So, today is my kid's twenty-ninth birthday and apparently, as always, he hates my guts.
His little one was here and she had a soccer game this morning, and it was obvious that he was in a bad mood from the start.
He had to remind me what a horrible parent I was when he was a kid.
Whether or not I was is kind of immaterial at this point. I wasn't the worst, and I soooooo, sooo, soooo was not the best. Again, it doesn't matter so much any more. I'm a good parent now, and as a grandparent, I say with no false modesty whatsoever that I kick ass.
Now, what to do about all these little fits and spells he has where he wants to rip my guts out for things I did in my teens.
I'm thinking that (since he's been living with me for years, and his brother resents the living hell out of it anyway) that it's time this little one moved out. He's obviously being damaged further by having to live here. He's got money to move out if he chooses to. He stays here for no other reason than he can.
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