Sunday, November 16, 2008

Even the dog

Estrogen. My household teems with it. I (35) live with my sister (25), my two daughters (12 and 14), Phoebe the bullmastiff, my son (8) and Winston (lab mix, neutered). There are about ten days every month that my house reeks of short-tempered bitchiness. Remotes fly about, doors slam, objects are just flung randomly and with no apparent reason - a poltergeist? No.....just a bunch of hormonal females.
My father (59), a widower, spends almost every weekend with us. I was widowed about two years ago and Dad likes to come over and try to inject some testerone into the mix so that my son has some kind of male role model on a somewhat regular basis. Plus, Dad cooks. Food, not stuff out of boxes, but real food with fresh ingredients and spices and no powdered cheese or dehydrated potatoes. E (my sister) picked Dad up Friday afternoon and by Saturday morning my Dad was ready to grab J (my son) and run. Just run. Anywhere.
Friday night, after Family Bingo Night at my son's school, Dad wanders in to the laundry room to find me throwing towels and crying into dirty sheets. The poor man just wanted to help, to see if there was anything he could do to help. I ran him out. "YOU didn't do anything...Just leave me alone...Go away." No wonder the man smokes two packs a day, it's a wonder he doesn't drink. He then made the mistake of trying to talk to M (youngest daughter) while she was on MySpace. "Auggh, Grandpaaaa, I don't know what's wrong with her. She's your daughter." C (oldest daughter) comes in, ranting about the dog being in heat and having to Swiffer mop the foyer AGAIN. And why won't J pick up his socks, (even though her backpackshoeshoodiephone are strewn all over the game (TV) room. J has hidden himself in his room with Indiana Jones and Iron Man. He won't come out until he smells food.
It may take some convincing to get Dad over here again.