Grounding Velvet

I am in the process of reasserting my parental authority.

Grounding Velvet from perpetrating any 420s in this house seemed like a sensible place to begin. And no friends over here this weekend either - especially not Cupcake since she travels with a gaggle of girls. He can go out if he wants to, but he has to abide by a curfew. I maintain that 2:00am is a reasonable curfew on weekends on account of that's when the bars close in Texas.

He thinks he can charm me out of my resolve, but I reminded him of the time I took him down to the local precinct when he was almost five and asked the desk sergeant to show him where they put the folks who don't listen to their mothers. She was delighted to oblige. She showed him the shackles the cops lock onto the ankles of the people who have to sit on the bench and the holding cell. He still remembers it vividly. Nevertheless, it might be time for another visit since he believes he can out argue me any day. He laughed, shook his ass at me and declared he was a superhero. I had to kick his ass and call him a baboon.

I have told him that I'm mightily provoked, and as much as I love him and all that, there's no telling what I'll do now that he's driving me crazy. He has admitted that he's been driving me crazy on purpose in retaliation for me throwing him out - which is how he insists on referring to my sending him to his father. Except that the incident on Monday where he left the living room looking like an MTV movie set -- that wasn't on purpose. Velvet continues to call that foolishness an unfortunately timed oversight because he really meant to be respectful. He and his friends were in such a hurry to get to see Up in 3D that he forgot to clean up those empty bags of potato chips, dirty glasses and sundry paraphernalia. I could only respond that there's a reason why they call it Dope.

He's actually making an effort, however. He's remembered to put a fresh liner in the trashcan after he takes out the trash, and he even made his own lemonade.
We'll be going around and around about this until the session Velvet, Buzz Kill and I are having with Velvet's therapist on Monday. Fortunately, he is already scheduled tomorrow and Sunday night with his father - although I'm anticipating that he's going to want to be home on Sunday night because the first episode of the new season of True Blood is on the TV.

It's a good thing that Velvet is spending six weeks this summer down in Texas doing hard labor at Mudgie's house. He's building a flagstone patio and will have to be working by 5:00am in order to get finished for the day before the heat gets brutal. Then he has to replace a bunch of tile and a whole list of other things she can't do for herself anymore since she's 70 and my dad is working full time again. And frankly, ever since Dad fell off the ladder taking down plywood from the upstairs windows after Rita, there are plenty of things he shouldn't be doing either (Pink Thong Mystery Solved and An Epiphany about Being Nice, Stonerdate 10.25.08).
It's not the hard labor I'm eagerly anticipating. Velvet worked plenty hard when he was up at the Hippy Dippy Quaker Camp. Not only did he tend the farm, build a chicken coop, maintain trails and chop firewood - he had to clear beaver dams from a neighboring state park. All that physical activity is how he started getting so Crazy Ripped.

He has no idea of what it's like to spend multiple weeks with someone who is so negative that her job could be cutting the balls off the Dog of Life. She's mellowed out a lot since I was a kid, but she's still a double barrelled bitch. And although my dad is an easy going fellow who likes few things as much as his share in the season tickets to The Astros in the club level - he has an ability to make someone feel like a disappointment that combines the skills of Andy Griffith, John Walton and Jimmy Carter. Throw in some Clint Eastwood and Matt Dillon, and that's my dad. You don't want to disappoint my father.
Six weeks with them ought to do the boy some good.