Two Castle Curses...

1. The oven is on life support. When Combat Crab's kiln malfunctioned upon his cinnamon rolls, we wrote it off. When my meals burn, I assume its the fault of the not-very-able cook. However, when GMK burnt Ghiardelli (TM) cake brownies as a parting gift to the crablets, it became the oven's fault.

I dutifully telephoned maintenance and one of my guys showed up. He looked up the instructions (always a confidence-inspiring repair step) and recalibrated the heating by 50-degrees and said, "Let's try this until we get a shipment of ovens."

2. Alas, the Crab Queen is also Human Resources for the Castle. And the HR director is d-o-n-e (much like the aforementioned Ghiardelli brownies) with one respite worker.

He has been late.
His shoulders sag when he enters the house.
He comments about the diet I feed the crablets (too much trans-fat -- except the products in question read "ZERO grams").
Tim has been emerging from shower with full-on shampoo still in his hair.
He needs prompting for every single routine activity.
He asks Jack to help Tim rather than doing it himself.
He is afraid of Tim, even though he is at least 7 inches taller than Tim and has Tim by a good 50 pounds.
Despite being uniquely positioned on his ASS to keep an eye on Charlie (sitting in the hall), could not possibly be responsible for anyone but Tim. (And his responsibility for Tim -- see above -- is lacking).

And last night, a trifecta occurred:
* I mentioned to the worker that I was going to need-need him to stay until 8:15ish (he is scheduled and routinely records 9 p.m. on his time sheets). He made a face and said, "I had plans to meet a friend at 8:30 p.m. I guess I could call and push that back." STRIKE ONE.
* I was fluttering about, preparing dinner and meds, etc. in anticipation of Tim's arrival and my need to take the J-crabs to CCD, sat down at the computer to send a quick e-mail. He entered the livingroom, flopped into the leather recliner and started yapping at me. Like it's my job to ENTERTAIN him on my RESPITE time. STRIKE TWO.
* Tim came home in a great mood and inhaled dinner and then turned Grumpzilla. I entered the bathroom as Tim was finishing up his shower to administer his charming Sinus Rinse (because I am uniquely qualified to do so). I see that one-third of Tim's hair ISN'T EVEN WET, LET ALONE SHAMPOOED. I make this observation aloud in as even a tone as possible. The "worker" sighes and says he reads the list over and over to Tim, but Tim just doesn't do it right. STRIKE THREE.

I ended up driving Charlie and Lucy and the J-crabs for the CCD run. Upon returning home, I reflected that I'd been busting my butt during my "break". So today, the agency will learn that while I cannot order up an immediate oven replacement, I can reduce that heated feeling that comes over me when my "help" is more work for me.