Mother vs Grandmother

It’s been a while. Lot’s of life going on right now.

But I can’t be silent any longer.

I used to think that being a mother was the toughest gig out there. I was wrong.

Being a grandmother is the toughest gig out there.

Close behind it is being a grandfather. That would be me.

My “give-a-fuck” is officially broken. Hurt me, that’s one thing. Hurt the woman in my life, that’s another.

Now we’re both officially hurt. Scarred. Crashed. Left to pick up the broken pieces.

By those we love. By those we raised.

I know now why tigers eat their young.

Getting past the pain. September is a new beginning.

We’re going to lock in on this site. We’re going to make it happen… RIGHT. FUCKING. HERE.

This place is going to be the the go-to place for empty nesters.

We’re here. Been there. Done that. Got the F’ing T-shirt.

Why the hell did we pour those many years into raising those children?


Enough tantrums.

Enough sword rattling.

Hell, isn’t there enough of that going on in our political realms right now?

Let’s make a F’ing difference.

Let’s dig in. Let’s make a life for ourselves. After the kids.

During the grand kids.

Screw ’em.

They want independence? Have at it. It’s intoxicating. It’s belly aching. It’s the dream.

We’re not standing on the sidelines anymore.

We’re plowing ahead.


Do you kids want in? Tough shit.


Do your own thing some more.


We’re going to get up on that wave and we’re going to ride it and maybe, just maybe, if you can peel your conceited asses away from whatever the fuck is on your cell phone at the moment, we may let you claim our busted asses down at the morgue.

Because we’re done. We failed. We get that. But pining away for you to come back sucks.

Let me repeat that: It SUCKS.

We poured ourselves out for you. Don’t you get that? Suddenly, flashbacks of parents giving me the same, similar glance. Screw it. It’s about us.


Go live your lives. Hell, that’s how we raised you. Now we reap the whirlwind.

But now. Right now. Your mother and I are going to go buy a Harley.

With your inheritance money.

We’re going for a ride.

I hope it never ends.

Because, frankly, you suck.

And we suck.

See you at the next family BBQ.

I’ll be the one with new tattoo.