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I do not even want to discuss what happened to Thursday, Friday and Saturday's posts. Just assume they fell into a black hole of deadlines.
Yesterday we drove across the river to meet up with M's family for breakfast to celebrate his mother's birthday (and unload most of the presents we didn't get to hand out when we missed their Christmas Eve party.) The logistics involved in getting over 14 people together and fed when two of them are wheelchair-bound is considerable. We ended up at the Golden Corral buffet, not because my mother-in-law requested it, but because my sister-in-law (one of the wheelchair-bound) insisted on it -- it was supposed to be easier to get in and maneuver than the family restaurant we usually use.
First it took forever to get us through the payment process up front. Then it took forever to rearrange all the tables and chairs in the special section my sister-in-law made them open for us. The wheelchairs barely fit through the gaps between the tables, and we didn't have enough chairs for everyone the way the sister-in-law wanted it set up. My husband looked at the StupidNephew (SN), the StupidNephew's third BabyMama, (BM3) and the one empty chair beside them, and bribed me with a nice dinner out if I'd take it and let him sit with the kids.
In the interests of family harmony, I took the chair. At 27 years old, SN has a long history of stealing from family members, a drug habit and a seeming inability to work anywhere for more than a day before he inevitably gets hurt and files workers comp. His mother, the other wheelchair-bound family member (SNMa), sat across from me.
The meal proceeded smoothly (other than the extreme saltiness of the food and massive heartburn). M went out to the car to get the Christmas presents while I held the BM3's five-month-old (Spawn3). M came back one bag short; I knew I had carried the new baby's present outside myself and put it in the trunk, so I sent him back out in the cold (20 degrees and windy) to look for it again.
SNMa turned to me and huffs, "Well, I don't know why you NEVER buy anything for Spawn2 or Spawn3. You get something for all the other kids."
I looked down at the FIVE MONTH OLD Spawn3 in my arms, then looked at her. "Spawn3 is only a few months old. This Christmas is the first time we've had a chance to buy him anything. And the only time we saw Spawn2 was for fifteen minutes at your father's funeral last year. I didn't even know her name."
The SN slumps down after his third visit to the little boys room and mutters, "I tried to get BM2 to bring Spawn2 today. She's a useless piece of crap; we even offered to pay for her meal."
I barely managed to restrain myself from laughing in his face, on two counts. First, he slept with and procreated with this girl (they're always high school girls, because hopefully someone his own age has more sense), so anything he says about her reflects on him as well. Second, he never would have paid for her meal, because he never pays for his own meals. My other sister-in-law (not the SNMa) paid for both him and BM3. His mother always makes sure that we know that someone will have to pay for him, like he's a 12-year-old without an allowance.
On the way back home, M and I discussed his sister's outburst. We've decided that we're only buying for kids we actually see, regardless of what his sister thinks we should do with our money. And I've warned M that the next time she pops off, I'm going to be pretty inclined to speak my mind. If she feels free to say how she thinks we should act, I should be free to do the same to her.
Moral of today's story: Neuter your drug-addicted unemployed offspring. Good manners means not demanding that other people give gifts to suit you. And don't wait until you're 41 to start fighting back; it'll save a lot of time later.
Yesterday we drove across the river to meet up with M's family for breakfast to celebrate his mother's birthday (and unload most of the presents we didn't get to hand out when we missed their Christmas Eve party.) The logistics involved in getting over 14 people together and fed when two of them are wheelchair-bound is considerable. We ended up at the Golden Corral buffet, not because my mother-in-law requested it, but because my sister-in-law (one of the wheelchair-bound) insisted on it -- it was supposed to be easier to get in and maneuver than the family restaurant we usually use.
First it took forever to get us through the payment process up front. Then it took forever to rearrange all the tables and chairs in the special section my sister-in-law made them open for us. The wheelchairs barely fit through the gaps between the tables, and we didn't have enough chairs for everyone the way the sister-in-law wanted it set up. My husband looked at the StupidNephew (SN), the StupidNephew's third BabyMama, (BM3) and the one empty chair beside them, and bribed me with a nice dinner out if I'd take it and let him sit with the kids.
In the interests of family harmony, I took the chair. At 27 years old, SN has a long history of stealing from family members, a drug habit and a seeming inability to work anywhere for more than a day before he inevitably gets hurt and files workers comp. His mother, the other wheelchair-bound family member (SNMa), sat across from me.
The meal proceeded smoothly (other than the extreme saltiness of the food and massive heartburn). M went out to the car to get the Christmas presents while I held the BM3's five-month-old (Spawn3). M came back one bag short; I knew I had carried the new baby's present outside myself and put it in the trunk, so I sent him back out in the cold (20 degrees and windy) to look for it again.
SNMa turned to me and huffs, "Well, I don't know why you NEVER buy anything for Spawn2 or Spawn3. You get something for all the other kids."
I looked down at the FIVE MONTH OLD Spawn3 in my arms, then looked at her. "Spawn3 is only a few months old. This Christmas is the first time we've had a chance to buy him anything. And the only time we saw Spawn2 was for fifteen minutes at your father's funeral last year. I didn't even know her name."
The SN slumps down after his third visit to the little boys room and mutters, "I tried to get BM2 to bring Spawn2 today. She's a useless piece of crap; we even offered to pay for her meal."
I barely managed to restrain myself from laughing in his face, on two counts. First, he slept with and procreated with this girl (they're always high school girls, because hopefully someone his own age has more sense), so anything he says about her reflects on him as well. Second, he never would have paid for her meal, because he never pays for his own meals. My other sister-in-law (not the SNMa) paid for both him and BM3. His mother always makes sure that we know that someone will have to pay for him, like he's a 12-year-old without an allowance.
On the way back home, M and I discussed his sister's outburst. We've decided that we're only buying for kids we actually see, regardless of what his sister thinks we should do with our money. And I've warned M that the next time she pops off, I'm going to be pretty inclined to speak my mind. If she feels free to say how she thinks we should act, I should be free to do the same to her.
Moral of today's story: Neuter your drug-addicted unemployed offspring. Good manners means not demanding that other people give gifts to suit you. And don't wait until you're 41 to start fighting back; it'll save a lot of time later.
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