She-Hulk Gripe session!!

Okay, let's begin with I am not perfect, my family is not perfect, my days are hopelessly imperfect. I have three dogs who are only mostly house broken: Penny, who makes a point of turning all of Allison's dolls into amputees and is obsessed with dragging the larger doggie beds through the tiny dog door and into the back yard (I have no idea why she prefers them out there but am impressed she is able to do it at all), Skyloe, who hordes any wrappers he can fish out of the trash behind the couch, and Fartin' Martin who pretends to be sweet but when you aren't looking will lift his leg and claim various pieces of furniture as his personal property.

There are no neatniks in my family. Kelly's room looks like a bomb went off in a teen clothing store. Allison keeps most clutter on her dresser and desk but the debris from her projects migrates under all the furniture, particularly her bed. A few days ago I was helping her scoot all the hidden rubble out from under her bed with a broom and commented that I would not be at all surprised to find Jimmy Hoffa under there. Someday she may think that was funny but at the time she just gave me confused look.

Mike...he's not clean. His quirks have become legendary. One of my favorite is his craving for whole cans of chocolate frosting, the remnants of which I find in some of the weirdest hiding places. I discovered this idiosyncrasy when we became engaged and moved in together. One morning as I was still trying to wake up, I hopped into the shower and without looking reached for the shampoo. I felt a container that was definitely not a shampoo bottle, looked down and realized I was holding a can of Betty Crocker Rich & Creamy Chocolate frosting. Did I mention I was IN THE SHOWER? Later when I spoke to him all I could say was "That's quite a habit, baby." We have been married almost 13 years and as I write this there is a half eaten can of Hershey's cake frosting on his night stand. (Incidentally, he is not fat! I don't have a clue where he puts it.) Shoes and clothing litter his side of the bed so with each residence we have occupied, his side of the bed is determined by which one is not visible from the doorway.

That is not to say I am the cleanest person, either. I have what could be deemed an organized mess. The most frequent pair of shoes are placed on my side of the bed along with my slippers, the rest going into the closet as I prefer my shoes undamaged from being kicked around...so shoes are not really my big problem. My issue: I am an incurable stacker. I have a lifelong habit of stacking items for re-use. In order to preserve my clothing I usually will wear each item (other than socks and undies) at least twice before washing. Often I will lay the item to be re-worn over the end of the bed. After a while I have a stack of reusables waiting for their next wear. Sometimes they get so overstacked that they slide to the floor. Of course, this habit extends to other things such as books, dvds and mail as well. Little towers of things to wear, watch, read and use are my personal neurosis marking every residence I have taken in my adult life.

Before becoming a caretaker, my house was chaos so to expect that my family will suddenly become cleaner because of the pressure imposed by the caretaker schedule is not only unrealistic but hilariously absurd.  It is expected of all of the caregivers to make some effort to clean up their messes as they occur so that no one person is burdened with the upkeep of dad's laundry, dishes or grocery shopping. I think it works well for Dad but sometimes it is unclear who has what additional duties beyond cleaning up after dinner. With Dad's diminished ability to recognize a problem when it occurs the ideal situation would be for each caretaker to make a cursory patrol of the house to see if anything is amiss and report back to the others if it is more then a one person job...but what is ideal and what is put into practice frequently clash.

Minor catastrophes that have gone unchecked until they bordered on major ones are as follows:

• Slow flushing toilet in a remote back bathroom that apparently all the younger kids used (because it was conveniently close to a toy room) but none felt obligated to tell us when clogged. It took a "What is that SMELL?" demand and a household search for "what died" to bring it to general attention.

• Broken, and I mean split in half, "bite you on the ass when you sit down" toilet seat in bathroom by the car port. I never heard a reasonable explanation for this but if one ever materializes I will be sure to relate it to my readers.

• Leaking sink in the kitchen causing swollen floor boards.

• Broken water heater related to the kitchen making hand washing difficult in summer and excruciating in winter. Fortunately, Dad had a separate water heater for the bedroom area so at least bathing and grooming remained reasonably comfortable until we could attend to the problem.

• Broken AC in mid summer. Much like the water heaters, Dad has two A/Cs , one for the back bedroom and one for the front of the house. This repair didn't seem to be an emergency until we realized he rarely spent time in the bedroom. Such heat as we have in Texas can be life threatening to an elderly person. Definitely an emergency.

• Pipe leak in the back yard. It was not obvious at first but when we realized during one of the driest Texas summers in decades that Dad's backyard was a swamp, the only explanation was a pipe leak. His water bill was outrageous and the additional mosquitoes when everyone was spooked about West Nile Virus were pretty scary, too.

Minor emergencies followed minor emergencies in what should be a relatively new house. Once one repair was made another unrelated one would pop up...as Mike said so eloquently, Dad's household repairs became "a plethora of 'FUCK!'"

We handle each problem as they happen but they are a drain to Dad's retirement. I have been asked, "Wouldn't a retirement community be easier, less expensive?" Well, yes, and it would kill him as I have said before. I know sooner or later we will need to start liquidating assets. Dad's SUV is not very old and has incredibly low mileage on it. It would probably be fairly easy to sell and bring a reasonable price. The problem with that is by selling the SUV the carport becomes empty creating the illusion that no one is home and possibly increasing the danger when there is no care taker at the house. For now, selling the SUV is not an option.

So what is this gripe session about? When I get home from a long day at work followed by a rousing evening of taking care of Dad, walk through the door to find a dismembered Barbie, a disemboweled dog bed, dishes in the sink rather than the dishwasher, the back door open, TV on (no one watching it), wrappers, cans and other debris on the floors and counter...let's just say I'm just a few gamma rays short of turning green and putting some offspring through the drywall.

Two nights in a row this week, Mike has awakened to me slamming things around cleaning up what should have been someone else' job on a night I take care of my father. He tries to calm me down and promises to help and light a fire under the girls butts. However, in fairness to Mike, his plate is outrageously full as well.

Today we took a family trip to the Container Store to figure out what each daughter would need to get her room together. Mike, the girls and I will have a family dinner meeting this evening. I am hoping the major discussion will be teamwork. I will let you know how that works out...but I make no promises and hope for no lies.
(to be continued, and continued, and continued)