Let's see, what is new, what is new...
Not a whole hell of a lot, really. I wish I had something more dramatic, exciting and interesting for you, but alas, I do not.
I wish I could tell you I've run a marathon, travelled to an exotic location, lost 20 pounds, learned a new language, solved world hunger, brokered world peace. But I have done none of those things. Sorry.
I do, however, need to broker house peace in my household. Or move out, one of the two. It may be easier to move out, now that I think about it. Even easier still if I don't take anyone with me! Sorry if this ends up being a bit of a self-serving rant. You can stop reading now if you like, I won't be offended.
It all started with a shed.
Well, it actually started much before that, but there's a limit on what I can type, so let's just go with it started with the shed.
At first, living with my dad was going reasonably well. Except for all of his stuff (which is more than any one human being should have) plus all of our stuff meant that things were a bit <ahem> crowded. This was only a problem if someone (and by someone I mean my husband) was looking for something in particular and couldn't find it. Then I would have to listen to an endless tirade about how there is too much $hit in the house, why does he (dad) have to have so much $hit, etc, etc. This would inevitably evolve into the "jesus-christ-we-cannot-live-here" rant, which I would pretend to listen to while drinking. That's one of the reasons I have not lost 20 pounds, but I digress...
I'm not going to go into the details about WHY we are living with dad (that's a whole other series of posts I have not drunk enough yet to begin writing) but for the time being we are staying put. At least until I lose my mind.
Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, the shed...
So we decided that we needed to build a shed. There was no room in the garage for our stuff. I was worried that the wee man would have trouble getting his bike in and out, there was no place for our tools, the wee man now has soccer balls and hockey equipment and other boy-related paraphenalia... so a shed was the answer. The husband and I looked up shed plans, talked in detail about what we wanted, measured out widths and heights and locations... it was a great idea.
Until we mentioned it to dad.
Monumentally monstrously epic mistake.
We should have waited until he went out of town and just had someone build it, but nooooooo.....
Dad is a retired construction project manager with way too much time on his hands. Plus, unfortunately, he's bossy just like me. Within the course of two days, it was no longer "our" shed, it was HIS shed. It was no longer a corner shed that was 10 x 10 with a playhouse on top for Ryan, it became an 8 x 8 eyesore of a box. It no longer had poured concrete pilings, it was built on patio blocks set on the ground "in case it ever needs to be moved" WHAT? It was no longer going to be the lovely colours of hardie siding I had picked out, it has horrendous 70's cedar siding. It became the shed HE always wanted.
The problem is, it is OUR stuff that is going in the shed, not his. He is designing the insides (with no knowledge of what we are putting in there), he is putting in a window (that we didn't ask for, and that impedes our ability to stack stuff on that wall), he is insulating it (which leaves less room between the studs to store things like hockey sticks and ski poles).
How did he manage to take it over, you ask? He decided he would pay for it. That way, he got to make all the decisions.
Why does it look like an eyesore? Well just because you can MANAGE a construction project DOES NOT mean you can actually build $hit.
What am I going to do about it?
Nothing. Not a damn thing.
I know my husband and my dad are about to kill each other, I know I am now going to have to go and buy some sort of playhouse for my son, I know the thing is butt ugly but quite honestly, I DON'T CARE. I just want a place to store my $hit.
I am tired of being stressed about how much stuff there is in the house, that we cannot find things we need when we need them, that dad is deafer than a doornail and inconsiderate of others from living alone for too long, of dad being bossy, of my husband being way too sensitive about $hit. I'm sorrry they communicate poorly with one another and it leads to arguments. But seriously, I'm not doing anything about it. Sort it out yourselves, please. I just can't be bothered.
The solution is quite simple, really. I'm just not going to be the problem solver this time. Husband needs to get a job and get away from the house and be less of a baby. Dad needs a hearing aid, some manners lessons, to shut the hell up on occasion, and a hobby.
Me? I'd just like to be left alone to drink my wine and play Skylanders with my son. That's all I really want.
Otherwise, if they insist on pestering me to solve their problems, I am going to excuse myself and go to the store. With my son (and his Skylanders) of course.
And I may never come back... :)
