I am still recovering from one of the worst weekends I have ever had. I had to hit Walmart on Friday after work to get drinks, breakfast, dog treats, and a couple of books for my child in order to prepare for 8+ hours in the car on Saturday. My mother-in-law is moving to Ohio, right down the street from her mom, so she’ll be able to take care of her in her golden years. When I stopped by my mom-in-law’s house, she was frantic. There were boxes everywhere, her moving truck was partially loaded with even more boxes, furniture was upended and leaning against walls, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. She gave me some food to take home, as she unplugged her fridge to take it with her and couldn’t keep the cold items. I ran home to drop off our groceries and ended up coming right back to help load the truck. My husband, coming off of a 50 hour work week, came straight from work to help load the truck. We spent about two hours there until we ran out of room to put things.
My mom-in-law’s friend J came to help, and by help I mean she stood around watching. At one point J rinsed off a bunch of cups and threw the wet glassware into a large garbage bag. At another point, she was dragging a wet rag across the counters over and over again. To call her useless would be a compliment. Her husband L arrived eventually to help my husband with the fridge and other large items. My son ate some leftover pizza while we worked, packed, and got rained on. When we were finally finished, I took off to grab some Chinese food and my husband and boy went home to see to the dog and get into comfortable clothes. After eating, we went about getting as much ready as possible for the road trip the next day and went to sleep around 10:30pm.
Saturday morning, my alarm sounded at 4:30am. My husband was already in the shower, so I got up and got our dog’s food ready. We all had breakfast, picking from the goodies I purchased the day before, in order to cut down on the number of stops we’d have to make between home and mom-in-law’s new house. I also packed my son’s lunch bag with a ton of goodies and had quite a few drinks and snacks for myself and the husband. We arrived at mom-in-law’s at 6am, only to see J and L still loading things up. After some groggy hellos, we hit the road at 6:30am.
At 8am, after making some great time, my mom-in-law calls my husband to say that they are going to stop at Steak N Shake for a sit-down breakfast. This is ridiculous. I’ve been on many trips with my mom-in-law to Ohio and when we stop for food, we do it via drive-thru before leaving our hometown. No doubt in my mind, J has talked her into halting our entire trip to go eat. I decided to go in with them because my boy wanted a milkshake, and my husband waited with our dog by the car. We were there for 30 minutes, 28 of which I spent being horribly embarrassed because the adults I was with decided to treat our poor waitress like complete shit. “What kind of restaurant doesn’t have biscuits?!?” (the truck was delayed) “OUR Steak N Shake doesn’t treat their customers like this.” “Should have expected this kind of bad service in Ohio.” “Why isn’t there butter on my toast? Who doesn’t butter their toast??” (there was plenty of butter). This went on the whole time, and our waitress was not only very pleasant, she was quick and efficient and did a fantastic job. I left all the $1s I had on the table as a way to make up for everyone acting like an ass. I wish I could have left more.
After breakfast, we let everyone else go ahead and popped by a gas station for coffee and to cool down. Since the moving truck can’t go very fast, we were able to catch up to everyone after about 30 minutes. Finally, after what felt like forever, we were parked and ready to begin unloading. We were expecting to arrive and find my sister-in-law and her husband, three guys from the local church, and my husband’s cousin and her husband. We arrived to find my husband’s grandmother and some random old lady whose name was not worth learning. I’ll call her Waste Of Space. The moving truck finally gets backed into the driveway and we get to work.
My husband, my mom-in-law, and myself are the only people worth a damn when it comes to unloading this truck. J is doing a whole lot of standing around, making jokes about how she doesn’t have to move the fridge or any heavy furniture, and making me wonder why the hell she bothered coming in the first place. Waste Of Space insists on not only standing right at the end of the moving truck ramp in everyone’s way, but reading boxes to me as if I’m an illiterate fool who doesn’t understand how to move a box from point A and place it in spot B. When she’s not blocking the ramp, she’s busy standing on the basement stairs, holding our her scrawny arms to “help” while people are already navigating down the stairway. I find myself secretly hoping she has narcolepsy and passes out somewhere.
The stress of the move finally gets to my mom-in-law and she starts getting snippy. Totally understandable when you’re dealing with people moving your life out of a truck and into your new home, but it rubbed my husband the wrong way and he let her know. Mom-in-law overreacted about us moving boxes because she failed to communicate that the boxes were now meant to go to a second garage. He didn’t yell, didn’t scream or cuss, just got snippy right back. That was it. Typical mother and adult child interaction, tame by most standards. J apparently thought it was the worst thing ever, so she texted my sister-in-law “Jamie and your mom are already into it. Didn’t take long!” Little did her brilliant mind realize that she replied to a mass text. I got that text, and so did my husband.
Once he saw that, he went over to the second garage where boxes were now being unloaded, walked in and said “Who sent this text?” J, with a smirk on her face, said that it was her. My husband, acting a lot calmer than I probably would have, was in the process of calling out this woman for her immature behavior when L chimed in from the truck, saying “you don’t talk to my wife like that! Asshole!” At that point, my husband laughed and announced that we were leaving. I followed behind, fighting the urge to get in L’s face as he yelled insults at my husband from the safety of the moving truck. Idiot.
I don’t know what kind of friend J is meant to be to my mom-in-law, or what kind of friend L is to her either, but no friends of mine are going to talk trash about my kid and remain my friend. My husband assured his mother that he wasn’t mad at her, but also wasn’t going to hang around and be disrespected by some idiots (my word, not his). He told her that she needs new friends. And with that, we began the four-hour drive back home. We were only there for 90 minutes before people started acting like idiots. Total waste of a Saturday, but at least we were able to unload the beds and most of the furniture. The mystery church guys and my sister and brother-in-law could handle the rest, if they ever decided to show up. We were done.
On Sunday, my husband received a text from his mom saying that J was sorry. Maybe I’m petty, but I don’t think anyone should have to accept a second-hand apology. Be an adult. If you’re sorry, be direct with the person you offended. Otherwise, don’t say anything at all. She wasn’t sorry. L wasn’t sorry. I should have known what kind of people they were when I saw how they treated that poor waitress. I’m glad to be rid of them, and I’m making sure that my son is never around my mom-in-law if J or L also plan on being around.
To top off our kick-ass Saturday, our washing machine crapped out on Sunday. It flooded our kitchen, which was a delight to clean up. The dryer is also acting up. And no, we don’t have extra cash lying around to replace it because of so many other things we have going on right now. We had soaking wet towels everywhere. The plan to borrow my mom-in-law’s washer and dryer failed because she decided to randomly come home early. A candle got knocked over, getting wax all over the carpet, bookshelf, collectibles, TV, and my husband’s hair. I’m amazed that nothing caught fire. And to top it off, I don’t get Columbus day off like everyone else in my house, so I was up way too damn early again, in the office, dealing with new temp staff that are too stupid to really exist. Plus I got stuck in the rain during a fire drill at work and was wet all day long. I’m mentally and physically drained. I quit.
I was hit with a low blow today. Scratch that. I was hit with a fucking mack truck. My heart felt as if it was going to leap out of my chest and dance across my desk. My hands were sweaty and my skin clammy. My appetite was nowhere to be seen and I was ready to sell my soul for a soothing shot of whiskey or tequila.
I’ve been very absent from the world of blogging lately due to my inability to properly handle stressful situations without becoming a useless, shaking blob of jelly. I’m angry and I don’t know where to direct my rage and how to keep it from burning down the world around me. I want to scream and cry and throw things until they break. I want to confront the reason for my distress and beat it into the ground. Yet here I sit, doing nothing.
As badly as I wanted to fly off the handle earlier today, I held it in and removed myself from the situation as quickly as I knew how. I’ve shed a few tears, but have kept myself from falling into a full out sob. Nothing is broken (yet). I’m trying to fix it, but I feel like I should know why it happened in the first place, and that is one question that will never get a good answer.
I’m glad I didn’t see the smirk and sarcastic wave earlier today from the wrecking ball that destroyed my world today. My situation would have been irreparable if I had seen that, as I have no doubt that someone would have gotten their teeth punched into the back of their skull. At some points, I’m so amazed by what happened that I can’t even be angry. But of course I can. I am angry. Justifiably so. But anger won’t solve any problems. I have to go forward. I have to move on. And a month from now, maybe a year from now, you damn well better believe I’ll be laughing in your stupid, smirky face, you intolerable bastard.