Living with my mother is straining my nerves and testing my willpower. She's often grumpy, reclusive and permanently attached to her cellphone. Madhubby and I hear her chatting late into the night and early in the morning after Bubba screams at us that "it's not dark anymore!"
She buys her own groceries and hides them away in her bedroom and her car. She's like a paranoid little squirrel prepping for winter. The other day, the kids asked her for some potato chips that were in plain sight in her room. No! Oh, you thought Grandma's were all about sharing goodies and snacks? Not my mom. She's all about hoarding her stuff so that her grandchildren can't get their grubby little paws on it. It's twisted.
Instead of eating meals with us, she eats in the basement. If we're home and we're doing something or watching a show she doesn't want to watch, she immediately retreats to her bedroom, slams the door, and does not come out until we are in bed.
The other day, I let the cat into the laundry room because (a) it was snowing and (b) he's been outside for three weeks and looked positively pitiful. She loudly bitched and complained about the cat, stomped down the stairs to the basement, slammed the door, and was not heard from again until the next morning. I think she either hates us or is mentally unstable. Maybe I should just slip a Zoloft into her morning juice. It couldn't hurt.