Phillipses, Living and Dead, Plus Flowes and Lincoln

It Smells Bad Here

I’m home! And it smells bad. I don’t know if the dog has just been too cooped up for too long in here, because of the heat or what, but yuck. I am too tired to do anything about it, though. Tomorrow, I guess, I will try to get the house in a state of not smelling like this, whatever this is.

My trip was not a disaster. But the last three days managed to make me feel bad for my dad and a little guilty about leaving him. If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know what a turn of events this is. But I was surprised to find my mom being downright mean to him about his weight and not only to his face but to her sister, but within earshot of him. And he’s trying! He goes to the gym at least three days a week and I didn’t see him eating anything but fish, chicken, vegetables and pretzels except the one day we stopped for Dairy Queen. That’s got to suck. And he doesn’t seem to have figured out how to navigate between “cool grandpa” and “oh my god, someone needs to be the parent here!” in a way that actually works.

And my mom was saying kind of snide things about my oldest nephew’s mother and what she chooses to spend her money on–money which my mom typifies as belonging to my brother, as if my brother’s child support money is going directly to things that are of no benefit to my nephew whatsoever. And I was like a.) if my brother doesn’t like what he thinks she’s doing with the money that is supposed to support his child, then his option is to go the fuck to court. That’s it. Giving a woman money for child support doesn’t buy you some say into how she spends the rest of her money. And b.) (perhaps most importantly) how much of it is actually my brother’s money? He’s out of work. And yet he hasn’t bothered to go back to court and make them aware of that. So… I think if my dad wants to complain about how my nephew’s mom is spending her money, he can see point a.) and, since he’s not complaining and my mom’s just complaining to me, maybe we can all just shut the fuck up about the mother of our own fucking relative, you know? Little pitchers have big ears.

(But as an example, my brother has my parents all riled up because he said my nephew’s mom and her current husband supposedly bought an AK-47 for Christmas. This caused my dad to say “We’ve got to get him out of that house.” My brother drives around with an unsecured loaded handgun in his car with his children all the time. I don’t know why I’m supposed to be more upset at an ex-military man and his wife owning an AK-47, if indeed they do, than I am about my brother’s gun. I am assuming at this point my parents are unaware of my brother’s gun. Otherwise, we will have to have another bout of “enough already!” I mean, I think both of the women who chose to fuck my brother unprotected have some major issues, but god damn it, so does he.)

I spent my drive home contemplating my childlessness and, you know, I guess I just don’t think it’s that big a deal. I hope the Butcher has kids. My nephews have good hearts and I think they’ll be fine adults. But I just don’t feel that thing I think people feel when they know they want to become parents. See this chick, for instance. It would never, in a million years, occur to me that I needed to be comforted about my ability to be maternal even if I’m not a mom.

On the other hand, I’ll admit, I do sometimes talk to my hypothetical kid. On the third hand, I actually said to it at least four times this week, “See? I couldn’t do this to another person.”

My hypothetical kid was very understanding.

You think I’m kidding, but sadly, I am not.