Picking my battles..

I sat down last night to write this blog and words actually failed me.  There was nothing major to tell except for the fact that the entire day had left me mentally...and emotionally drained.  I feared that all I had to write was misery and that doesn't make for a good read.  But wait?  Real life isn't all Mills & Boon, is it?

So here I am.  Sitting in complete silence except for the storm blowing outside and Poppy (dad's not here so she can relish the sound of her own name for a while) sitting watching at the window...waiting for dad to come home.

My dad doesn't have bad moods as such.  Little things irritate him and you never know what those little things are likely to be.  I have a pretty good mental list of do's and don'ts when he's around but there is always that one surprise that you never saw coming.

I was helping him get dressed yesterday and as always, I do part of the process and instruct him to do the rest.  For example, buttoning his shirt.  I start him off otherwise the buttons don't match with the holes.  His trousers....I make him sit down so that I can put on his socks without him bending then the trousers go on and are pulled up to his knees.  Before he stands I'll put on his shoes or slippers, depending if we're going out soon or not, then have him stand up and pull everything up while I still remain standing alongside him so that he doesn't lose his balance in the process.  To be honest, the more I pull up and tuck in for him the better he does.  Last thing is jumper on, a spray of cologne and a swipe of Brylcreem and the rest is up to him.  Shave...watch...specs.

Yesterday, I didn't do anything different but as I went to button his shirt, he beat me to it so the top button was already buttoned wrong.  I buttoned the third one down and asked him to continue thereafter.  As he did this I began to undo the top ones to put them right and he 'tutted'.  I ignored it and carried on.  As he pulled up his trousers, I held the back of them but could see one of the pockets sticking up from the inside which was going to catch in his waistband if he continued to fasten them.  I pulled the waistband out a little to tuck the material back inside and I pushed my hand into his pocket to flatten it.  He was still trying to fasten the trousers at the same time which made the effort a little more taxing...but if he had waited until I fixed the pocket when I asked him to, he wouldn't have had a problem.  He carried on pulling and tutting.  I told him to wait just a wee minute and was met with a rather 'angry' "Whit are ye doin'?  I'm tryin' to pull them up and you're trying to pull them doon!"

"I'm just fixing your pocket dad.  There you go.  That's it.  Carry on," I answer.

I pulled his jumper over his head and before I could fix the arms properly he was already searching for the armhole but kept pushing downwards so his arm appeared at the hem of the jumper each time.  He wouldn't hold his arm still when I asked him so continuing his 'fight', I gripped his wrist and pulled the sleeve quickly forward so that his fist would catch the armhole.  His arm still making 'punching' motions (not at me please understand, but into the armhole that he couldn't find!) made my task a lot more difficult.

"WAIT THE NOO!! WAIT THE NOO!!" he (sort of) bellowed, while trying to step away from me.

His arm finally caught the armhole and the jumper went on with ease.  "There you go," I said, still remaining calm, but for some stupid reason I could feel myself welling up.  My dad was proper annoyed...with me.  But I have to keep telling myself...he doesn't mean it.

If I was dealing with a husband or partner who spoke to me in that way I'd retaliate big style...and win!

I didn't try and fix his collar or fiddle around straightening the arms.  I know when to step aside and let the dust settle.  I left him with his razor and walked away, still watching with the eyes at the back of my head and setting my ears to super power mode.  He took a little while before he made his way to the living room and sit in his usual chair.  I could hear him pottering around in the bedroom, opening drawers and doors...just checking.  I hope that I've pushed my treasure chests far enough out of reach and sight.

I had sugar work to get on with so I set myself up in the kitchen with the door wide open so I have full view of him sitting in his chair.  For the entire day he watched Columbo.  I had to use my laptop to see images as reference for my work and in order to stop the screen from closing down I have to split the screen and play a movie or catch up TV on one while the image I need is displayed on the other.  I usually have the sound off while doing this when my dad's around but listening to Columbo and not even being in the room to view it was making me go just a little nuts!

I fetched my earphones and plugged them in.  By using just one of the earphones I could blank out his TV but still hear enough if he said something.  It was a brilliant compromise and I now realise that I can work, watch and 'dad sit' all at the same time.  I still have to be on regular tea duty and keep dad happy enough so that he doesn't start pottering.  After feeling so crap in the morning I was feeling a lot better...and being productive.

My dad started to say something which I couldn't really understand, but I let him carry on trying to find the words.  "Him!" he said, "He's an idiot."  I left my table to see what the 'problem' was.  Columbo was standing on swimming pool steps and had water over his shoes and the bottom of his trousers.

"He's bound to have known that {the water} was there.  Idiot!  For Christ's sake." he continued.  I've laughed at him doing this, arguing with the TV and making regular comments, especially about Columbo.  Although he watches the series back to back, the character's bumbling antics get my dad pretty riled.  I didn't bother offering any explanation regarding reality v TV characters.  I simply said "I know.  You'd think he'd have noticed, eh."

I carried on with what I was doing, showing him along the way the different stages of my work which made him smile.  The mornings aggravations behind us, but still bothering me more than it should.

Taking phone calls...I've nothing much to say.  I carry on the conversations but I've nothing much to offer.  I want to say "I'm feeling really shit."  But I don't.  I'm quite good at hiding my thoughts most of the time...I think.  But is it rude just to say I don't want to talk?  Today is a better day.  Call me today.  Yesterday is in the past.

This morning dad is off to his Day Centre so I have a little reprieve until 2 o'clock.  He enjoys his day and the ladies are so lovely.  It's a good thing for him...and I am realising, for me too.

After I finish my (second) cup of tea I'm going to set myself up for more sugar work and will watch a movie on Netflix without earphones or distraction.  I have a slight headache which I'm sure will pass soon enough.  Nothing is broken.  The dreadful weather is keeping me indoors today but I don't really care.  The silence is golden.  The TV is off.  'Dug' is asleep.  This is called 'me' time.

I miss you dad!