*Twitch*
My mother, my sister, and I were moving a bed down from the attic to assemble.
Now, our attic stairs are steep and narrow and treacherous. They're "servant's stairs," even though I don't think there ever were any servants in this house to climb them.
Now, we don't go up and down from the attic that often. More specifically, my mother never goes up to the attic because of those stairs. Since she doesn't use them, there's no reason not to put them to use for something else--so they're used for storage, with several stairs toward the bottom being piled about 1/2-2/3 of the way across with crap.
I've injured myself tripping over that crap before. My father refuses to carry anything on them while it's there, spending the 15-20 minutes to clear it out first even though my mother yells at him for wasting time and making a mess when he could be getting the stuff she demanded; it's one of the few things he'll stand up to her about. I've injured myself tripping over that crap before; Mom was mad at me for being clumsy, Dad actually got mad at her for causing it (although he didn't show it very much).
So, onto today. My sister was dragging the box spring around to slide it down the stairs. I ran up and grabbed the slats for the bed and took them down. My mother yelled at me for bringing the wrong set. I though I'd probably have time to get in front of my sister, since maneuvering the box spring around the crowded attic was taking her some effort, so I went up and grabbed the other set--but she beat me to the stairs after all.
Now, I had been planning on getting in front of her, clearing out some of that stair crap and grabbing the bottom end once she got it lowered onto the stairs. But now I was stuck behind her. Why hadn't she waited? She could push the thing down, after all. Oh, my mother was at the bottom. She was going to grab the end herself. This surprised me, and I figured I'd probably get yelled at for not helping with it and "making" the two of them doing it, but I didn't have much choice at that point. They were already doing it.
Except... only one of them was actually doing anything. My mother was standing at the bottom of the stairs, making hand motions and saying how she was going to grab the end, but... she didn't. She stood there. She couldn't quite reach it from where she was and had to step up onto a stair or two, and she didn't do it. My sister was sweating, and this big thing was sliding out of her grip, but my mother didn't move to take her end.
My sister had to step down onto the steps (and, y'know, going down is the dangerous part), while maneuvering an object bigger than she was that was already taking up half of the (remember: really narrow!) staircase. She had to push it down from that treacherous position. And then my mother... still didn't take her end. My sister needed to do it again. She ended up having to go partway down the staircase with this thing, where every step was a serious chance to trip and fall down. My mother could have prevented that by grabbing the end, which she eventually did far too late.
Then she tried to turn the box spring up in the hallway and ended up blocking the attic door. She sounded annoyed that we weren't helping her, but we couldn't really get anywhere, seeing as she had blocked the door (plus we had to navigate our way past her stair crap, still).
Finally, we got it all on the right floor. My mother yelled at me for having the wrong set of slats, when I pointed out that she had said that about both sets. She looked annoyed, as always she is when corrected, but couldn't object as I was pretty clearly right.
We (mostly me, with help from my sister), got the slats and box spring on the bed. I went up to retrieve the mattress. Remembering the fiasco of a minute before, I went down first, letting the mattress slide after me. Tricky and probably a bit dangerous, but better than trying to lower it by gripping the top corner.
My mother asked me why I went on the bottom, when I could have lowered it from the top and gotten her to help me.
She told me would have caught the bottom end, after all, just like she did for my sister.
Believe it or not, I didn't say anything to that. Not "That is why," not "But you didn't," and not "Just like that? Oh why didn't I accept such spectacular help!" Nothing.
Despite my mother's most common complaint of me, that I "talk back" a lot, I rarely say anything to her that wasn't exactly what she wanted me to say.
I'm too much a coward.
Now, our attic stairs are steep and narrow and treacherous. They're "servant's stairs," even though I don't think there ever were any servants in this house to climb them.
Now, we don't go up and down from the attic that often. More specifically, my mother never goes up to the attic because of those stairs. Since she doesn't use them, there's no reason not to put them to use for something else--so they're used for storage, with several stairs toward the bottom being piled about 1/2-2/3 of the way across with crap.
I've injured myself tripping over that crap before. My father refuses to carry anything on them while it's there, spending the 15-20 minutes to clear it out first even though my mother yells at him for wasting time and making a mess when he could be getting the stuff she demanded; it's one of the few things he'll stand up to her about. I've injured myself tripping over that crap before; Mom was mad at me for being clumsy, Dad actually got mad at her for causing it (although he didn't show it very much).
So, onto today. My sister was dragging the box spring around to slide it down the stairs. I ran up and grabbed the slats for the bed and took them down. My mother yelled at me for bringing the wrong set. I though I'd probably have time to get in front of my sister, since maneuvering the box spring around the crowded attic was taking her some effort, so I went up and grabbed the other set--but she beat me to the stairs after all.
Now, I had been planning on getting in front of her, clearing out some of that stair crap and grabbing the bottom end once she got it lowered onto the stairs. But now I was stuck behind her. Why hadn't she waited? She could push the thing down, after all. Oh, my mother was at the bottom. She was going to grab the end herself. This surprised me, and I figured I'd probably get yelled at for not helping with it and "making" the two of them doing it, but I didn't have much choice at that point. They were already doing it.
Except... only one of them was actually doing anything. My mother was standing at the bottom of the stairs, making hand motions and saying how she was going to grab the end, but... she didn't. She stood there. She couldn't quite reach it from where she was and had to step up onto a stair or two, and she didn't do it. My sister was sweating, and this big thing was sliding out of her grip, but my mother didn't move to take her end.
My sister had to step down onto the steps (and, y'know, going down is the dangerous part), while maneuvering an object bigger than she was that was already taking up half of the (remember: really narrow!) staircase. She had to push it down from that treacherous position. And then my mother... still didn't take her end. My sister needed to do it again. She ended up having to go partway down the staircase with this thing, where every step was a serious chance to trip and fall down. My mother could have prevented that by grabbing the end, which she eventually did far too late.
Then she tried to turn the box spring up in the hallway and ended up blocking the attic door. She sounded annoyed that we weren't helping her, but we couldn't really get anywhere, seeing as she had blocked the door (plus we had to navigate our way past her stair crap, still).
Finally, we got it all on the right floor. My mother yelled at me for having the wrong set of slats, when I pointed out that she had said that about both sets. She looked annoyed, as always she is when corrected, but couldn't object as I was pretty clearly right.
We (mostly me, with help from my sister), got the slats and box spring on the bed. I went up to retrieve the mattress. Remembering the fiasco of a minute before, I went down first, letting the mattress slide after me. Tricky and probably a bit dangerous, but better than trying to lower it by gripping the top corner.
My mother asked me why I went on the bottom, when I could have lowered it from the top and gotten her to help me.
She told me would have caught the bottom end, after all, just like she did for my sister.
Believe it or not, I didn't say anything to that. Not "That is why," not "But you didn't," and not "Just like that? Oh why didn't I accept such spectacular help!" Nothing.
Despite my mother's most common complaint of me, that I "talk back" a lot, I rarely say anything to her that wasn't exactly what she wanted me to say.
I'm too much a coward.