Why is my home such a mess? It’s because whenever I settle myself to do something, I get the command from next door and, if I want any peace, I have to go running. I made him wait while I hung the washing out, put another load in, and spend five minutes bug-hunting with the boys and their microscope (brilliant fun – pill bugs, a long thin centipede – although we couldn’t see his hundred stripy socks – a very well fed caterpillar obviously on the verge of popping, a multitude of woodlice and some amazing little springy things that perdoinnnng all over the place like Zebedee) but then I went over to help him sort out a blockage in his spare vacuum cleaner and to make him a cup of coffee.
We had coffee on the patio… first time this year.. and lovely it was too, even if the garden chairs did need a bit of a spring clean before we made physical contact with them! Charlie-cat came and lounged at our feet, the birds were singing, and all was right with the world. We chatted in our old father-daughter way, enjoying the relaxation and a shared joke or three and just relaxed in each others’ company, the moments that make it all worthwhile.
Then, as I was leaving to get on with the housework he told me of his plan for the Easter holidays. As we have a fortnight off, apparently that time should be just about adequate for the boys and me to sort his garden out for him. He’ll plan for us to do it then and make sure he’s got the tools ready.
Oh for the ability to say “No, Dad… I have plans for the Easter holidays. We’ll do a bit, but you’re just going to have to pay a gardener”. I don’t even have time to do my own garden, let alone his. And actually, I am looking forward to a bit of doing absolutely nothing but sit in the garden and watch the boys play. Yes, Arti, you’re right. He is Mr Manipulative and he has it off to a fine art… even to the extent that nobody who knows him outside the family sees it, they just see a lovely old man who is delightful company. I have, however, warned my sisters what to expect if they fall into the trap of saying they’ll do all the respite care. How do I teach him that he can’t just click his fingers and the boys or I’ll come running, apart from simply walking away from him and leaving him to die alone because there’s no halfway house where he’s concerned.
Ho hum. Here’s me complaining that I can’t get on and yet sitting at the computer instead of tidying this lounge. I’ll feel brighter when I’ve a room which is a pleasure to be in, I know I will. Now, where’s that cobweb brush, let’s clear a cobweb or two… (and he can wait for his lunch until I am ready 😉 )