I popped in for gas, joked around a bit with the clerk, and she reminded me (okay told me, because I truly had no idea) that I can get a freebie on Fridays and a medium coffee every weekday with my rewards number.

So I have an iced coffee and a cinnamon roll for my midnight mission to nab the kids after marching band tonight.

Seems reasonable to me, especially given the cost of everything lately!

Very sincerely, I love the woman. Her intentions are generally positive, we get along fine, she adores the grandchildren and grand dog, all the good stuff.

But foolish describes her to a T.

The teen kids had a competition in her town yesterday, so I intentionally built in some time to pop by and visit a bit and help with a simple task she just couldn't figure out. Easy enough, that way I could have a cup of coffee and use a clean restroom before heading to the stadium, all good.

So we had a perfectly pleasant and inconsequential conversation, she has a new lift chair/recliner, random cousin has Alzheimer's (but "he's doing really well! Still drives to the grocery store and is an absolute wizard at backing up to put in his boat at the fish camp!" As though any of that is a good idea. Whatever.)

And then, with 10 minutes before my spare kid and I needed to head out? MIL tells me about her ER visit the previous week - dehydration due to COVID. And how she finally got her prescribed antiviral, probably too late to help much. And how she had decided to no longer take any of her prescription meds, including her cancer maintenance medication and blood pressure stuff and whatever other meds a 79yo two-time cancer survivor likely takes.

"Oh, I feel so much better now! I can get around better, and my head is so much clearer!" (I wasn't there for long, but trust me, I didn't notice much evidence for those claims.)

Okay Lady. It's gonna fall on me specifically when this backfires. One of your sons is disabled, one lives overseas, your spouse can no longer safely drive and is barely mobile, and your beloved daughter in law only has so much physical and mental capacity. (What with a disabled husband, teenagers, my own aging parent, and my own cancer diagnosis.)

Jesus is healing her. I'm wondering whether there's a new Hispanic pharmacist, and she's mispronouncing.

Very sincerely, I love the woman. Her intentions are generally positive, we get along fine, she adores the grandchildren and grand dog, all the good stuff.

But foolish describes her to a T.

The teen kids had a competition in her town yesterday, so I intentionally built in some time to pop by and visit a bit and help with a simple task she just couldn't figure out. Easy enough, that way I could have a cup of coffee and use a clean restroom before heading to the stadium, all good.

So we had a perfectly pleasant and inconsequential conversation, she has a new lift chair/recliner, random cousin has Alzheimer's (but "he's doing really well! Still drives to the grocery store and is an absolute wizard at backing up to put in his boat at the fish camp!" As though any of that is a good idea. Whatever.)

And then, with 10 minutes before my spare kid and I needed to head out? MIL tells me about her ER visit the previous week - dehydration due to COVID. And how she finally got her prescribed antiviral, probably too late to help much. And how she had decided to no longer take any of her prescription meds, including her cancer maintenance medication and blood pressure stuff and whatever other meds a 79yo two-time cancer survivor likely takes.

"Oh, I feel so much better now! I can get around better, and my head is so much clearer!" (I wasn't there for long, but trust me, I didn't notice much evidence for those claims.)

Okay Lady. It's gonna fall on me specifically when this backfires. One of your sons is disabled, one lives overseas, your spouse can no longer safely drive and is barely mobile, and your beloved daughter in law only has so much physical and mental capacity. (What with a disabled husband, teenagers, my own aging parent, and my own cancer diagnosis.)

Jesus is healing her. I'm wondering whether there's a new Hispanic pharmacist, and she's mispronouncing.

Straight superiors, second place overall. The whole thing was a mess - flooding rain, stand up performance in the gym, not enough food available so my kid was HANGRY and anxious.

Got home with three teenagers and I didn't even get to use my schmancy new stadium seat. My spouse had the audacity to ask "so now that it's October, things calm down, right?"

I thought he was joking!

I'm in the US, and a native speaker of English. Is there an actual reason (historical?) that the word "filet" is pronounced "fill-let" in the UK and Australia versus "fill-lay" in the US?

I'm the mother of two kids who are in marching band. I save up my limited energy to do what I can with band boosters. That means I can sit and work a cashier shift at concessions or our other fundraisers.

Today, one of the other band moms asked on our communication app whether someone could take over a shift that she'd signed up for but now something has come up. I offered if it's cashiering. No, so I just can't do several hours of food running.

Husband of our vice president was all "but it's just walking 10 feet."

My daughter? Mad as hell. But she responded politely that I literally can't do that for several hours. I just pointed out that I'm ill. The Veep? Oh, I bet she had a conversation with her spouse. I'm a little scared of Julie.

I'm trying. But I know my limits.

I know kickoff is delayed due to weather, but I generally use that to gauge what time I need to pick up the marching band kids.

At 57, I think I need readers. Which I understand is a pretty good run for having never needed any vision correction.

But I'm absolutely gonna be that person who loses them when they're on top of my head.

My father died in 1978, when I was 9. Willie Nelson's "Red Headed Stranger" might have been the last album he ever fell in love with.

I stopped for fuel on the way to pick up my 14yo tonight, and "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" came on the streaming tethered to my truck. I sat at the gas pump crying long enough that the store clerk came out to check on me (he knows my vehicle and that I don't usually just camp at the pump.)

Wasn't expecting that.

I think I've gone through a braising process. I got tougher, and maybe now I'm tenderizing. It feels fragile, if that makes any sense?

I've never been a tough person in the sense of being physically or verbally intimidating, but I've always held the emotions close to the vest, because that protects me. And now I'm just gonna sit in my truck and cry and try to explain Willie Nelson to a nice young Indian man?!

I nabbed a pizza tonight, because I just didn't have cooking in the toolbox.

My husband ate an entire fucking pizza. I didn't even get a slice (and I only wanted one.)

A grown human being doesn't think to ask whether someone else in the house wants food?! Just because I didn't want it immediately?

Have any of y'all watched "Throw Mama from the Train?"

The nurse/pa/whatever (I didn't ask for credentials, unimportant) was all "this is the last one."

What?! The last? I'm not gonna torment her with more vaccinations?

(Don't get me wrong, I don't enjoy anything involving a needle. But the last? That's my baby! Can't I protect her from other things? Knowing it's the last time feels like such a line between my sweet little baby child and adulthood. I hope I raised her well, but I'm not sure I'm ready for this.)

I guess we'll shop for a prom dress in a few months, and I'll make sure she can walk safely in her fancy grownup shoes, and I'll take photos in front of the azaleas.

But that's my baby! What do I do when I no longer have band boosters and chauffeuring?

On the tin. My child is almost 26. My classmate is in the neighborhood of 57. He's a horndog.

And my kid is all "mama, why is this man trying to make it a thing?" He's literally old enough to be her parent. He played football with my husband, and we all graduated from high school together.

Why would you even want to get busy with someone who doesn't recognize your music?!

I know people can be shallow. But I'm not okay with someone I've known since 1984 hitting on my child.

I had just made a bank deposit (like a real life one, which... Who does that? But US Treasury sent a stupid check, so I went to the bank. And learned that my deposit slips are no longer valid after 3 bank buyouts. But I tried, and the sweet young woman at the bank fixed it easily. My checks have my address from 12 years ago printed on them.)

At any rate, because I'm skint and didn't want to risk an NSF or running out of fuel, I went to the next stop on my errands and pre-paid $20 for gasoline. (Also, it felt almost as weird paying cash as depositing a physical check.) Pumped my gas. At the end of the transaction, the digital screen displayed "You have reached your limit."

Who knew that the gas pump is that insightful?! Self-service therapy seems like a real bargain.

I don't think I'm doing anything remarkable. But I think I'm doing something important maybe?

I'm an older GenX. My kids are probably younger than yours, because I had them as an older woman.

Mine participate in band and drama. I'm showing up to whatever degree I'm able - cancer ain't fun, but I'm showing up. I didn't have that. I'm buying fruit for band camp and working a cashier shift for the fundraiser, because I didn't have that. I feel like hammered shit. I'm robbing Peter to pay Paul, because I want my daughters to feel like they are supported in their endeavors.

I talked to my mom this evening after I spent the day getting through the details we needed for band camp. (Sports physicals and paperwork and buying groceries for the packed lunches and healthy breakfasts and cleaning the water bottles. Just the stuff you do.)

Mom went to exactly one of my band performances, in 1986. She thinks I'm spoiling the children.

No Mama. I show up. I clap like a loon. The thing I learned from my childhood is that it's okay to treat your child like she's awesome, even if you have to mention that she's not always a saint.

My kids aren't spoiled. They're not perfect. They're fabulous.

Don't be like me! I scrambled to get required physicals today. Parent meeting is tonight, rookie camp starts tomorrow! Yikes! (Fortunately, the NP was notably impressed with the girls' health.)

I don't think I'm gonna meet my goals. (Which are simple. I want to raise my teens and outlive my dog. That's all. At least get them to a better place.)

I don't have health coverage. I've tried.

I weighed myself this morning. Grim.

I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want anyone to have to explain to my dog where I am, or ask anyone else to take the kids to band camp. I don't know how to do this. I don't need it for me. I need it for my babies and my dog and my mom.

Edit: As much as I appreciate the information, yes. I have gone through social workers, applications to state services, etc.

Y'all don't tell me to walk away. I can't afford to.

But I'm tired in my bones and toenails.

I truly want to raise my children, but I also wouldn't mind if I fall asleep tonight don't wake in the morning.

I don't think my cancer is gone. I also can't feel comfortable creating the debt for my family beyond the treatment I've received.

Didn't have the energy or bandwidth to cook, so I went to nab two pizzas from the nearest place.

Some 40+ dude is behaving absolutely inappropriately toward the young woman working the cash register - I'd guesstimate that she's somewhere between 17 and 20.

"Hey baby, can Pepaw and I get a couple of those (enter your favorite pizza order here?) I have the dog out in the truck if you want to say hello."

Nice young woman walks out with me to visit uncle dog. (Who isn't the tiniest bit aggressive, but he probably would fuck you up or die trying if he thought I felt unsafe. He's large and kind of pointy and loud.)

So now I have a new granddaughter. I'm whiter than milk, my new grandbaby is quite tan. Families look quite a lot of ways, but I've lived long enough to not leave my sisters or daughters without backup.

I know very few details. During WWII, my husband's grandfather landed with US troops at the port of Naples in early October 1943. (Grandfather was with the 1051st US Army engineers, a ports and bridges repair group.)

Soldiers being soldiers, Mr. C struck up a romance, and apparently was so smitten that he wanted to bring home a war bride. His command wouldn't allow that.

What little I know about her, from a single portrait that was kept carefully in a trunk until Mr. C died in 2012:

Her name was Enrichetta D'Andrea and she was living in Naples. It's difficult to guess her age, but I'd be comfortable saying 25-35. (Mr. C was 31 at the time.) And that's it. I don't suspect I'm looking for a living person.

Any suggestions on anywhere to start? My husband has long been curious whether there's an unknown aunt or uncle, but he's not interested in DNA testing.