#the amount of chores. laundries. dishes in the sink. food to cook. and she complains and yells 24/7 as if we told her to give birth to us

[evilkaeya]

being the eldest daughter means i have the right to call my mom insane bc what tf was she on when she decided to have three kids with my red flag of a father

[nerdyclumsywriter-blog]

To Grandmother’s House We Go

After a couple of hours of hovering over a hot stove, Lisa felt like passing out. Especially on one of the hottest days of the year, and serving a grandmother who doesn’t like using the air conditioning. “You’re too used to the air conditioning, that’s why you’re always hot.” She’

“Is it ready, yet?” She heard the elderly, gravely voice of her grandmother shouting from the next room.

“Not yet!” Lisa yelled back.

“What?!” Her grandmother yelled back louder.

No matter how many times Lisa told her grandmother that she can’t stop what she’s doing or hear her from the kitchen, her grandmother still did it multiple times a day.

Lisa stopped what she’s doing and enters the living room. Her grandmother, perpetually sitting in her lazyboy recliner, gave Lisa a big, fake smile. The chair was broken and slightly stained, it was over a decade old but her grandmother refused to get rid of it. “Then I have to pay someone to take it out, pay for a new chair and pay them to bring it in. I don’t have that kind of money and I don’t want strange men in the house.” Even though her grandmother had two bank accounts, with sums in the high five figures in each, she always complained about money and always claimed to be close to destitute. Lying in the chair, her folds of skin are squished against the arms of the chair and the rest of her body. She hadn’t gone outside in years and always blamed her chronic back pain and trouble keeping her balance. She had those problems because of the three hundred and fifty pounds she had to carry around, mostly grouped on her stomach and buttocks. Which was another thing she caused, complained about and did nothing about.

“It’s not ready yet, grandma. About fifteen minutes.” Lisa explained in her sweetest facade of voices.

“Can you make me a hot cup of tea?” Her grandmother asked.

“Hot tea? It’s eighty seven degrees out, grandma.” Lisa expressed confusion in her tone.

“If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.” Her grandmother replied in a tersely.

She was a champion of that, too. Her grandmother could always make any situation look like she’s the victim. She held a gold star in vindictiveness and two in manipulation. Whenever she was confronted about something terrible she had said or done, she resorted to crying to evoke sympathy. It was that or she looked at you with puppy eyes and asked for forgiveness because she didn’t have much time left on this Earth. That always boiled Lisa’s blood. Yet again, she’d just brush it off or hear about it for weeks and maybe a few screaming fits. Lose were likely at any given time since she became unhinged at the smallest things. She wasn’t sick, she didn’t have Alzheimers or dementia. She was just a spoiled child in an eighty-something, overweight body.  

Since all her other elderly friends only ever heard her side of the story over long, exaggerated phone calls, they always told her she was right, mainly because they only heard her side and they don’t live with or cater to her twenty-four seven. She never mentioned that she had screamed in Lisa’s face anytime she was angry over things that were her own fault or so petty you would think the old broad’s emotional growth ended in high school. She never mentioned to her bridesmaid from Brooklyn that even though she complained about the amount of money she spends on groceries, that Lisa is the one who would go out and carry those groceries home, and never bought anything not on the list her grandmother provided. Lisa was sure she hadn’t mentioned to any of her friends that any given day she’ll threaten to kick Lisa out and then ask her to pick up her lotto in the same breath.

Lisa learned to keep her mouth shut and brush off everything, the alternative was going to back to stressing herself out to the point of becoming physically ill.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll make it.” Lisa complied.

“Thank you, sweetie!” Her grandmother smiled and lifted the lilt of her voice to a sugary sweet. Lisa returned to the stove and stirred some sauce before starting the kettle on one of the free stove burners.

“What are you making, again?” her grandmother shouted, yet again. Lisa dropped her wooden spoon down on the counter and entered the living room, “I’m making pasta and meat sauce!” Lisa said with feigned excitement.

“Didn’t we have that last week?” She asked Lisa.

“Well, yeah but I couldn’t really carry anymore groceries so I picked up something light.” Lisa explained, knowing this won’t end well.

“Oh, if you couldn’t carry anything you didn’t have to.” Her grandmother stated with fake concern.

“I got it because we needed it, though.” Lisa explains. ‘What would we be eating right now if I didn’t?’ She thought to herself.

“We could have had leftovers. Are there any leftovers?” Her grandmother suggested, as if un-cooking food was an option at this point in our universe.

Lisa sighed to herself. “Yeah, i guess we could have but...”

“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll do it next time.” She smiled and went back to watching television.

Lisa entered the kitchen again. ‘WE?” She thought. She always used that term, WE. When WE get groceries. When WE get my medicine. When WE go to the store. ‘She only moves from that chair to use the bathroom, which always ends up with me cleaning the trail of piss from the kitchen floor.’ Her grandmother always promised to get some sort of adult diaper because she was aware that she couldn’t hold it most times. She never did. She never did because she honestly believed she didn’t need to. She expected someone to constantly clean up after her, and Lisa did. It was far past the breaking point for her. After the chores, sponge bathing her, the loads of laundry, the cooking, the dishes and all of that for a pile of unappreciated entitlement thrown in her face on a daily basis. It had to end before she lost her mind completely.

Lisa opened the cabinet above the sink and grabbed the oregano. She saw an odd looking box. It was definitely old, years old. Her grandmother never threw anything away which is why the bedroom her grandparents shared is now filled with boxes and her grandfather’s belongings that had never been donated or stored anywhere. The cabinet was unsurprisingly filled with spices and sprinkles from the 80s that Lisa was instructed not to throw away. She never asked why because you can only ask why and have it followed by a calm and open conversation with a sane person. Grandma was not sane.

Lisa pulled out the box thinking it was some baking soda from 1983. ‘Screw this, I’m throwing it away.’ She thought. Right as she opened the garbage lid, she noticed it was indeed possibly from 1983 but it was poison for insects and mice. The labeling was almost faded but the mouse with a red X over it was pretty clear. She tried to find an expiration date but there was none or that too had faded. She looked at the box for a few seconds, then she looked at the sauce pot. After a few more seconds, she laughed at herself, ‘You’re not a murderer.’ She again attempted to throw it away but paused again. She found herself slowly placing it on the counter by the bowls meant to be filled with penne and meat sauce.

“Lisa!” Her grandmother screamed from the living room.

“Can you go to the bank tomorrow and deposit a check for me? It’s for the taxes.” She asked in that slimy, sugary way of hers.

She always loved to remind Lisa of what she paid for and how much everything was. Lisa didn’t have the money to move, if she did, there would be a Lisa shaped hole in the wall like a cartoon. She had offered to give what she could in rent but grandma always turned it down. Grandma likes to do things for people in order to have something to put herself on a pedestal. She does favors for things in return. She doesn’t do things out of kindness, she does business. Lisa had pondered the idea of just leaving and never looking back. Homelessness wouldn’t be as bad as this. She could couch surf with friends but she always hated feeling like a burden, which grandma made her feel every day. Naming off the prices of the groceries, electric bill, phone bill (which Lisa never used anyway since she had her own cell phone that she paid the bill for), the gas bill, taxes, water bill, everything. As if she needed to be reminded that her friends are moved out and on to better things, this hag needs to remind her how much a house costs.

“Sure, grandma.” Lisa accepted the task through clenched teeth.

“Oh, and pick up some desserts from the store, but only if you want to, you don’t have to.” She said in a perfunctory manner.

What that meant is, she wants desserts for the night and if Lisa doesn’t get any she’ll be complaining all night about it. So no, Lisa really doesn’t have a choice. Desserts in exchange for some sort of mental health, if even for a few hours. Anytime she claims that Lisa doesn’t have to do something, it’s to be taken as more of a bold underline under the fact that she definitely has to do it. It will be talked about not only for the day but weeks after and once you think she’s off that horse, you hear her talk to her friends about it at a very high volume. One time Lisa was offended by the things her grandmother was telling her friends, she brought it up and she was immediately reminded of whose house this was and if Lisa didn’t like it, she could leave. That was later forgotten when her grandmother would let a tear or two stream down her face until Lisa felt bad enough or slightly enough pity to just forget the whole thing. Just like a cycle of misery, she lives this day in and day out.

Lisa gives a nod and a forced smile and walked back into the kitchen.

She lifted the lid off the pasta and stirred it with a wooden spoon while adding the oregano. She brings the pasta pot to the colander, already sitting in the sink and dumps it out. She aggressively shakes the pasta until water stops dripping. She grabs a large serving spoon and places more than healthy helpings in each bowl. She flips the pasta from the colander back into the now dry pasta pot. She takes the ladle and scoops up sauce to the brim. She stops and takes a long, deep breath. She closes her eyes for a few seconds. As she opens them, she finds her arm already stretching out to grab the box. She sprinkles two pinches on the penne and applies the meat sauce. She grabs a fork and mixes it up. Nothing looks odd. Garbage goes out tonight so she can chuck the box, it’ll be gone by morning, no one would be able to convict her. Not when the evidence has been in the landfill for days.

“Is it ready, yet?” She heard the source from the broken chair.

Lisa put on her stage smile, “Yes, it is!” She entered the living room with the saucy poison in hand.

She walked over to the chair. Her grandmother tried to adjust her sitting position with half her weight on the broken arm of the chair. It looks similar to a human arm broken in several places. It jutted out, looking abnormal and out of place. Once adjusted, grandma springs her hands out to receive her food as she catches her breath. Lisa handed the bowl over. “Oh, I’d like iced tea too, dear.” Grandma added, hardly hesitating her first bite. She shoved a fork full of pasta in her mouth. Even if Lisa was to rethink her decision, it’s too late now.

Lisa, only half regretting what she’d done, walked back to the kitchen.

“Sweetheart, when you bring my iced tea could you bring in some buttered bread?” She asked with a second mouthful of food.

Lisa looked back, “Yes, grandma.” She paused in the doorway, “I love you, grandma.”

Her grandmother, half watching television half eating, responded, “Thank you, dear.”

Lisa looked up, laughed to herself and shook her head. She entered the kitchen and takes a glass from the cabinet above. She removed a tablespoon from the drawer and gladly pours it into the glass.