My grandmother is in the hospital. My father, her closest able-bodied relative, has been at her house since the weekend and is exhausted. We’re not sure exactly what is going on right now but it looks like an assisted living facility is going to have to be seriously considered for her, which will go over like a lead cloud.
My uncle is also in the hospital and it’s not looking good. At all. I’m slightly concerned that the only things my daughter wants to eat, ever, are peanut butter and jelly and turkey and cheese sandwiches, bowls of cereal and oatmeal, noodles with butter and Kraft Dinner. Mealtimes with her are getting increasingly difficult as she gets older, bossier, and more belligerent. Dave is swamped at work, absolutely swamped, which is making him cranky.
So when I asked him at 7.30 this morning to please run to the corner store for the soy milk he promised to get last night because it was pouring rain and the kids were still in their Jammes and Oliver always has a bottle in the morning, and mentioned I was sure the good people he works with would manage to live without him for the five extra minutes getting me the f***ing carton of soy milk he was supposed to get me yesterday would take, it didn’t go over well.