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Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Nearly Another Involuntary TB01

As it was Tuesday, I worked at home today. If gas prices begin their march to $4, as expected, I’ll probably go to twice a week or as often as my boss will let me get away with. Shades of FAR Future, the power was scheduled to be out all morning (and was), although my work MacBook Pro got me through the morning on battery power with plenty to spare. But, as I often do, I digress.

The Boy has not exactly been endearing himself to the rest of the family lately — on several occasions, he borrowed a car, assured us he would be home by 11, then came in some time the next morning… or afternoon. He’s been drinking when he doesn’t think we’ll notice, and generally not bothering to be helpful. I’m not sure what led to today’s fun, and I’m not sure I care to know. I do know that he’d gotten paid (at least partially) for a job he’d done a while back; he waved the $50 bill at me, but neglected to tell Mrs. Fetched that he had it. He got a check from somewhere else (Big V?) and he and Mrs. Fetched went to deposit it. On a whim, she asked for a balance and he had $10 (when there should have been $150 in there) — he’d been withdrawing it for whatever he spends his money on, and so Mrs. Fetched was already a bit miffed. Finding out he had the $50 didn’t help matters any, and she was already loading up to shoot the messenger when I pointed out that this was the first chance I’d had to tell her about it.

I was working in the bedroom, door closed to keep the background noise down. As I was about to get up to fix myself a sandwich, Mrs. Fetched screamed, “GET OUT!” The Boy yelled something I didn’t catch, then went outside through the garage. I got up to see what was going on.

Mrs. Fetched was still pretty worked up: for reasons unknown, The Boy used the “B-word” on her. “He’s outta here,” she said. “I’ve had it with his crap.” (Well haven’t we all?)

Not much to do about the situation — I fixed myself a sandwich and took it back to my desk to eat and work. After eating, I went outside where The Boy was smoking and crying, and (as I sometimes do in these situations) attempted Clue Infusion. As always, CWoT. Nothing he does is wrong, everything I said was wrong, she’s deliberately provoking him, blah-dee blah-dee blah.

Example: “You shouldn’t have called her that,” I said. “Well, she was being one.”

I didn’t tell him this, but I found his response rather amusing. As we were packing up from Granny’s birthday party Sunday, I was not doing much because I didn’t know what to do.

Mrs. Fetched barked at me, “Stop acting like an idiot!” When I brought it up later, she said, “Well, you were acting like one.”

The Boy and Mrs. Fetched, two peas in a pod. They talked a little later, and she rescinded the involuntary TB01. But I think The Boy is ready to bail out on his own; we’re just cramping his style a little too much.

It’s so much fun to work at home sometimes.


  1. I don't see how you could focus after that. Emotional turmoil makes me feel helpless. And miserable.

    It really impresses me how you can recover from -- and write about -- these situations.

    I'm glad things have calmed down a bit.

  2. Hey KB... those situations have happened enough that I can mostly detach and observe. As I've pointed out before, around here my input is generally neither wanted nor respected.

  3. Sorry about the turmoil, Far. Even though I'm probably missing some good stuff, I'm generally pleased with my decision not to have kids when I watch my friends go through hell with theirs.

    Detach and observe are probably your best defense mechanisms.

    Hope the storm has blown over...

  4. I'll be blunt.

    He's an adult, he doesn't respect you both. This is a no brainer. Why you keep letting him back baffles me.


  5. Hi FAR, katieb, Beth, solar.

    Agree w/ katieb -- hate conflict.

  6. As I've pointed out before, around here my input is generally neither wanted nor respected.

    Heh, that's how I feel when I'm asked a question that nobody really wants the answer to. And that would be often.

    Sorry to hear about your trouble with the boy. I wish that I had advice to offer but my 8 year old has become the picture of rudeness.

  7. Hey all!

    Beth, I just looked at the calendar - T'giving is next week! I need to email you....

    Solar, I think Mrs. Fetched needs someone who will argue with her. DD & I aren't much interested. Better The Boy than me, anyway.

    Olivia, some people live for it, others live to avoid it. Mrs. Fetched's parents are Olympic Squabbling Team gold medalists, 1956, 1960, 1964, 1968, 1972, 1976…

    B2, good luck with the B2boy… he not getting much attention? The Boy here didn't get too bad until he was like 12 or 13.

  8. Hi FAR and everyone.

    Sounds like just another day at FAR Manor. I agree with Solar in that he's an adult, but it's pretty hard to push adulthood on someone who doesn't want it.

    Glad things have leveled out agian.

  9. FM! Good to see you up & around! You feeling any better?

    True, we can't push adulthood on him... I'm just not sure if we're enabling him to not grow up, or if we're keeping him alive long enough for him to grow up. :-P

  10. Sorry to hear about your tribulations with TB again, Far. RE: Olympic Squabbling Gold Medalists ... that made me laugh out loud and brought to mind a great Woody Allen line (that I can't remember all of) from Zelig about Leonard Zelig's parents who were beaten up, then beat themselves and the kids up in the closet... yeah, I know, but it's really funny when you hear it in the movie.

    Argument #392,548,992 as to why we're glad to only have kids of the 4-legged variety around the house. Hmm... there's a thought ... have you considered a kennel for TB? hehe


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