Retail Therapy

Master sent me off today to engage in some retail therapy. He specifically told me to buy three NEW coats (a winter coat, a dressy coat and a windbreaker) but I talked him into at least letting me scout out the thrift store before hitting the mall.

What can I say? I’m cheap, man.

So, us four girls (me, jes, am and babygirl) headed out to Goodwill.

Our haul:

I got the 3 coats (including a Pelle hip length leather jacket), 2 books, and a purse.

Am got 4 shirts, a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

Jes got a coat, 7 shirts, 5 pairs of earrings and a pleather jacket.

Babygirl got 2 pairs of pajamas, 2 bundles of socks (about 10 pair), 2 pairs of shoes, 3 toys and a spring cap.

Total cost: $114.37

I couldn’t have gotten three new coats for that amount.

B-man, who is pickier about his clothes than most girls and who will only wear black band tees, ordered 4 t-shirts off the net for a total cost of just over $100.

4 shirts. Almost the same price as our haul.

Srsly. Thrift stores FTW!

I really like to use the line “Look how much money I saved you by spending money, honey!” It makes me feel deliciously, naughtily vanilla.

Good day.

Jes and I had a chance to clear some bad air that’s been lingering between us for the last week or so. So much of parenting is a learning process, trial and error, learning from mistakes, and she is no exception. At just 18, she has a LOT to learn. I’m finding it difficult to step back and let her do that.

Because I live here and because it’s all right in my face day in and day out, I don’t know how to watch Babygirl “suffer”** and not step in or take over or give (unwanted) advice. Half the time I’m arguing with myself, telling myself that she needs to do it her way, and then telling myself that since she lives here with US, she has to make allowances for the rest of the people in the house and if she wants to do it “her way” she needs to move out. But she can’t move out, not yet, so I’m right back to trying to figure out how to find a way for her to be the parent she wants to be while also not disrupting the lives of everyone else in the house.

Anyway, I’d snapped at her over something or other last week, having just had my fill of holding it all in, and since then we’ve pretty much ignored each other. Today we talked about it and vowed to be easier on each other.

(** Babygirl never suffers in the true sense of the word. Because I happen to think she poops rainbows, when she’s unhappy, I’m unhappy. Sometimes, it truly is a matter of Jes just not knowing what to do. Other times, babies are just fussy.)

I imagine this sort of thing will continue until she moves out. I don’t see a solution. The living situation throws my roles in both of their lives into turmoil.

Even with all of that though, I’m still focusing on the silver lining. There’s something about being a grandparent that just blows parenting out of the water. I don’t know if it’s age, if it’s the continuation of life (which, let’s face it, is pretty fucking cool) or what it is. All I know is that focusing on the negatives is a waste of time when I have this beautiful and delightful baby cooing up at me.

She learned to blow raspberries today. She’s sort of waving hi and bye. And she’s still just hours away from crawling. She gets up on her hands and knees and rocks back and forth, makes a shaky move forward and then drops to an army crawl. Any minute now she’ll be mobile.

Did I tell you that Master is hopelessly smitten? Omigod. So freaking adorable. One might think that watching this big strapping manly man hopping around the living room going “bouncy bouncy bouncy!” in a high-pitched squeal would ruin his reputation for being a hardass.

One would be right. LOL

He comes home from work and goes straight to her, all squeaking and making faces. “How’s my babygirl?! Huh?! How’s grandpa’s girl?! Are you my princess? You are! Yes you are!” and she just eats. him. up.

It’s so cute though. He likes to make fun of me for going overboard on toys, clothes, etc. But just watch him walk through the baby section one time. “Does she need this? Does she have one of these? How about this right here?”

Spoiled Little Rotten Tot. That’s what I call her these days. Rotten Tot.

Life is good.

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