Weirdest. Memorial Day. Ever.

[If you don’t revisit older posts, go back to the graduation post for a portrait and an amusing part of the ceremony I left out originally.

All is quiet at FAR Manor. I haven’t taken the screen tent down in the front yard, because I’ve decided I like sitting out there to unwind when I get home from work. I took the heavy lining out of my riding jacket (hooray!!) this morning, leaving the windbreaker lining in, and rode to work today. I had my rain suit, which certainly helped me dodge the 40% chance of rain that didn’t materialize (unless you count six drops as “rain”).

But I’m not here to talk about today. I’m here to talk about yesterday.

It started out normally (by normal people’s standards) enough: Mom and Wicked Stepfather came over for breakfast. I’d made cinnamon rolls the night before, and The Boy and Snippet were nowhere to be seen — I think they were camping out somewhere. Anyway, it was quiet, and we ate, plotted a route back to NC that wouldn’t take them through Atlanta (TomTom likes interstates, it seems), and talked a bit. And waited for The Boy to show up; he knew they would be here at 8:30. Of course, he didn’t (TB03, and the last of the family departed.

The Boy showed up a couple hours later, of course. With Snippet in tow, of course. Now, I neglected to mention something important: we called the phone number we had for Snippet’s mom, got a friend, and found that she was in Alabama of all places. Seems like she suddenly goes to Elsewheresville when she’s supposed to pick up her own kid. We gave the friend a message: “Snippet is now homeless, as far as I know. She’s worn out her welcome here, anyway, so she needs to come get the kid.” Of course, the mom-unit didn’t call us back… she called The Boy. So the two of them were fired up, words were exchanged, and Snippet lobbed the F-bomb at Mrs. Fetched.

Daughter Dearest, who had been sitting quietly in a recliner up to this point, suddenly entered the fray — making a beeline for Snippet. The Boy made a brave move, inserting himself between her and Snippet (who is about half DD’s size, by the way, and is a lot more girly than DD has been in many years) — as it was, DD knocked him backwards into Snippet. Mrs. Fetched and I intervened quickly to prevent things from getting out of hand.

Discussion time, although these rarely resolve anything. There’s something going on between Snippet and her mom that the former isn’t willing to admit, perhaps to herself. As for The Boy, he’s resenting the big party (including my side of the family) that Daughter Dearest got for her graduation and he didn’t get for his GED (“One. Measly. Dinner,” is how he described his celebration). He also dropped a TB09, blaming everything/everyone but himself for his situation, and I gently tried to explain to him that he would never start moving forward with his life until he started taking responsibility for his own actions. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t shake his head like he usually does when he wants to reject unpleasant input.

He left afterwards and hasn’t been back. Or maybe he has: all the lights were on in the detached garage, and I found my lip ring on my desk (where I leave my laptop). DD’s friend Sasquatch, who graduated with her, is looking for work and there’s always stuff needing to be done at the chicken houses. He’s going to ahem borrow the guest bedroom for a night or two, just to make sure Snippet doesn’t worm her way back in. As it turns out, that wasn’t necessary: The Boy is out working with the punk rock band he just joined and won’t be home tonight.

So DD celebrated her graduation (with our help).
The Boy celebrated joining an established band.
Mrs. Fetched celebrated her birthday.
I celebrate not having Snippet around.