My grandmother recently fell and things are looking grim. It will probably be a matter of days. Despite my dad being her son, she didn’t appoint him as “next of kin.” Instead, my grandmother appointed her daughter as the first point of contact. This is fine; she could only list one and she had a great relationship with her daughter.

My grandmother passes at 6:00 am. My dad is a volunteer at the swimming club and his first lessons start at 8:00 am, and his first break is around 10:00 am. My family knows this; he’s been doing this for twenty years now. 

At 10:00 am, he checks his phone and sees a missed call. He calls back and gets my cousin on the line. He is informed that his mother passed away. My cousin then gives this gem.

Cousin: “We couldn’t reach you! Why couldn’t we reach you? Why didn’t you pick up?”

Dad: “I was in the pool.”

Cousin: “You should have had your phone with you; you knew Grandmother was doing bad.”

Dad: “I know, but I was in waist-deep water.”

Cousin: “You should have taken your phone with you!”

Dad changed the subject. My cousin was probably grieving, but it’s a bit silly to expect a swimming instructor, who is supposed to keep an eye on little children, to have their phone with them in waist-deep water.

A new mom’s story reminded me of a time I, too, almost murdered my whole family. At the time, I had two kids. My son was almost four and my daughter was a few months old. She was going to have open-heart surgery soon, so we visited my folks, thinking they might want to spend a little time with her in case the worst happened. My sister came to visit, too, and to meet my daughter.

At one point, we planned to go out to a nice brunch. I got the kids dressed and ready.

Me: *To my father and sister* “Will you two watch the kids while I shower and get ready?”

Father & Sister: “Yes.”

I set my daughter in her carrier on the deck between them and went upstairs. As I undressed for my shower, I could hear my daughter crying and crying. I looked out the window. Dad and [Sister] were simply talking, not even looking at the struggling baby between them. The louder the crying got, the louder they talked.

I got dressed, went back downstairs, and picked up my daughter.

Me: *Sarcastically* “Thanks.”

My sister seemed surprised that I was suggesting anything was wrong.

I stripped the baby, took her into the shower with me, got as clean as I could, wrapped myself in a towel, and got her redressed. Then, I got myself as presentable as a semi-clean, tired, angry mother of an ill baby can be.

I went downstairs to find my son completely covered in sidewalk chalk about six feet from my sister and father.

And then, my mother came out and asked why I wasn’t ready.

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My mother, who lived in New Jersey, spent some time in California. While there, she had to visit a doctor. The doctor, as is customary, sent a write-up of his examination back to my mother’s regular physician in New Jersey.

My mother showed me her copy of the letter and was very indignant. The line in question read, “Mrs. [Mother], a seventy-five-year-old woman who looks her age…”

My mother found that very objectionable. True, my mother did look much younger than her age. But I thought I understood why the doctor wrote the letter that way.

Me: “Mom, everybody in California has work done, so the doctor thinks that’s what typical seventy-five-year-olds look like. You didn’t have any work done, so you must have looked like Methuselah to him!”

Needless to say, my explanation did not appease her!

I got married at the weekend. As anyone who’s ever done it knows, wedding planning is one of the most stressful and exhausting things you can experience for something so happy. A large part of that is down to having to play family politics for every single decision. There’s a reason Wedding Planner is a full-time job!

My dad started by saying that it was OUR wedding, and we could do things the way WE wanted. We shouldn’t listen to what anyone else said, especially as we were paying for it all ourselves. But then, he found out I wasn’t inviting his incredibly flaky best friend, who hasn’t spoken to me since I stopped living with my parents and has never had a conversation with my now-husband.

Dad: “But you have to invite [Friend]! He’s my best friend!”

Me: “Right, he’s your best friend. He’s not made any attempt to contact me in nearly four years and he doesn’t even know [Husband]’s name.”

Dad: “That’s not the point! He invited you to his wedding!”

Me: “Yes, he invited me as your child, not as myself. He didn’t invite [Husband] because, as I already told you, he doesn’t know [Husband]. And I think his wedding day is the only time I’ve met his wife! I couldn’t pick her out of a crowd. Also, it wouldn’t just be [Friend]. It would be [Friend], [Friend]’s wife, and two children under five! We’ve already gone over the limit for the number of guests we can invite, and you want me to add four more people to the list?!”

Dad: “But you’re inviting [Friend]’s sister and her family! How can you invite her and not [Friend]?!”

Me: “[Friend’s Sister] is my godmother! She deliberately chose to play an active role in my life, texts me regularly, and invites me to her kids’ birthday and Christmas parties. She’s coming to my hen do because she’s like a big sister to me! She knows [Husband]’s name and has even met his parents! This is his wedding, as well, don’t forget, and he doesn’t know [Friend] at all!”

Rinse and repeat various similar arguments for at least half an hour, until…

Dad: “But I’ve already told him when it is! I told him the invite would be in the post!”

Aha! That’s why you’re so worried about this; you want to protect your pride!

Me: “Well, that’s not my fault. I never told you I was going to invite him, and I’ve not given you the okay to give the details out yet.”

This carried on for quite a while with my dad screaming and getting angry like a toddler. Eventually, he resorted to emotional blackmail and started yelling at my mum, calling her a “liar” and worse because he thought she had “been in on it” and was deliberately keeping it from him. When he started on that, I caved. I can’t stand it when he’s like that to Mum, especially when it’s not her fault.

The punchline is that his friend, the one that was “so important to this family,” that he couldn’t be without, and who had been given the date of our wedding weeks before anyone else, didn’t even come. Being the total flake that he was, he forgot the date Dad had told him, and he didn’t mention it to his wife, who went ahead and booked a holiday. He then lost the invite when we eventually sent it, and we found out after the RSVP date that his wife didn’t even know we’d invited them — nor did she expect to be invited because, you know, we hardly know them. My dad couldn’t understand why I was fuming.

Whilst this wasn’t the last stunt he pulled to get his own way at our wedding, it was the first and last time he tried to influence the guest list. And he still doesn’t get why we live so far away.

I’m getting my four-year-old niece ready for bed to give my sister a break, and she’s very excited to show me her “new” pyjamas.

My sister lives on a small cul de sac that coincidentally has a lot of children of similar ages. For example, there are three other girls in my niece’s nursery class on her street. All the parents get on as well as the kids. To help each other out, when one child outgrows some clothes that are still in good condition, they’ll be offered to other parents that have smaller or younger children. My niece’s new pyjamas came from one of these trades.

Niece: “Look! It’s a unicorn made of stars! [Friend] gave me these.”

Me: “That was nice of her. I hope you said thank you.”

Niece: “Yes.” *Pauses* “[Nephew]’s friends never give him clothes.” *Dramatic sigh* “I guess they just don’t think of him.”

Me: “Do you think maybe it’s because he’s taller than his friends?”

Niece: “Nope. My friends just like me better.”