~yawns, stretches, reaches for more coffee...~

I managed to stumble on over here at 7:31 this morning. Not bad for a crippled, old broad. The offspring was still in bed and had to be on the north side of town at 8:30. Why does it seem sometimes that you never end with being the parent? Instead of juice and toast in the morning, it is now a cigarette and a cup of coffee. A few things do change over the years. At least the surly wench had gone to the effort of setting up the coffee maker last night. She even ground some beans and so I was able to have Starbucks instead of that nasty Folgers.

I really shouldn't complain too much about the Folgers. We no longer carry it at work but rather they order the house brand from one of the commercial food staple providers. It absolutely is the worst tasting crap in the world. I think it's even worse than the coffee at the Pilot truck stops. Even I have to put cream(er) in the coffee from Pilot. Consequently, those few packets of Folgers that remain lurking hidden in dark corners of pantry cupboards at work have become precious commodities. Of course, being the affected wench that I can be, I generally bring my Starbucks with me on the weekend. We also have a locked cupboard that only coverage has access to and try and keep some Starbucks, to-go cups, and even some Folgers in there. I need to remind Dorothy to give me her extra key to the cupboard. She doesn't even drink coffee, so two keys to our stash spot is really a redundant concept.

Reminding Dorothy to do anything is an adventure in itself. Once the newest grand baby is out of the NICU and off the methadone, she will have custody of it as well. Six babies, three of them still in diapers. It isn't that she doesn't already have enough to think about. She had finally told her grown children that she is done. They are now telling her that she is a bad mother. Give me a break. I went through years with a delinquent teenager and was able to remain supportive, but she has gone above and beyond anything I ever would have done, or do for that matter, if my children behaved the way that hers have. Yet, she is a bad mother.

Dorothy showed me some of the contents of her backpack a couple of weeks back. A bra in case she leaves the house without remembering to put one on. A bottle of those memory improvement pills that they hawk on the late night infomercials. She carries them just in case she might remember that they are there so she can take one. As I am the woman whose backpack contains just about every possible useful item in the world, even I was amazed at a couple of the things she carries. I think one of the few things that neither of us have in our backpacks is duct tape. Maybe I should get us some. You never know.

Wow, it's now 9:40 and not one of the grands has made it out of bed yet. Not entirely anyway. The fat baby was asleep on the sofa when I came in this morning. He probably had come downstairs during the night looking for the Nintendo DS. Gotta love it. He is still sleeping in spite of the intermittent ruckus that the insipid K9 corps makes outside when the guide dogs in training are led by. It is really quite embarrassing to know that they bring the dogs by here solely for the purpose of training the assistive dogs to ignore idiot dogs.

Speaking of yapping dogs... That loud and unruly mob of quadrupeds caused me to miss "yapping" on the bonus round of my word game challenge this morning. I never miss the bonus round words... ever. It quite peeved that Type A aspect of my personality. And, I swear that I am not obsessive. Maybe the Celexa was the right choice of medications for more than a few reasons. Well, at least more than the reasons that I will freely admit to. LOL

Gabe is up and sort of having cereal and juice. Guess that's my cue to get on to other things.