Apparently

Apparently she wasn’t happy we didn’t come into her apartment on Mother’s Day. She claimed she didn’t know we were mad. (which only makes her dropping off things for T when we are clearly home but not making contact and just skulking away more curious… like we didn’t notice)

She turned the whole signing the waiver and moving forward on the restoration under the claim was a selfless act. It was to help us. To take the burden off of us and to ease the stress in our relationship. No. Absolutely not. Still no.

She. Doesn’t. Understand. Her. Situation.

Since that time S has met with her one time and spoken to her one time after that. Apparently she is quite happy with how things are going. According to her everything she asks the President of the HOA to do, magically gets done.

“He likes me” she states matter of factly as she shrugs. As if he doesn’t like me. As if he ever tried. As if he ever acknowledged me. As if she had this power all along when we were truly struggling to get a response and she chose not to use it.

Apparently he also told her he was waiving the $10,000 deductible on the insurance policy because “he didn’t feel it was right.” Again. No. That isn’t a thing. And as the HOA President, he was made aware of the policy coverage and limits before he renewed it in December.

Apparently construction is moving along quickly. And she intends to live in the basement and just not finish the rest of the place. Saving money now. And then she defaults into the categorical listing of every item of furniture she owns and where she bought it and when and how much she paid for it. Every single item currently stashed in an off site storage unit. Every glorious item that apparently will be moved back in to the main level that will not be painted and will have no floors.

S reminded her that she cannot safely live down a flight of stairs. How will she get her groceries down? Her cases of water? What is her plan? No plan. She shoots back by asking what he would do.

Well he would sell the place and move on. And then they went into that black hole again about the new construction 3000 sq foot townhome in Rosemount that she both has never looked at, never contacted a mortgage broker about and cannot afford. Not to mention its an hour from all her doctors.

Fighting to get out of that spiral he shares that is she stays there he would make the first floor livable. He would widen the door ways to accomodate a wheelchair, and alter the master bath to create a walk in shower.

yes. get rid of that jacuzzi tub. I hate it

It’s gone, Mom. I threw it out months ago.

If you make the shower bigger what happens to the toilet?

The toilet moves over.

But the counter is there.

The counter is gone. I threw it out months ago. We would shorten the counter.

But then I wouldn’t have a double vanity.

Nope.

Well forget it. It will kill my resale.

I mean, sure. Voluntarily choose to save money by not finishing 2 levels of the house won’t hurt resale. And not having a safe space to shower isn’t a priority.

S calls her again last night. The first thing she says is

I hope you didn’t run out and buy me all new doors. And you better not put that oak back in there. I hate oak. throw all that trim away.

Oh no. I haven’t done anything. I don’t have time to do anything.

His purpose was to regroup and share with her what she needs to communicate to the construction crew so she can widen the doorways and try and accommodate a safe shower with a double vanity. S says she should call the HOA president with the info.

What will he do?

He will talk to the property manager and construction people. (doesn’t he do whatever you say?)

He doesn’t know anything about construction. I’ll just go over there when the guys are working and tell them what I want.

That won’t work. They are the workers. The order takers. They are not the decision makers. They have no power.

It will work.

I guess this is the thing. The communication with her is so circular and sporadic and full of traps. When he talks to her he feels he has been stunned by some sort of secret verbal stun gun. I know how it feels. A sane brain scours for one solid piece of information to provide a solid response on. A sane brain doesn’t debate every crazy notion. A sane brain doesn’t introduce new topics. Topics like

  • You know that when construction is done it will just be sheet rocked, right? There will be no appliances or vanities. There will be no working kitchens or bathrooms. There will be no paint and no flooring. All of your stuff will still be in 4 storage containers in 2 different sites and you will need to hire movers to bring it back.

  • You know we aren’t your general contractor on the inside, right?

  • You know that across the board construction materials and supply chains remain severely disrupted, right?

  • You know we’re done, right?

Apparently not.

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Apparently, part 2

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Mother’s Day