Marathon

Moma has been on a marathon today. She just finished the 23rd mile of her EATING marathon. Every time I pass her she wants something else. Please do not be mislead to believe that she was happy with ANY of the food offered. The only thing she hasn't complained about is the banana (23rd mile) because she knows I could not have done anything to the banana. All this plus the typical complaints (Turn off that damn ceiling fan! I feel worse than an old booger man! Why can't I feed the dogs?). I'm thinking if she gets up....I may lure her to the deck and lock the door again! That's the best thing I have ever gotten over on her. And she would be fine out there. There is a roof, lights, TV and even a fan (well, she won't need the fan). I'll lock the cat out too just to keep her company. :)

Locked Out!

I forgot one little detail about yesterday's fiasco. While Sherry was here, and Moma was doing her popcorn appearances, I was so outdone with her causing me to get in and out of the pool, I locked her out on the deck. She cannot be left in the house alone unless she is in her room asleep. So, on one of her last treks out on the deck, I just went in the other door, and locked her out there.
When she got ready to go in, she was FURIOUS! But I just lied and said, "You must have locked it when you went out". LOL Don't call DHR.

And I thought yesterday was bad

Moma woke me up with gun shot....well, it sounded like gun shot. She bangs that %$&* cane on my bedroom door every morning. This morning there was a hint more gusto to it. I shot out of bed like there was an air raid. I couldn't decide whether to go to the bathroom, let the dogs out of their crates or kill her first. She wanted diapers. She goes through them like she does napkins. I knew that she was going to be on her game today.
Sherry came up to lie in the pool awhile, and Moma was up and down, and up and down. I was dizzy with all her activity. She wasn't getting enough attention so she had to be a smart you-know-what. She wanted chocolate milk, then ice cream, then a glass of ice water. She hated her lunch. She "couldn't eat it" (who knows why). She said my tea wasn't worth a shit and she never wanted any more of it. She finally went back to bed.
When she got up again, Sherry had gone. Moma was looking everywhere. She said, "Where'd they all go?" I asked who she was referring to (for my entertainment). Her answer: "Verlon" I exploded in laughter. I said, "Who??" She said, "VERLON! That lady who was in the pool with you". Lovely. I said, "Moma, that was Sherry." She looked at me like I was crazy. Then she asked.....(wait on it) "Did they come by with my payday?" (What?) I just shook my head and said, "no". She said," Well I know I was supposed to get a payday today!"
The rest of the evening was a repeat of her popcorn appearances. I finally had to just make her mad to get her to go to bed. She told me that she thought I would be a much more loving niece than I am. HA! (Don't any of you "aunts" out there get any ideas, you are NOT living with me).

Clouds

Moma is in the clouds this morning! I am sitting here listening to her tell craziness to the nurse. The nurse asked her who some of the pictures in her room were. Well, apparently my mother was her MOTHER-IN-LAW! And when the nurse asked her whose house she was in, Mildred proudly told her that her husband's people lived here. When she asked "What about Julie?" Moma said, "She may as well live here, she stays here all the time!" NICE! Who the heck am I?

Thursday Update

Two Words:
LOST
CONFUSED
That is all....

Life wearing rubber gloves

I don't think I've mentioned lately about my germophobe thing I have going on. I won't touch the toilet or sink in MY bathroom without rubber gloves. Moma has MRSA in her urine. To me, this is defined as, on her skin, under her fingernails, on her feet, in her mouth, behind her ears, all over her scalp, and obviously, her hind quarters. I also understand that anything she touches, looks at or thinks about will have the MRSA cooties. I do not want MRSA cooties, so I wear rubber gloves when I do anything involving her or anything she has looked at lately.  My sister insists that only her urine is toxic, but no, that doesn't register in my way of thinking. I am fighting cooties every day. So if you come to my house, and I am wearing rubber gloves, don't be alarmed. I'm doing cootie warfare.

Confession

Okay, I will admit it! I have been a pool rat for about 3 days straight. No laundry, no dishes, no picking up, no straightening up, and certainly no cleaning. I  went from pajamas to bathing suit and back to pajamas several days in a row. Yes, I am a girl of summer. Had the latest book from my favorite author, had my float, my drink, and my oldies blaring on the radio. My hat was in place, my sunglasses right.....and there I was. A pool vegetable. It drove Moma crazy. She would come out on the deck and chastise me. She commanded me to get out of the pool several times, but soon learned that does not work with me. I mean, I will have to seriously work next week to make up for all the stuff I didn't do this past week. It is my little escape. And I have abused it. :)
Yesterday, the Princess was bad to the core. I caught her feeding Tubby and scolded her. As soon as I turned my back, she reached in the other pocket and fed Shula! Once again, I gave in to the rage in my head that was screaming "KILL HER!" I grabbed the napkin out of her hand, and began strip searching her for other little "treasures". She was fighting me tooth and nail. I was so mad there was no way she would win this one. I was in beast mode. She kept threatening to slap the shit out of me. Then she reached for the cane. She swung it, handle first, at my face. I felt the breeze whiz by my nose. Thank goodness Christopher stepped in and took the cane. She called me a damn bitch. I wrestled her up and literally ran her back to her room. She wanted her cane. Everything at that point is a blur. I was operating off sheer adrenalin. I had to get away from her. I went outside, and in just a minute, Kerry came out and said, "Listen to this". She was screaming and crying like a baby. I was a  wreck. I went into her room and tried to talk to her. I finally got right in her face, nose to nose. I told her that she had better listen to me and stop crying. I explained to her that if she ever chose to actually hit me, that would be the end of her living with me. I would take her to the nastiest nursing home I could find and leave her. I wouldn't tell anyone where she was either. I told her I would find one where no one would give a shit about her and she would be all alone. (I was all Godfather at this point). She started telling me she loved me and she would not ever do that again. Then she was repeating herself and I was almost out of my skin anyway. I had to walk away. I told her to sit right there until I came to get her for supper. She promised faithfully she would. HA! She was up in a minute looking for her cane. I sent her back, and she got up within 3 minutes, again, looking for that cane. Finally, I gave up and sat her at the table with me. Then she began her "Helpme" song. I just get so tired of the status quo here, I am tempted to just run.