Today started out beyond wonderfully. In spite of only having approximately three hours of sleep, I got up this morning in a good mood; ready to take care of my dog and my child and go out to breakfast with my parents. And in fact, for the first few hours of the day, it was delightful. We went out to a dinner, the four of us, had a nice breakfast, went to Home Depot to find spindles for a broken banister in the house and came home.
And then everything went to shit.
My father is even more emotional and mercurial than I am and apparently there were issues with plane tickets for my parents' anniversary trip in the fall. So after two hours of phone calls he was, let's call it "annoyed."
Then he started working on the broken banister and the project went wrong. And he fucking lost it.
He couldn't find drill bits because he hates clutter and my step-mother might have moved them. He couldn't finish the project because he "can't fucking find anything in this fucking house and can't do anything fucking right!" And so on...
After a bit of this I heard him yelling at his dog Dexter, who only wanted to play and that's when I decided that the night was truly farked and to get Wildflower Child in a shower and to bed as soon as possible. She was crushed because she had wanted to celebrate Father's Day with ice cream and Pop-Pop and that wasn't happening. Also dinner didn't happen.
So I got her to bed, and started cleaning the kitchen and erasing any evidence that I had been there and putting all the food that we hadn't actually prepared away. By now my dear father is sitting on the deck just being a ball of angry. I'm being quiet as a mouse and fucking manic trying to get as much done as quickly as I can and knowing that I have to give my dog her meds early and get the fuck out of sight asap.
Which I did. Also just realized I forgot my meds. Nice.
So anyway...Happy Father's Day to all the dads, even the one's who take their frustration out on their families.
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