“Sharing space across generations requires boundaries; otherwise, love and duty can turn into exhaustion.”

Thirty-three years ago today was the Blizzard of 1993. 
We had roughly twelve to fifteen inches of snow. 
Cowboy and I lived in a trailer park in Jefferson City.

I was twenty‑three years old with a nineteen‑month‑old Peacock and four months pregnant with Raven.
I wish I could say I remember it, but I don't.
The entire ’90s are mostly a blur of crying babies, sleepless nights, and solo parenting because Cowboy worked seven days a week, slept all day, and in his free time went hunting.

Luckily, no blizzard is in sight today, although we've sprung back to winter.
The official temperature for Knoxville was sixty‑one today.
I'd like to dispute that.
Of course, we're not Knoxville, but from what I understand, even Morristown, which is closest in temperature to us, uses the temperature from McGhee Tyson officially.

For a while, my cousin lived in a tent in the swamp in Florida.
It was some kind of national park that was actually in the Everglades and allowed camping.
She keeps sending me the temperature for the day down there.
She says, as soon as she's cleared from surgery, she's heading back down.
I'm almost willing to risk getting eaten by an alligator for those temperatures.
I can pitch a tent beside her.
Yeah, I'm laughing at that too.
I'm too old for tent living, and I'm more of an air conditioning indoor toilet, Netflix kind of person.

Today was our usual go‑to‑town, get‑weekly‑groceries day.
Other than that, though, it was a do‑nothing day.
Once Cowboy got off to work, Badger and I stayed in our rooms.
Raven has started falling asleep sitting up on my couch in the living room.
We don't bother him.
We keep the cats in the laundry room and the dogs in the bedroom.
I don't know what Badger got into, but I finished my book.

Raven finally woke up at 6:30 p.m. and stumbled to his room to go back to sleep.
Working third shift is killing him.
It doesn’t help that he can’t get off work at 7 a.m. and come home to sleep.
His body just isn't letting him sleep during the day, no matter how tired he gets.
He runs around until he literally collapses.
Today he fell asleep with his drink cup in his hand.
Like Cowboy, he'd be better suited for second shift, but then he'd have to give up Friday nights with his kids.

After he went to his room, I headed to the living room and Badger headed to the laundry room.
She worked until late, getting it ready so the cats could stay back there this weekend.

I should have been cleaning up.
Raven’s kids will be down tomorrow, but I still ache all over from my fall.
It’ll be three years in October since Raven moved in, and he still hasn’t found a place of his own.
Having to move things, lock things up, and kid‑proof the house every single week gets old.
I end up staying in my bedroom from Friday to Sunday because the house gets loud and chaotic.

Raven’s kids are a handful.
Raven and the other parent tend to use the kids’ neurodivergence as an excuse, and it makes things harder when there aren’t clear boundaries or rules.
You can love your kids and your grandkids and still be burned out.
I’m there.

It might be different if Cowboy would set rules, but he refuses.
The kids haven’t been allowed around us in the past, and he won’t risk that happening again.
It doesn’t matter if it’s not fair to me and Badger.
It feels like we don’t even matter.

Well, that’s not what I meant to get into tonight.
 I’m worn out, and everything aches. 
It’s hard to feel excited about the grandkids when I already know it’ll be loud, they’ll be up before I am, and I’ll be the one putting the house back together afterward.

There is a house out the road.
We call it the murder house.
I think technically it was a double drug overdose, but two people died in their house.
It’s going up for auction, and if you can get over the squeamishness of two people lying dead in there for a week or two, it’s just perfect for Raven.
The right number of bedrooms, close to work, close to us, and a huge fenced‑in yard.
OK, they were dealing drugs out of the house.
They did, you know, die and lay there for a bit, but I'm sure someone cleaned all that up.
Hopefully.
Of course, that’s a pipe dream. 
Raven can’t afford it.
He can't even afford rent.

Moving on, we got to watch one episode of “The X‑Files.”
I'm not sure exactly what Badger expected, but she's disappointed.
They haven’t even shown any aliens yet.

I do have to move Heron’s clothes to his truck in the morning. Somehow all of his things end up in my living room. I’ll find the cat and dog toys. I’m not letting them get destroyed. That’s pretty much it.
It’s my house. If I choose to let it look like the city dump, well, deal with it or move out.

Badger and Heron have headed to bed, so I’ll be heading there too.