Yoshinator

Harsh

Hi Jen,

I do not support your getting married. If you want some advice you will RUN not walk away from that whole situation. On the other hand, you must be allowed to make your own mistakes. That is my dilemma. I have not booked my flight and I will NOT attend. I am doing what is best.

Love Dad

I wasn't sure I wanted him there anyhow after he kicked us out last month, and I already suspected that he was against me getting married (not necessarily to David, he's just anti-marriage in general). I definitely don't want anyone there who feels that way. It's not unexpected...but still hurts.

Dad is apparently fine with his daughters shacking up in long-term domestic partnerships. He doesn't want either of us to be lonely or unhappy. But he was financially screwed over and emotionally damaged by my mother in their divorce and has become completely against marriage. He has been passively against my sister or me getting married to anyone just on general principle. Last month when we visited he determined that he didn't like thechildren at all, so it seems he's now specifically against me marrying into this family.

He's a very quiet kind of person who believes in suffering silently and never talking about things, which is why this is the first I'm hearing about his disapproval. He started off very positive and supportive, and was even planning his flights. Now it's apparent that he was doing it out of duty and not wanting to hurt my feelings. Hearing that a copy of the invitation was in the mail led to discussion about his flights and involvement which led to the question of whether he wanted to be there at all. (I advised him to throw the invitation in the garbage without opening it when it arrives, as he won't like the wording. David really wanted my dad to feel included and respected and insisted that we go with a traditional "[Jenn's dad] requests the honour or your presence..." invitation. Kinda regretting that choice now.)

When he does finally break his silence, he does it like this. His two modes are "Suffer silently" and "Runaway Mack truck."

This is for the best. He was such a jerk to us when we visited him last month that I wasn't sure I even wanted him at the wedding, but I didn't want to burn bridges and tell him that he wasn't welcome. I mistakenly thought that being at his youngest daughter's wedding was important to him, so my plan was just to just keep the peace until after the wedding and then let things drift apart however they would. I'm feeling similarly to how I did when my mother died: I wasn't sad over her loss, I was sad over the life we should have had and the lost opportunity. My father as a person will not be missed at the wedding, but I'm still sad about the situation.

Worst. Vacation. Ever.

After about a year and a half of my dad asking when David and I will visit with the kids, we were finally able to make it happen in early August. We left home on a Thursday afternoon and planned to leave early the following Monday morning to make the 10 hour drive home.

The drive there was uneventful. Things at Dad's got off to a bad start when the youngest boy was bitten in the face by one of Dad's dogs. He had to have his nose glue-sutured. We got past it and had a great night of going to a drive-in movie. The next day we went on a really nice kayaking trip down the Shuswap river. My dad was full of criticism about how we were too impatient and strict with the kids, and how we just need to let them be kids. We were trying to be mindful of his space and we kept the kids out and about as much as we could, they slept in a tent in the yard, and we always offered to take separate vehicles with them. We were impatient and strict because this was really the first time my dad had spent any time with them and we didn't want to overstay our welcome.

On Sunday afternoon while waiting for my sister to meet us for a hiking trip to a local waterfall, about five minutes after some of the aforementioned criticism, my dad very abruptly and completely unexpectedly kicked us out. I had mentioned something about the drive the next morning and he said "No, you're leaving tonight. You and Dave are more than welcome, but the kids have to go."

The kids were being a little rambunctious because he'd gotten them all excited about going to see a waterfall, but then they had to wait with nothing to do for my sister to meet us. They didn't have any toys with them to keep them occupied and the biting dog was outside so they couldn't go play in the yard. He simply got tired of having them around and kicked us all out. The baffling thing was that they'd hardly been around him except at meal times. They camped in the yard so he didn't have them around at night at all, and we'd become separated on the river while kayaking so he didn't see them most of that day, too. He blew up after 15 minutes of them in his living room when he was the one who got them all keyed up. He'd been lobbying for them to visit so he can get to know them for so long now, but once they were there he wanted nothing to do with them and made no effort at all.

My sister and I are still reeling and trying to wrap our heads around just how monumentally out of character this was. We gave him plenty of outs for not having the kids around too much, but instead of taking us up on our offers, talking to us about it, asking us to get a hotel, or telling us the night before or even first thing that morning, he kept nonchalantly blowing off our concerns and waited until it was a really bad time to start a 10 hour drive to blow up. We had to pack up in a hurry and get on the road. I have never felt so rejected before and I've no idea how to deal with my father now.



We ended up driving overnight and made it home very late. We'd just gotten into bed when we heard the alarm linked to the keyfob for minivan (which we'd borrowed from David's mom). Four teens had broken in and were either trying to steal the van or whatever they could find in the van. David chased them down, police were called by both us and the one kid he cornered, statements were given, everyone walked away unscathed and thus far un-charged (including the vandals/thieves due to lack of evidence). We finally got to sleep around 4:00am but had to get up after a few hours to deal with the van and insurance.

Then there was a violent storm which saw parts of our basement flooded ankle-deep and the power out for several hours. Several breakers were off for several hours because of water pouring in around outlets and fixtures.

Boo-urns.

I am not a plumber

But I am handy once in a while. I got up and discovered that my toilet wouldn't flush and the handle was apparently not connected to anything.

The little arm that connects the handle to the chain in the tank broke off from the handle. I tried taking the handle and lever from the less-used downstairs toilet, but each toilet has a totally different type of chain and I couldn't find a good permanent way to secure the chain to the lever. For now, I had to use some string to hold it all together until we can get a compatible replacement. But it works and my toilet flushes again without me having to reach into the tank for the chain.

The hardest part was getting the bolts loosened. I was doing my best with a wrench but I wasn't getting anywhere. Turns out that the handle lever bolts tighten opposite to normal. So it's righty-loosey lefty-tighty. Once I knew that I didn't even need any tools.

I'm glad my dad had me help out with fix-it stuff growing up. I'm a little better prepared to at least diagnose these little repairs now, if not fix them.

RIP Candy

I just got an email from my dad. Candy, one of the family dogs, had to be put down this afternoon.

In March 1994, Boots the poodle-mix we got when I was 2 with had to be euthanized due to complications from an enlarged heart and lungs. My grandmother had died the same week, so it was a really rough time.

On Valentine's Day that year, the border collie that belonged to my sister's in-laws-to-be had a litter of 6 border collie-german shepherd cross pups. In early April, about 2 weeks after Boots died, my sister and her fiance brought over an adorable little puppy with floppy years and a pink and black spotted nose. My mother was reluctant, but my sister and dad and I all immediately fell in love with the puppy. We needed the joy of having a dog in the family again. Candy (so named because of her birthday) was instantly part of the family.

Not too long after that, my parents separated and eventually divorced. My sister and I got too old for my mother to continue to effectively use as pawns against my dad, so she used the dog. Heartbreaking for both Dad and Candy, but Dad and I soon adopted a new dog named Symba, a sweet and loving rottie-shepherd cross from the SPCA to be our dog at his house. Symba passed away three years ago when her arthritis became unmanageable.

As with her children, my mother loved Candy the best way she knew how. Unfortunately, this led to Candy becoming inactive and very obese with skin problems. When my mother became sick and eventually passed away in 2005, my dad and Symba and his new dog Keeper happily welcomed her. We didn't expect Candy to survive to that Christmas. Between the obesity and the arthritis she could barely walk. Under my dad's care, her skin cleared up and the arthritis pain and stiffness was eased as she lost weight through a healthy diet and going out for walks (something my mother never did). He gave her a happy and much healthier four and a half years that she wouldn't have otherwise had.

In the past couple years her fur had gone grey and she lost her hearing, but at the same time everyday she went and nosed at her leash for her daily walk, tail wagging happily, even when she could only make it a little way up the road and back. Yesterday she couldn't get up. Dad gave her some painkillers, but today she got much worse. His vet made a house call.

Whoomp There It Is - Tag Team

Standing Cat