Injustice Is Another Word For This Sucks And I'm Angry

I am angry, really, really angry.

I visited daughter #2 today (mother of Zachary, Tanner & Sophie.) Chrissy is now on stress leave . She cried as she told me things were getting to be too much for her. The progression of Tanner’s disease and its inevitable outcome is beginning to take its toll.

Chrissy is a brave, strong woman, but today I saw an emotionally drawn, defenseless young woman. She has filled her life and Tanner’s with almost manic-like activity, but the reality of his disease is catching up with her and I am worried. Chrissy is crashing.

Tanner’s father and Chrissy have been separated for almost two years now and he is as useless as tits on a board. He can not now, nor has he ever been, able to deal with Tanner’s Muscular Dystrophy. He has not been paying his share of childcare expenses, he has not been paying child support regularly and he can’t cope with having the children for an extended period of time. Tanner’s father has had no part whatsoever in the house being refitted to wheelchair accessibility, the van being equipped with a lift, the bimonthly trips to Children’s Hospital in Vancouver, the frequent meetings with physiotherapists, occupational therapists, school support staff and so on & so on! He is embarrassed that he has a visibly disabled child. I am surprised Chrissy has held on this long.

My husband and I take the kids when we can and when it works for Chrissy. The distance we live from each other sometimes interferes with visiting. We will have Tanner and Sophie this weekend, so that Chrissy can have some much needed respite.

I guess I am more angry at Tanner’s father than anything. I don’t get how a 45-year old man can be such an irresponsible prick. Why is it that women end up with the short end of the stick. I’ve had a few glasses of wine and I am rambling and I may sound bitter, but when I sit and watch my child weep because she’s had enough it rips my heart out and I want to corner my ex son-in-law and rip his balls off and stuff them in his mouth. I want to say “be a man, love this child, show him and the world that disabilities don’t matter – Tanner’s disabilities are not a reflection of your precious manhood!"

Tanner is the sweetest little man in the world and it tears both me and my husband apart when Tanner wants to play soccer (like his sister) and we have to say “Tanny, you can’t." When Tanner wants to go to the river to walk around and pick rocks (like we used to) and we have to say “Tanner, you can't." What makes it even worse is that Tanner understands what we are saying. Tanner has no friends, he doesn’t have play dates because he’s different and most parents are as cruel as their children. It is fucking killing me and it’s killing my daughter.

Chrissy deals with all of this, alone – yes, she has wonderful, supportive friends and family, but at the end of the day it’s just Chrissy at home, by herself.

I spent twenty years in a profession helping children and families. I advocated and fought for justice for those who could not advocate or fight for themselves. There is nothing in this world that I abhor more than injustice. I always felt that because I was so blessed and my daughters were so privileged that I had a responsibility to advocate for those families and children who were not as fortunate as we were.

But I can’t seem to do anything to alleviate or ameliorate the injustice that is occurring in my family.

I have said my piece, thank you for listening.

Let's Talk About (Grandchildren And) Sex

My first-born grandson, Zachary, will, in my heart, always be the son I didn’t raise. I was in the delivery room when he was born. I didn’t approve of his father or my daughter’s marriage to him so when Chrissi divorced him two years later it was a good thing.

Zach, his Auntie Cathy, his Uncle Kyle and myself have always been extremely close. We (mostly me) delighted in terrorizing him – monsters in the closet, trolls under the bridge, sharks in water and, of course, big slobbery kisses at every opportunity – the more public the better. We also drove Chrissi crazy by painting his fingernails and toenails every chance we got. Our terrorist tactics did not leave any permanent scars. We also didn’t have much luck trying to influence his thought processes. My daughters and I were (and still are) pretty vocal about the superiority of women – we could never get Zach to buy into that. When Zach was about four, his Mom and I took him on a camping trip. He took it upon himself to protect us – at each campsite he strung rope around the trees to keep the bears away from us, he gathered wood so that we would be warm around the campfire. .

We had endless discussions on what women (particularly Grandmas) should and shouldn’t do – Grandmas shouldn’t drive hot cars. Grandmas definitely couldn’t drive motorcycles. Grandmas shouldn’t wear short dresses, low cut clothes or brightly colored clothes cause they weren’t “grandma clothes.”

As Zach got older, he relaxed his views on what Grandmas could and couldn’t do. Zach and I have had many laughs about his early years and he, very lovingly, calls me his "crazy grandma."

Zach now has a girlfriend and I am finding that difficult – much more so than when my daughters had boyfriends. I never felt I lost my daughters when they fell in love, but I am now feeling a sense of loss. What makes it even worse is that Zach and his girlfriend are “doing the wild thing”.

He’s not old enough!

In my mind, Zach is still that little guy who strung rope around the camp to protect us, who stood up at Cathy and Kyle's engagement party, gave a toast to “flamily” and told Kyle to take care of his Auntie. Zach is the little boy who escorted me along the beach on a sunny afternoon eight years ago, stood in front of the Marriage Commissioner, friends and family and said “I give my Grandma to this man.” I have never felt so proud.

My mind is not ready for female friends and fornication.

Not ready at all.

Tweet Dreams

This past week has been an awakening. Not only did I get back into techno-world, but also got involved in super-tech-twitter world.

I have been told that there is no point or solid rationale for tweeting which, I was also told, is the whole point.

I spent the major portion of one whole day last week learning about Twitter and met some very kind and helpful people in the process. But tweeting is time consuming and even though I am retired, I don’t have time to sit for hours at my computer, or to be checking it frequently. I would feel guilty if I tweeted on twitter and then twaddled off and didn’t tweet to another tweeter’s twitter or is it another twitter’s tweeter?

So I am going to “retweet” to my backyard where only birds twitter and rethink my foray into the morass of techno-musings.

Tweet Dreams!

Happy Birthday To My Girl

Today is a big day! Today is Catherine’s birthday.

I have always thought of the birthdays of my children as a dual celebration – one for them and one for me.

Until the day I die, I will thank God for my children and the miracle I experienced on the day of their birth. Every birthday each of my daughters celebrate, I celebrate the miracle

Each birthday, I relive the day they were born and, with each passing year, I celebrate the joy of watching them embrace life. I relive unwrapping Catherine and counting her toes (they were so big I thought she had six), I relive her putting her cat in a pillowcase and dunking it in the toilet, I relive checking dresser drawers daily for that same cat, I relive her first day of school, I relive her basement production of Annie (starring herself), I relive her every childhood dream – writer, actress, ballerina. I relive every day of her life.

The joy does not diminish as the decades grow, nor do my memories fade.

Catherine will always be my precious first-born daughter who was born May 21st because I danced under the light of the full moon on May 20th.

Happy Birthday, Trinky!!!

Happy Birth Day to me for giving birth to you!!

All of my love, your eternally grateful Mother

PS. I also have a good conception story, but Cath would kill me!

Back From The Abyss

Well, after a month without my computer, I feel like I have returned from the abyss. I am not, in any way, shape or form computer literate. I have always maintained that my computer was merely a tool that made writing and editing documents easier - my frame of reference was the manual typewriter that I started out on back in the dark ages and, later, that marvelous invention, the electric typewriter!

I discovered, this past month, as I lived the dark abyss of zero technology, that if you don’t have e-mail you don’t exist. Scary! What was even scarier is I went through computer withdrawal. Yes, I had all the symptoms - it drove me crazy – I was irritable, restless, not sleeping, not eating, dark circles under the eyes and having nightmares of disappearing off the face of this technology-crazed earth.

When I got my computer back and my e-mail up and running, I binged on e-mail – I had sixty-two of them to read – it was better than a free pass to a martini bar! Then I realized the awful truth – I AM A COMPUTER JUNKIE!!!

I don’t think I’ll bother with rehab so bring it on, bring it all on – twitter, tweeter, and whatever the hell else has been invented since I have been gone!

Before There Was Bad Grandma...

... there was the original Bad Mother:


Wigging her kid and everything.

Happy Mother's Day!

(The Bad Grandma is still without technology, and limited to issuing instructions to her bad daughter by telephone. She misses you all.)

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

The Bad Grandma regrets to inform that she is without Internet access and so is unable to post. Her Bad Daughter offered to take dictation over the phone, but unfortunately, TBG`s hearing aid battery was missing, due to temporary need in another motorized device, and so she didn`t get the message.

Regular Bad Grandma blogging will resume as soon as her computer is working again, or once her hearing aid battery is returned to its rightful place, whichever comes first.