actual daughter" or something similar.  He was.  But still.  I didn't want him to die with that thought in his head.  Though I know he already knew it.  Then his wife died.  Geez.  They only got together because of me (long story--but my birthmother being pregnant with me is what got those two together) and now that I was not in the equation, they both died.  Yeah, I know I didn't cause it, but it was very odd timing. 

Anyways, so James Anderson was my father.  That's the name I always knew.  That's the name that was given to me, by both my birthmother and her ex-boyfriend.  Turns out, that wasn't his name at all.  I am not sure if "James" lied or her ex lied or if they all were just crazy mistaken, but it sure led me on a wild goose chase for a long time before finding out his real name.  

The really funny part is that when I found his brother?  He had an alias of "James Anderson", so I am assuming, that "James" and his brother were both using that name for some reason.  And I heard "James" was a dirty cop who stole shit from crime scenes and stored it at my birthmother's ex's house sometimes.  Which I wholeheartedly believe, as he's the type of crazy overt narcissist that reminds me of Donald Trump (not being political here--I am not really into politics, he's just a raging narcissist), but crazier.  After getting to know him, I would go as far to say that he would have most likely let women, uh, do things for him, to get out of speeding tickets.  Because he's a gigantic pervert, too.  

So I found a second cousin on Ancestry.com, he called his mother, he told her everything I knew about him, and she said "Oh yeah, that's my cousin.  That entire side of the family is filled with nothing but fucked-up con-artists."  Hahahaha, if I had only listened to her!  Turns out, she was right.  But that's how I found him.  I then found out his real name and wrote him a letter, he called me and tried to weasel his way into every second of my life and used my cousin and his other daughter to triangulate us all into his web of bullshit.  

He's also batshit insane, and has paranoid personality disorder and every conversation always devolves into one of his crazy rants.  So, after having enough, I stopped talking to him.  And every six months to a year, he will find a way to message me and ask me "I need to know if your mind is to not ever talk to me ever again."  That was his message two days ago.  But it's always variations of the same thing.  

So, I wrote him back, since it's been so long since I have.  Why?  I do not know.  He's horribly narcissistic (as was his con-artist father), and so very crazy.  Now, I am not mental health shaming him here.  If he wasn't narcissistic and didn't do what he did to me and my cousin and his other daughter, I would not call him names about it.  But combining those two things together, he's fucking nuts.  And having contact with him is inviting that crap right back into my life.  

So, my responses are careful.  And I am always really careful to insult him by being honest.  Meaning, I insult him in such a way that it becomes his choice to not speak to me, rather than mine (even though it is mine).  I say something that will piss him off, even though it's the damn truth.  So this time I responded "It's not that I am angry with you.  You're just a lot to handle.  I know you can't help it, but you bring so much drama with you.  I will have contact with you but text only and when you start devolving into your angry drama rants, I will take a break from you."  

See what I mean?  I am providing boundaries, which a narcissist DOES NOT LIKE, but at the same time pointing out the truth, which will also piss him off.  Oh, and he hates texting.  Like, hates it hates it.  So if I say "I will only text you", I know he won't want to talk to me.  And I am being honest.  If he were to obey the boundaries I set down, I would have contact with him.  I would also be honest with him when he says something I do not like, so I know that contact would not last very long.  I could just ignore him, but I feel sort of bad for this crazy old man who lives alone on a plot of land in the middle of the mountains who nobody likes.  So if it satiates whatever his need is for contacting me every once in awhile, sure.  But again, I have boundaries and while I let him TRAMPLE my boundaries before, I will never let him do that again.  And I know because of that, he will have no use for me.  Which is a good thing LOL 

If he gets angry and says something dumb to me (which he most likely will either do that or ignore me) I will say back "I am sorry you feel that way.  Have a good rest of your summer."  If he won't stop texting me, I will block him again for a few weeks.  I won't participate in his drama.  He's mentally ill and horribly narcissistic and doesn't hear or understand a word I say to him, so everything I've texted to him in the past has fallen on deaf ears.  So I don't engage.  

My husband thinks I am crazy for even responding to him.  And I agree.  But at the same time, he was this huge mystery for so much of my life, which I didn't find the answers to for over forty years.  So letting him go after only a few months of knowing him (though that was all it took) feels wrong.  Not that I want a relationship with him.  Not at all.  I just don't know what I want yet.  So I just keep giving him my boundaries, knowing he will not take them, and just let it be.  It's odd and strange, but right now, it works.  

At first, his other daughter and I were in this together, this journey with him.  But now we walk it separately.  She cut off all contact with him and moved far away.  And I have no idea why.  And I will never ask her.  That is her journey.  If she wants contact or doesn't want contact, that's fine.  It's not up to me, nor does it have anything to do with me.  It's better this way, I think.  That way we're not keeping anything from one another, or trying to tell the other person how to have a relationship with him, if we do at all.  I was the one who walked away from her, and at first, I felt bad about it.  But now I know it's for the best.  Her and I are polar opposites.  And I urged her to walk away from him back when we all were speaking, which wasn't right of me.  She deserved to have whatever relationship with him she wanted.  And I had to butt in, which made her pull back.  I know now that it was my own doing that caused a rift between us, but I also know that she is too much like him for me to be able to get along with.  Not that I am blaming her, we don't get to choose what DNA we inherit.  I feel weird, because personality wise, I am nothing like either of my birthparents.  I am more like the personality my own mother portrayed herself to be, even though deep down she really wasn't that way.  Nature vs. nurture.  It's strange to think how much the world around use influences us to be who we are.  But at the same time, sometimes none of it does.  People are so weird.  Being human is so weird.  So complicated and messy and strange.  

But here we are.  Being a weirdo writing blogs on the internet about all the other weirdos in our lives.  Fun.  

If he ever writes back (it's been days now), I will update this and post his reply.  Hopefully it'll be another six months to a year.  But you never know when you're talking to a narc what will happen next LOL  

Narcissists are born horrible gift givers.  It's because they have to do something for someone else, and have no idea how.  Sometimes they do it right, but if they do, it's because they want something in return.  Like accolades or a good gift for themselves later.  But never is it done out of love for you or anyone else.  Sometimes it can be done out of feeling nice to you, which would happen with my mother, but only when you aren't on their shit lists.  Though some narcs, the more severe ones, will give you shitty gifts even if they aren't mad at you.  Because surprise, they are mad at you, you just don't know it.  

Now, it's not my birthday anytime soon, but something popped up in my feed about the worst birthday gifts their mothers have ever bought them.  I laughed at the article, but I also know that it's not actually funny.  Unlike those who have no idea what it's like to live with a narc parent, we know better.  We know that the mean gifts are a manipulation to either piss us off, hurt us, or show us we aren't worthy anything to them.  But it's not just them, it's everyone else, too.  Because if your mom is a narc?  I bet most of your family members or maybe even an ex or two are ones too.  

So, what are some of the worst gifts any of them ever got you?  

Here is a list of mine: 

• This year, my mother told me when my pressure cooker broke that she was going to go buy me a new one for my birthday to replace it.  Sounds nice, right?  Yet we live together.  I cook dinner every single day for my family, which includes her, and I usually use the pressure cooker to do it.  And, she lives on a budget, which I create for her, so if I took it out of "her" money, she'd have hardly any money left.  I was already going out to buy a new one when what she said was "Take it out of my money and say it's from me as your birthday gift!"  Um, okay.  She knows there is no "her money" (besides her budget) and "our money", as we share all our finances.  And it's a kitchen appliance that is used for everyone in the house.  So why would that be my gift?  Yay.  I get an appliance I was going to replace anyways as a birthday gift.  Whoo hoo.  Well, I found one at Family Dollar (of all places) for cheap and it's worked ever since and no, I did not let her give that to me for my birthday.  I'd rather get nothing.  So she went out with my husband and instead bought me a plastic fan.  I do not need a plastic fan, as we use industrial strength metal floor fans in our house (like those meant for shops).  So I returned her plastic fan and instead bought myself a pretty Farmhouse magazine from Better Homes and Gardens.  Now, my mother has dementia.  So I do not really think this one was a "bad" gift, just a funny one.  I feel sort of bad for her since she can't really buy gifts anymore, as she doesn't really know how to work online shopping anymore (when just a year ago, she was the queen of online shopping--which is why she is on a budget).  So like I said, this one doesn't actually count.  I just found it humorous.  
• Last year she bought me a clothesline.  Are we seeing a trend here?  Buying me gifts to do chores with?  Anyways, it's the kind you cement into the ground, in a pole.  It opens like an umbrella.  I did not want one of those.  She was going to buy me a (insert here), which my husband and kids talked her out of, and also told her I do not want a clothesline.  This was right after she was forbidden to go in the basement by her physical therapist, which I enforced.  So she decided if she couldn't do laundry, then I was going to have to truck all that wet crap upstairs to hang outside.  Or more so, she wanted one, because she had one at our old house where I grew up, and she was trying to recreate her life here (she actually said to me about it).  But instead of buying one for herself for her birthday, which was the week before, she decided to buy it for me, mostly because I wouldn't let her do laundry anymore (she's a HUGE fall risk and cannot go downstairs).  So I found out about before my birthday and acted grateful and just never put it up.  She bugged me about it for a bit, but then forgot about it and it's been in my garage ever since.  I will use it eventually, though, when we have our own land.  So I guess it's actually not a bad gift, per say, just bought for the wrong reasons.  
• This gift wasn't mine, it was my hubby's.  In 2013, after she went no contact with me for few weeks but then blamed me and said I was the one who stopped speaking to her, Christmas came and she decided to use gift time as a way to tell us what she really thought of us.  She splurged on my youngest son, spending well over $100 on him (he's her favorite and still is), and bought my oldest son a $8 RC car.  He was sixteen and too old for toy cars.  And then she bought me a $100 Ninja blender and bought my hubby a $1 box of chocolate covered cherries from the dollar store.  Um yeah.  That Christmas was fucked.  I didn't use that blender for almost a year because I was so angry about it.  I also returned all my kids' gifts to the store and gave them the money to split in half and buy whatever they wanted (my youngest didn't care because a) the gifts were too young for him, too and b) he felt bad for his brother).  My oldest son was almost crying that Christmas while his brother opened a ton of gifts and he just opened one that was a junky toy.  All while my mother smirked.  Geezus.  That was pretty damn mean.
• One time my ex-husband forgot my birthday for the second year in a row and went out with his father and bought a car without telling me.  And then he brought it home and I said "What in the fuck is this?"  I was so angry he went without me and without even telling me.  A few days later someone reminded him it was my birthday and then he changed his tune and said "Don't you realize I bought it for your birthday??"  I never laughed so hard at a blatant lie.  Anyways, when it came time for his father many years later to want to get out of being the cosigner for the car, they said my ex-husband's aunt would buy it and we'd pay her.  And I said "Go ahead, it's not in my name and will never be in my name, so why do I care who pays for it??"  They were all so angry with me but I, again, never laughed so hard.  I wasn't getting stuck with a debt I didn't ask for.  You make stupid choices, you win stupid prizes.  
• My birthmother (the one who gave actual birth to me) never remembers my birthdays.  She will get on a kick of of sending cards or gifts for several years, and then just quit.  Only to start again later, out of the blue.  It's confusing and stupid.  For my fortieth birthday, she completely forgot.  And then the next year, she sent me a handmade card that you could tell was copied from a real card.  It wasn't personal at all, just something she sent because she felt she had to.  It felt like it was sent out of obligation, rather than actually caring she missed my fortieth.  I've given up on having a real relationship with her.  She's incapable of being normal, just like my mother.  It's so aggravating knowing that even if I hadn't been adopted, I'd have been living with narcissists.  Same story, different people.  Ugh.  
• In 2006, my mother physically assaulted me for my birthday.  She hit me because she was drunk and didn't like that I screamed "SHUT UP!  STOP IT!" as I loaded the dishwasher when she was going on one of her rants at the dinner table about me "being a pervert" because I co-slept with my kids, who were three and seven at the time.  I hit her right back, because I'll be damned if she was going to get away with hitting me again.  And then she flew into a rage and tried to beat my ass, screaming "YOU HIT YOUR MOTHER!  YOU ARE CRAZY!  YOU HIT YOUR MOTHER!"  Like she didn't hit me first.  But nope, she's the victim, because I had the audacity as a twenty-nine year old woman to stand up for myself when she assaulted me.  She chased me around the house as I grabbed my kids and ran out to my car while calling 911 (though they didn't answer).  We moved out a couple weeks later.
• Every year on everyone's birthdays, my mother had to take us out to eat.  Not anymore.  Not since last time.  I think she did this because she wanted to flash her money around so she could feel important.  "Look, you can't take five people out to dinner, but I can!"  Plus the fact she LOVES to eat in restaurants.  Mostly because I fucking hate it.  I always have since childhood.  And she'd drag me to them whenever she could, just to pick on me.  I am not even exaggerating here.  She literally did it so she could pick on me.  See, I have severe anxiety and restaurants used to be a huge trigger for me.  I was get super nauseous. and would refuse to eat until I went home.  And she'd laugh at me for it, and make fun of me the entire time.  How is that even fun for her?  So on our birthdays, I could not say no, because my kids loved to eat at restaurants and it was a free meal for them.  When you're super freaking poor, you don't say no to a free dinner.  So I would be stuck, at least five times a year, going out to eat.  And she'd use that time to make fun of the other patrons, too.  "Look at that fatty!  Kill me if I ever look like that!"  I'd always have to tell her to shut up before anyone ever heard her (though who knows if she did).  She went through a fat shaming thing for YEARS, up until 2020.  Anyways, she tortured me for my entire life doing this, until 2017, when, for the first time, I picked the restaurant for my hubby's birthday.  Oh, yes, mother had to pick the restaurant, too, even though she'd ask you where you wanted to go, but we'd always end up going to whichever one she picked.  So that year I picked and we went to Famous Daves BBQ, and she bitched the entire time.  She got so bad, she screamed at my husband while he was driving in the parking lot.  The next day she screamed at me "From now on, I PICK THE RESTAURANT!"  I looked at her and giggled and said "Good luck with that, because you'll be going alone as we're never going out to eat with you again."  I was so angry, but whenever I say that kind of stuff to her, I am as calm as a placid lake.  I just say it a-matter-of-factly, with no emotion.  Even though inside I will be seething.   She said "Fine."  My son's birthday came around a couple months later and we went out without her (and we made sure she knew it).  And we never had to go out to eat with her ever again.  The end.  YAY!!!  Turns out, I don't have issues going to eat as much when she's not there.  Who knew??  
• Since not going out to eat anymore, my mother tries to ruin our birthdays in other ways.  Before, she felt as though she was always the "birthday fairy", completely in charge of everyone's birthdays.  But now that she's not, she will bitch, moan, and complain at each birthday just to make everything be about her.  She loves to be the center of attention and has no idea what to do with herself when she's not.  This isn't a physical gift, but rather an wonderful emotional gift, from a short, old emotional terrorist who just won't go live in a home like a good old person.  So instead of letting her ruin things, we send her to her room if she gets too saucy.  "If you don't like it, you can go spend the rest of the evening in your room instead."  If she's going to act like a child, I am certainly going to treat her like one.  And it usually works and she usually shuts up and/or apologizes.  It's like letting a selfish little kid be in charge of everyone's life.  Then you adopt that kid and now you have to retrain them on how to act, since nobody showed them how to begin with.  I just love cleaning up my grandparent's mistakes.
• But the all time worst gift I've ever gotten wasn't from my mother or my ex-husband.  It was from my cousin.  She told me she was excited to send me a box on my birthday filled with all sorts of goodies and fun.  She kept asking me "Did you get it?  Did you get it?"  So I got excited, too!  Well.  I got the box.  And I opened it.  And the first thing that happened was the smell.  It hit my nose like a flyswatter.  My nostrils were assaulted by the stench of old, used, cigarette butts.  If you are around smokers, or are a smoker, you know that the smell of used cigarettes is far worse than a just opened pack of cigarettes.  It's horrible.  And the entire box was caked in that smell.  I dumped the contents of the box on my table and out poured literal garbage.  Broken pieces of wooden crap she picked up (hopefully for free) at the Goodwill.  Old, dusty, nasty, wreaths.  Half used bottles of weird beauty products.  Half used bottles of medicine.  Um.  What was going on here?  Was this my actual gift?  I almost wrote to her and said "Very funny.  You spent too much money on shipping a gag gift!"  But then she messaged me and said "Did you get my wreaths??"  Oh god.  She meant to send this.  Everything wasn't just broken, but you could tell they were shipped that way.  She sent me literal broken garbage that smelled like a rancid cigarette bin.  I didn't know what to say.  I wondered if she sent the wrong box by mistake?  Like, she was cleaning out her house, and there was a box of garbage, and a box of my gifts and she packaged up the wrong one and threw the right one away.  Oops!  But no, she had printed some pictures at her work (she worked at Kinkos) and stuffed them in there, too.  So she knew what box it was.  What in the holy hell was going on?  Was this a message?  Is this what she thought of me?  I was worth nothing more than a box of garbage?  I had just met her that year, as she's my biological cousin.  And I took great personal offense to her gift, because I honestly hated my birthdays anyways (I don't anymore).  But then I found out she was just completely insane, so her gift finally made sense.  Because a month later, she tricked us into moving 500 miles away to a home that didn't exist in southern Missouri, all so we could live with her and she could torture us.  I would have sued her, but her BFF is a total insane dick lawyer, and I knew he'd skew it so we'd look like the crazy people.  Each year on Halloween I want to send her a box of garbage (she was born on my favorite holiday, which sucks), but I never do, because you do not antagonize the crazy people and invite them back into your life, under any circumstance.  Well, unless you absolutely have to.  Which is why I am living with my mother right now, due to us becoming homeless because of my crazy cousin.  

I am creating a household notebook (like a bullet journal) for everything I need to keep track of.  I have ADHD, as I may have said before, and I am the sole person who keeps track of everything in the house.  I am not complaining because it gives me the freedom to get shit done on my own schedule.  But, what if I got abducted by aliens or something?  What then?  How would anyone do anything around here?  And if they tried to find all the info they needed to do it all, they'd find a freaking mess.  Because that's how my brain works most of the time: it's a total mess.  So, since 2016, I've been on a mission to get organized.  I think perhaps it started before, but I do know in 2016 I picked my word of the year to be "simplicity".  And it's been my word ever since.  

Let me tell you, changing an ADHD brain isn't easy.  It's 2021 and I still struggle.  BUT, I do have many systems in place that help me and bullet journaling is one of them.  But now I am streamlining the bullet journal idea into a household notebook that only contains what we need to know about where we live, and how to to live better.  No extra stuff (that stuff will go into my old bullet journal that I turned into a commonplace journal).  

So, to get to the actual store, I am putting "House Rules" in my bujo, and recently I decided to implement a rule.  It's a rule I tried to implement as a child, but nobody ever listened to me.  But today, she has no choice but to listen to me.  And I felt like my inner child had a HUGE win because of it.  

See, my mother smokes.  As a kid, both my parents did.  And I asked them to sign my contract that stated "If I am in the room, you cannot come in after me and light up a cigarette until I leave.  If you are in the room first, I will leave if you want to smoke."  That was it.  They both signed it.  And then they both promptly laughed at me and lit up a cigarette.  Back then, they smoked in the house.  

Back when we moved above my mother is 2018, she smoked in the house.  And it ran right up into my apartment.  So I asked her to quit smoking in her house.  I think she may have, but not completely.  I do know if it was raining or cold outside, she still smoked inside.  So then we moved here and I made the rule no smoking in the house.  And after an argument one night, she lit up in her room.  I barged in there and said "Don't you dare smoke in the house.  You go outside and do that crap!"  See, I am super allergic.  But mother doesn't care I am super allergic to smoke.  But she does care that my son has asthma (though he outgrew it...sssh, dont' tell her!) and my hubby may possibly have asthma.  So that's what I said to her that night.  I mean, she used to say to me if I forgot to buy her cigarettes on a day I went shopping, even though I bought her everything else she asked for "Well, I guess it's fuck what the old lady wants!"  But the funny part is that the truth is "Fuck what Shay wants or needs".  It always has been.  Which is another thing I will get to later.  

And making her smoke outside is not a win for me, because that means her cigarette smoke permeates the house no matter where she is outside, if the weather is nice enough to have the windows open.  AND the stench of her smoking wafts around her like Pig-Pen when she walks through the house.  She has a tendency to pick the cherries off the end of her cigarette (the lit part) with her fingers, which makes someone's hands smell like a rancid asshole.  And then she will bring that scent into the house and bug me until I tell her she stinks too much and needs to get the fork away from me.  

So, I am never out of the line of the smell of her smoking.  Ever.  

Last year, she smoked out front mostly.  I could never have my windows open or the front door open due to the smell.  But I did get a lot of access to my backyard with my hammock swing.  It was glorious!  

This year?  She for some reason has a hard on for our backyard.  I honestly think it's so I can't have my own space away from her, she just wants to invade it.  And when I am out there, she will still come out and light up, and smoke me out until I leave.  It's fucking aggravating.  But, at least I get a cigarette-free existence in my room.  Which is also glorious.  But recently, she's been taking up going back out front again, just now and then, and having a smoke.  So I put an end to it.  

I mean, if she's going to steal the entire backyard for herself (soon, I will have my own oasis back there away from her, yay!), she can't have both.  And when I say she's "stealing" it, I mean, she's out there for like eight fucking hours a day!  So yeah, I put my foot down.  First, I threw away her "butt can", which is a coffee tin filled with her butts.  And then today when she went out front to have a smoke, I said "No, I prefer you to never smoke out front again.  It goes straight into my room and it makes my room smell."  She said "But your window is shut."  I said "It's always open a crack to hear the cats" (the cats all think my bedroom window is the door to the house).  She said "But the air is on."  And I didn't respond and left the room.  Because I said what I wanted to say and there is no argument.  And she went out back to smoke.  

And the little me who never got the chance to live a smoke-free life, who always had bronchitis (something smokers get!) every single year, was cheering inside.  Finally, I could protect her from the idiot who doesn't think about anyone but what she wants to do in the moment.  Finally, I got the nerve to say "NO MORE!".  Because I work in my room.  I do all my work in my room.  I used to do it in regular places around the house, but my mother has proved she will interrupt, and seek me out just to bother me knowing I am working, so I got a lock on my door and I've been in my room working ever since (for like a year now).  And I can NEVER have my window open, because she will go right outside and smoke right there so it all pours right into my room.  And I would always shut my window.  And she knew I was bothered by it, but did it anyways, because my mother loves to hurt me.  Sick, right?  

Well, no more.  If she's going to steal the backyard from me, making it impossible for me to go out there, then she can't smoke out of my room, too.  That's fucked up.  And beyond selfish.  She has to realize that her nasty ass habit bothers other people.  But she doesn't care.  

But also know that I am a former smoker, myself, so when I say "nasty ass habit" I am speaking from experience on both sides.  I started when I was eighteen, but quit when I was twenty-five, due to my smoke allergies (thank goodness for allergies, right?).  She had quit for many years (but instead upped her drinking game) and started again when she got remarried (though she did quit drinking, so there was that).  And now she's upped her smoking game this summer, which is costing everyone too much money.  But I digress.  

Anyways, so my mother wanting to go out front smoke was at a really bad time.  My kids were arguing (like bad) and she pushed between them to get through the kitchen to go out, and I had to stop what I was doing in order to tell her to go out back (it was during a pop-up rainstorm, but she could have waited).  When we first moved in here, they got into a huge argument and she tried to get involved, because back then, she thought she was god and could control anyone and everyone.  At that point, I had taken her keys away already (she can't drive) and she had busted into the room screaming "OH MY GOD I WILL NOT DEAL WITH THIS SHIT!  GIVE ME MY KEYS RIGHT NOW!"  And again, I had to stop taking care of the situation in order to deal with her.  It's like, this has nothing to do with you, mother, why are you inserting yourself into this?  

See, my kids both have autism (as do I).  Back when they were little, they used to fight really badly.  And as my one son got holder, he was diagnosed with ODD, which was onset at birth (there are two types: birth onset and puberty onset--which was what I sort of had).  And life used to be a little crazy for a few years dealing with all of that.  But he's gotten older and has learned to control his temper and has outgrown much of his behavior.  But when one or both of them haven't slept the night before?  That's when it still crops up.  It's like an outburst maybe one to two times a year.  And it's never as bad as it used to be (once we almost has to call the police--thank goodness we didn't, because that always brings all sorts of trouble).  When you have issues as a kid, the world makes you believe you are hard to love.  And my kids are so easy to love and like.  Yet, my mother has always treated that one son like she's treated me: hard to like.  My mother was famous for saying to me "I love you, but I don't like you right now."  Which is a fucked thing to say to your child.  

Raising my boys wasn't easy.  But I would never ever change a single moment of it, because they are both amazing human beings who are smarter than anyone I know.  And I refused to let my mother make them feel otherwise, even if they were in the middle of hitting each other.  

So I had to turn to her, and take my attention off my kids and say "You will never drive again and this has nothing to do with you and I do not want you to ever, EVER, insert yourself into an argument of theirs ever again!  You hear me??  I grew up my entire fucking life with you and daddy doing so much worse in front of me as a child, and you are and old woman so you can take it and go shut your door and ignore them!  NOW GIT!"  Just kidding, I didn't tell her to git.  I wanted to.  But I did say the rest of it.  And damn, did that feel good.  My inner child had been screaming out for me to right the wrongs of the past and I have been, little by little.  I've been able to say the things I never was able to say since moving in here.  To bring light to the things I've never been able to bring light to.  Even if she always lies or denies what I am saying.  It doesn't matter.  I just get to say them to her face.  

This time, she didn't say anything, she just got a hair up her ass to think she should walk between my grown children to go out and smoke while they were yelling at each other (not that she would have gotten hurt or anything, it was just interruptive).  She could have just waited.  But my mother is the queen of doing RIGHT NOW exactly what she wants to be doing.  She will not wait for you.  She has the patience of a maggot in a trash can (not sure if that's an apt analogy, as I do not know much about maggots... though they do seem kind of impatient, wanting to eat all that trash and stuff).  

And I told her no more smoking where it would bother me.  I got to remove a huge offense from my life (offending my damn sinuses!) and now I can have my window open any damn time I want.  

Do you think she will stick to this?  Ha!  Probably not.  She will most likely fight me about it.  Like she always does to my rules (today she actually brought light to the fact that I lock the garbage cans up because of her, which was funny).  But I will keep on saying it and even threaten to never buy her any again, which I think will have the desired effect.  But I shouldn't have to do that.  And I won't argue with her.  I will just do what I've been doing: I tell you once, and if you don't comply, consequences.  I fought her on the garbage cans so many freaking times (her physical therapist said she wasn't allowed to take them out, since they weigh more than she does), that I just gave up and locked them up instead.  And I may do the same if she won't stop smoking out front.  I will lock her cigarettes up until she complies.  Or will remove all of her seating out back and tell her she can only smoke out front then.  One or the other.  It's not fair to steal both places from me and my family.  And it's not fair to dictate whether or not my window can be open while I work.  So she will need to pick one.  

In other news, my kids immediately made up and are best friends again.  They are super close, and sometimes get so sick of each other (usually, like I said, only after a night of not sleeping) they just nitpick until they are yelling at each other.  I don't like it, but like I said, it hardly ever happens anymore.  Most of the time they are best friends who do everything together.  

I'm just glad my mother has learned to back off during their arguments.  Thank goodness.  I guess me bringing up how her and my father did WAY WORSE to me growing up really brought light to the truth of the matter and possibly shamed her.  Probably not.  But maybe?  

Anyways, that's today's antics.  The rest of the week has been boring.  Her dementia seems to be getting worse (her forgetfulness) at times, too.  So I've been paying more attention to the things she's doing.  I had realized recently while I am in charge of dinner every night, I leave everyone else to make their own breakfasts and lunches.  I am think my mother's been skipping them!  In lieu of real food, she's been snacking and fucking with her blood sugar.  So now I am in charge of lunches AND dinners.  Hooray.  But like I said, no matter how much I like her or don't like her, I care about her wellbeing and know my role as caretaker.  And I refuse to ignore her issues with food (she has some serious shame about food, which she tried to pass down to me) and I have to make sure every single day she's eating properly.  So she makes oatmeal for breakfast for herself, and now I am planning meals for lunch.  

How I found this out was she was weeding in the backyard and almost fell asleep!  I said "You need to take your blood sugar, pronto!"  and sure enough, it was low.  So now I make sure she's eating more than one meal a day.  I had no idea she wasn't eating much anymore.  And that's why I think her dementia is worse.  Because she never forgot to eat meals before.  At least not to the point of making herself sick.  

More responsibility for me, but now that I am making my household bullet journal, I can delegate other stuff because all that info won't just be in my head! LOL  Phew! 

Now just to get the damn bullet journal done.  Well, I am planning it all out, so that's something.  Until next time.

Growing up a child of lazy and toxic parents means that they were pretty neglectful in many different types of ways.  And one way they neglected me was to not teach me the things I needed to know in order to just do normal everyday things.  Even though some of the things they didn't teach me may have been due to the fact they didn't know because their parents didn't teach them, but that doesn't make it any less neglectful.  Just know that I am not throwing a bunch of blame on them, I'm just pointing out the things I never learned that I should have, some due to pure neglect, some due to ignorant neglect.  

Being able to point out all the things I should have been taught growing up helps me to know as a parent where I am neglecting teaching my own children what they need to know, so I can correct that and become a better parent.  

So here are some of the things I was never taught growing up that I should have been: 

• All machines with motors and/or moving parts need oil.  ALL of them.  This includes sewing machines and lawn mowers, as well as your car.  You should be checking the oil every month on your lawnmower and car, and oiling your sewing machine every week if you use it daily, every month if you use it weekly, and every six months if you use it only once in awhile.  Though you should check it to make sure it doesn't need it more often.  I found out the hard way that machines need oil by a) running a nice working newer lawnmower into the ground and as well as doing the same to an old serger.  I had no idea they needed oil!  Now, my parents didn't sew, so that's not on them, but the lawnmower?  That's Life Experience 101.  I never once saw my father put oil in ours and I never put oil in it after he died.  I have no idea how I didn't break it.  Maybe my  mother was putting oil in it on the side and not telling me?
  
• Dogs need their nails cut.  Who knew??  I grew up with several dogs and my mother never cut their nails once.  I had ZERO clue that you need to do this regularly or else you can give your dogs arthritis.  Which is what happened to my girl dog, which is how I found out that it was a regularly thing that needs to be done.  A dog who clacks their nails on the hard floor is a dog who's nails are too long.  Yeah, now I feel like a total asshole for not knowing that.  And now all of my dogs (and I have lots) get groomed and their nails clipped regularly, by me.  
• Dogs need their teeth cleaned or else they will get issues with their hearts.  If your dog has plaque buildup, they are the type who need regular teeth cleaning.  I had NO clue this was a thing.  But apparently, it is.  Now I have a toothbrush that I use on them (a finger one).
• Cats and dogs need their ears cleaned regularly.  Again, who knew??!  When you grow up with parents who neglect their pets (and I don't even to go into how much my pets were neglected and abused by my parents), you don't grow up knowing the skills to keep them healthy.  So I had to learn all this from various vets.  
• I had a mortgage and had ZERO idea what it meant or how it worked.  None.  It wasn't until I was completely involved with the house buying process when we moved here that I learned about any of it.  And now I know everything (mostly) there is to know.  But that's not wholly on my parents, as they never had a mortgage in their life.  They bought their house "on contract" and from what I can tell, my mother's name wasn't on it.  So neither one would have known how to explain anything to me anyways, not that they would have LOL.  
• I had no idea how or why or what credit scores actually did.  Or how to maintain one.  Then again, neither did my parents, so I can't blame them for not teaching me financial skills.  They were horrible at it, and the only reason they had so much in savings was that my father's check was automatically split between them and the savings account, one they never touched.  But it wasn't like they were good at money.  I swear, every single month we were getting pink disconnection notices, because my mother only paid the bills when we were about to get shut off.  So, they were really poor at managing money.  Most of it went to dressing me in the finest clothes the used store could buy (just kidding, it was the cheapest), and beer and cigarettes.  And my dad made good money.  So, that's a lot of booze and smokes, cause I certainly wasn't getting new clothes regularly.  Granted, this spawned my love for all things cheap, so I guess it was a good lesson?
• I was never taught to wash clothes right.  Well, I was never taught to wash clothes, period.  I had to teach myself by reading the manual.  My mother would get annoyed with me and throw a red shirt or sock in with my clothes and turn them all pink.  So I had had enough, and never let her do my laundry again after one of my favorite new shirts was ruined.  And now, I found out I was never washing them right to begin with (damn manual).  So I went to YouTube and it has straightened me out, thank goodness.  I think YouTube is replacing parental advice these days.  Though I think that's a good thing, because most parents are just grown children who never learned how to do things right anyways.  Growing up, the advice my mother gave me was always 100% wrong.  Still is.  Which is why I turn to YouTube.  
• I learned how to check the oil in my car from my old next door neighbor.  She looked at me and my mother one day and said "You two are a couple of girls!  Do you even know how to check your oil?"  And then she took us out to the garage and showed us.  I don't like her anymore, but I am grateful to her for teaching me (as an adult) how to check my oil.  A few months ago we had a flat tire so I called AAA.  When he came, I asked him to show me under the car where I put a jack, because I have zero idea where one would go.  And I didn't want to bend the frame or something.  Or break my car.  So he got on the ground and so did I and he pointed out where to jack.  And now I feel cool, like a superhero or something, because I know car things.  Something my father (who was a literal mechanic) should have showed me.  But he was too busy drinking his Keystone Light and whatnot to do much with me.  Though now he's dead, so he gets a pass.
• Nobody ever taught me how to do dishes correctly.  In fact, I was never made to do them growing up, not once.  And when I was older, we got a dishwasher.  So I did know how to load and unload that.  It wasn't until my brain started getting more organized (something I've been working on for many years) that I figured out the best way to get them done.  Today, I try to school my kids and hubby and mother on the right way to do them, but nobody listens.  So I leave the room so I don't have to watch the horror of people throwing dishes in the sink willy nilly and running the water the entire time.  Uggh.  I just can't think about it because it bugs me so much!! AAAHHH!  Though I am not like Roseanne (from "Roseanne") who would rewash the dishes if someone else did them.   Well, I mean, I actually do.  But only because my mother has dementia and puts away dirty dishes all the time.
• Pinterest has taught me how to keep house properly.  I mean, it's a work in progress.  This I will not blame on my mother because I am a messy person.  I was born that way.  I have ADHD and I am very, very unorganized, with my thoughts and my stuff.  But I keep getting better and better the more I work on it (and work on being more minimal with the stuff I own).  I once had a close friend (Kermit from my soon-to-come-out-memoirs) who was Type-A and was a neat freak.  She had an immaculate house and held down a full time job, was a mom, and still had time for crafting.  I said "Damn girl, I am jealous of your mad skillz!"  And she told me "Please do not be jealous, it's like a sickness with me, I have to keep things clean or I go crazy."  And out of everyone I knew who was clean like her, she was the only one who didn't use it to lord it over us messy people that she was better than us.  Most Type-A's are kind of assholes.  They use their need for cleanliness and their organizational skills to shame the rest of us, as though being born with a highly organized brain is something to act like they had any choice in.  But not her.  So high five to Kermit for being one of the nice ones.  And for realizing we're all different.  My mother, on the other hand, still will shame me to this day for not being perfectly organized.  Even though our house was caked with dog piss and second-hand cigarette smoke.  But hey, at least there were no books stacked on the table and her counters were clear!  Whoo hoo!  

I could probably write a billion more things, but I'll leave it for now.   My parents were way too self-involved (and involved with their peers) to even think about teaching me about becoming an adult.  I think they thought their only job was to house me and feed me (and probably clothe me and stuff, too).  And that's it.  And I am sure your parents were the same.  Because all toxic parents are are little kids wearing grownup suits.  And they either don't know enough or care enough to teach us the things we need to know in life.  So we either learn it from someone else, teach ourselves, or learn as adults.  

Though, thank freaking goodness for YouTube and Pinterest.  How would we adult with them?