After over a week with my Mom and Dad, the boys have come home! I missed them! It is amazing how quiet the house can be without all of their bustle, noise, and fighting. Maggie missed the boys more than I did, I think. By Thursday, she was pining for them. On Friday, she spent most of the day looking out the window, anxiously awaiting my Aunt Sherry's car to pull in the drive-way. She was beyond ecstatic to see them.
Will wouldn't admit to me that he was ready to come home but I know he missed Maggie. After all, that is who he always wanted to talk to when I called to check on him. He would talk gibberish with her for several minutes and she would bubble over with even more gibberish. He seemed so grown up when he got back. Mom tells me that in his own mind, he became a man while at their house. He took to sleeping only in his underwear and even told my Dad there was only room for one man in the bed with my Mom and it wasn't him. Ouch. When my mom asked him what made him a man, he told her that men have hair on their chests. So she asked him where was his hair. He pointed to the peach fuzz and said, "I got a wittle bit wight here."
Great.
The hardest part of having them back is reprogramming them. It is obvious that they got to do whatever they wanted while at Hana and Poppa's house. And I know, it is the grandparent's complete right to endlessly spoil their grandchildren. My grandparents spoiled me too---I practically lived with them every weekend of my life until I left for college. But my kids came back stinky rotten. Will actually had the audacity to instruct me that I am not allowed to tell him what to do. He apparently has amnesia as to whom is in charge around here. When it normally takes me twice to get them to listen, now it takes around 10.
The people that they stayed with this past week must have amnesia too. Those people--my parents, now more commonly referred to as Hana and Poppa--are not the people that raised me and Chrissy. MY parents had rules and bed times and sugar-intake allowances. "Fun" wasn't really a word that my mother ever used when growing up. Oh but these people, the imposter's in my parents' body, oh these people have a lot of nerve. They took my kids to WalMart and let them buy whatever they wanted. The kids report that they went fishing and swimming and shopping. They got to "eat chicken nuggets like every day" and go to "Mexicans" and eat a whole entire carton of cookies in one sitting.
Fabulous.
Dad took them to the Serpentarium on Edisto and they got to hold a "real snake. A Boa." Poppa bought each of them a fake snake, which scared the begeezus out of me this morning when I pulled back the shower curtain and saw two very real-looking fake snakes curled up in the bottom of the bathtub. Can you say heart attack? Will was most excited to report to everyone that he got to shoot a gun for target practice. "A real one. A rifle. And it was awesome." Granted, it was mostly Ian doing the shooting (Will just pulled the trigger once) of the .22 but the point is to inform me that they got to do something they know I wouldn't let them do myself.
Duh.
From the looks and sounds of it, they had a blast. They came home with more trinkets and treasures than Christmas. These few days surely cost my parents a small fortune. But of course, it was the time that mattered. They have stories and memories that will last them a lifetime. That is what spending those untamed, unrehearsed, and unruly times with grandparents are all about. And believe me, I am grateful. Not just that my my parents are still here to spend time with them but that they get to learn lessons and make memories with the people that taught me everything I know about life. So even though Hana and Poppa aren't quite like the people that raised me, they managed to make the boys extremely happy over the last week. Knowing that makes the difficult task of reprogramming them a little bit more tolerable.
Enjoy the reprogramming: you're right. They're building rich memories that will last a lifetime. And I'm sure Maggie can't wait till it's her turn!
ReplyDelete