Operation Sober Grandpa
The thing about having your bipolar (sorry - did I forget that part?) alcoholic father stay with you for three and a half days is that it REALLY makes you want to drink. But there's no alcohol in the house because your dad is an alcoholic! But because he's a bipolar alcoholic, you REALLY want a drink! But there's no alcohol in the house because...
You get it. It's been a long weekend.
However, Operation Sober Grandpa was a success! At least, I think it was. For the part that mattered anyway (when he was watching Petunia while we were at the wedding).
A big thanks to Mozo and his roommate Mr. Durden for taking care of Lilah while we went to the wedding on Saturday. And an ESPECIALLY big thanks to Prurient's husband (whom I don't believe has an online handle) for stepping in at the last moment to 'bump into' my dad and Petunia at the restaurant where they were having dinner. We plan on having a success party for all our accomplices very soon.
Despite a shaky beginning to the visit (see my comment on the last post), everything seemed to be relatively okay during Dad's stay. He didn't order any alcohol in front of us, and he didn't drink more of that Nyquil than he should have.
I think he managed to get sloshed on Saturday night, though - AFTER we were home from the wedding and in bed.
See, after obstinately taking Petunia to a local pizza parlor for dinner in the stroller (so much for our plan to keep him at home by cutting off access to the cars), they 'stopped at the 7Eleven for an ice cream.' Well, we have ice cream at home; why would they need to stop for more ice cream? It's not like 7Eleven has a scoop shop in the back. They've got a teeny case of Haagen Dazs bars. Hmmm...oh, right - 7Eleven sells alcohol!
When we came home from the wedding, Dad was definitely sober. However, when we went to bed that night, he stayed up late (as he did every night) and came to bed long after Basil and I were asleep. When Petunia was crying frantically at 4 am with a nightmare or something, I raced into her room. On the way in, I noticed that the baby gate at the top of the stairs was not closed, which is odd because we always close it and Dad knows that and he made a point of closing it all the other nights that he came to bed later than us. Also, the guest room door was wide open. Dad appeared to be asleep on the guest bed, but he was not moving at all - despite the fact that Petunia was crying wildly and loudly in the room next door. The next morning, he was up for a walk before any of us, and - I'm guessing - disposing of any evidence.
After calming Petunia down at 4 am, I was tempted to go down into the basement and scope around for empty bottles or cans, but in the end, I thought, Who cares? I mean, we know he has a drinking problem, and there's a very good chance that he bought some hooch at 7Eleven when we weren't supervising him. However, he didn't drink it while he was watching Petunia, and he didn't drink it in front of us. He didn't do or say anything to hurt anyone, and he didn't break or screw up anything in our home.
To quote one of my favorite advice columnists, Carolyn Hax, in yesterday's paper: '[W]hen you're already right, you're not going to improve the situation by being extra super mega right.'
So I went back to bed.
Dad left this morning, a flurry of manic energy. Basil and I breathed the world's most audible sigh of relief when he headed into the Metro station. Petunia gave her Grandpa a big hug and kiss goodbye when we all dropped her off at preschool this morning, as I think she truly had a good time this weekend.
And that's what we were hoping for. A weekend of good solid, clean memories with my dad that will leave a positive impression on her. There may come a day in 15, 20 or 25 years when Petunia hears some of the sordid details of her grandfather's existence. But as a child, she shouldn't have to deal with my dad at his worst. This weekend, Grandpa was sober, and he and Petunia had fun.
And tonight Basil and I plan on having a nice Claret to celebrate.
You get it. It's been a long weekend.
However, Operation Sober Grandpa was a success! At least, I think it was. For the part that mattered anyway (when he was watching Petunia while we were at the wedding).
A big thanks to Mozo and his roommate Mr. Durden for taking care of Lilah while we went to the wedding on Saturday. And an ESPECIALLY big thanks to Prurient's husband (whom I don't believe has an online handle) for stepping in at the last moment to 'bump into' my dad and Petunia at the restaurant where they were having dinner. We plan on having a success party for all our accomplices very soon.
Despite a shaky beginning to the visit (see my comment on the last post), everything seemed to be relatively okay during Dad's stay. He didn't order any alcohol in front of us, and he didn't drink more of that Nyquil than he should have.
I think he managed to get sloshed on Saturday night, though - AFTER we were home from the wedding and in bed.
See, after obstinately taking Petunia to a local pizza parlor for dinner in the stroller (so much for our plan to keep him at home by cutting off access to the cars), they 'stopped at the 7Eleven for an ice cream.' Well, we have ice cream at home; why would they need to stop for more ice cream? It's not like 7Eleven has a scoop shop in the back. They've got a teeny case of Haagen Dazs bars. Hmmm...oh, right - 7Eleven sells alcohol!
When we came home from the wedding, Dad was definitely sober. However, when we went to bed that night, he stayed up late (as he did every night) and came to bed long after Basil and I were asleep. When Petunia was crying frantically at 4 am with a nightmare or something, I raced into her room. On the way in, I noticed that the baby gate at the top of the stairs was not closed, which is odd because we always close it and Dad knows that and he made a point of closing it all the other nights that he came to bed later than us. Also, the guest room door was wide open. Dad appeared to be asleep on the guest bed, but he was not moving at all - despite the fact that Petunia was crying wildly and loudly in the room next door. The next morning, he was up for a walk before any of us, and - I'm guessing - disposing of any evidence.
After calming Petunia down at 4 am, I was tempted to go down into the basement and scope around for empty bottles or cans, but in the end, I thought, Who cares? I mean, we know he has a drinking problem, and there's a very good chance that he bought some hooch at 7Eleven when we weren't supervising him. However, he didn't drink it while he was watching Petunia, and he didn't drink it in front of us. He didn't do or say anything to hurt anyone, and he didn't break or screw up anything in our home.
To quote one of my favorite advice columnists, Carolyn Hax, in yesterday's paper: '[W]hen you're already right, you're not going to improve the situation by being extra super mega right.'
So I went back to bed.
Dad left this morning, a flurry of manic energy. Basil and I breathed the world's most audible sigh of relief when he headed into the Metro station. Petunia gave her Grandpa a big hug and kiss goodbye when we all dropped her off at preschool this morning, as I think she truly had a good time this weekend.
And that's what we were hoping for. A weekend of good solid, clean memories with my dad that will leave a positive impression on her. There may come a day in 15, 20 or 25 years when Petunia hears some of the sordid details of her grandfather's existence. But as a child, she shouldn't have to deal with my dad at his worst. This weekend, Grandpa was sober, and he and Petunia had fun.
And tonight Basil and I plan on having a nice Claret to celebrate.
posted by merseydotes @ 8:52 AM
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