The fifth daze ...

So this morning our dog craps in the hallway outside of our, er, I mean the old folks' room. Leave it to Al to not only step right in it, barefoot, but also be so unaware of it that he tracked it down the entire length of the hallway, which is a good five or so paces.

Once we resolved that, it was breakfast time. Yum-yum. When Al comes in, my mom asks if he would like her to fix him an egg. He says no that he would like an Eggo. She then says alright, and suggests he fix himself an Eggo. Then he just sits there and does nothing. So she fixes it for him. Later, my mom suggests he make his tea. She gets one of his teabags out and sets it in front of him. Again, he just sits there and does nothing. Again she fixes it for him. OK, it's one thing that he just sits there and does nothing. It's another thing that my mom can't help but baby him. And she wonders why he's so ridiculously incapable.

They have very little money. At the end of the month they are scraping at best. This last month, Al allegedly had run out of money until my mom and I made it out to Coeur d'Alene. So the first thing he does is run out and buy them a tub of ice cream for the two or so days they're going to be there. The rest will likely go to waste in their freezer. Today my mom takes my husband aside and asks if there is anymore toilet paper. He indicates there is more in the guest bath. My mom says they used what was in there. He's pretty sure they went through eight rolls of TP in five days. What the hell are they doing with it, making paper machet art or hording it in their luggage? We barely go through a roll a week. When we went out on the Christmas ship the other night, Al had a couple scotch and sodas. Um, if you're too poor to move yourself and have to shack up with your gay son in laws, you're too poor to drink and you have much bigger problems.

Apparently I missed out on a precious conversation Al had with my husband about how Walmart helps the little guy. You have got to be fucking kidding me! Last night Al drove home with my husband and regaled him about what a whiz he was a the stock market. That he and my mom were living pretty high on the hog. He was trading margins and apparently they finally caught up to him. Of course instead of holding and waiting for the downturn and subsequent correction, he moved securities around and lost everything; his nest egg and my mom's. Poof. Gone. Clean up on aisle Al. Thank you?

How are they going to sustain themselves financially (or otherwise)? I have my limits, so does my husband. I love my mom. I don't love their lack of awareness, nor their wastefulness, nor watching her coddle Al like he's a baby. I don't love having them live in our home.

While out running errands, I picked up an analog converter so they could watch the antique TV set they brought out with them. That will keep Al a bit more pacified. Shit, now I'm starting to coddle, too. Anyway, while Al was sucking on his digital broadcast pacifier, my mom was watching me finally put the lights on our Christmas tree. She said that my husband and I look really tired. Um, thank you? Actually, I was somewhat grateful at this acknowledgment. I feel drained by their presence. Their dynamic is really unhealthy. Al drains my mom, and she's fighting stage four lung cancer. She constantly complains and is so fussy. If she's not complaining or fussy, then she's emotional. I remember this wonderfully loving and uber affectionate woman who used to be my mom. She comes back in fits and spurts. Mostly I don't know who this imposter is.

I cannot imagine what my mom is going through. Her mind is constantly aflutter. I see it. The anxiety must be horrendous. Yet she's opposed to seeking professional help. While she enjoyed the class I took us to last week, I'm not sure she's doing any expressive writing. It's not my journey, and I keep that in perspective. Yet I am on a journey, and this path is really challenging.

There are moments like tonight when nice music is playing, the lights are soft and something new comes to life like a beautifully illuminated Christmas tree when all is calm. My mom seemed content, even. I was even deriving some pleasure from decorating. More so, once I had finished lighting the tree, siting beside it in my Eames lounger with my feet up, basking in the glow and treasuring those timeless holiday tunes ...