Staycation...there are few words that annoy me more. However, this is what I labeled our visit to my parents house for the next four days. I have a severe allergy to dust, which I think most people do, so while the final touches are being done on our renovation (the last being the kitchen floor refinishing) it seemed like a good idea to stay at my parents. Especially since we wouldn't have access to our refrigerator, or more importantly the coffee maker.
I packed up outfits for the boys for four days. In case you are wondering, that is 16 shirts, 16 pairs of pants, 16 undies, a package of diapers, 32 socks, 8 pairs of jammies. 4 lovies and 4 pillow pets. This does not include my clothing or Don's but he is a big boy and I figured he could fend for himself. If you noticed a little hostility towards my husband of 10 years in the last sentence, well, congratulate yourself because you are very perceptive to written emotions. Don decided that it would be better for him to stay at home so that he could get some "work done". If I would have known that, I wouldn't have dropped off our dog at the doggy hotel. As much as my parents love Graham (sarcasm font) they do not allow dogs in their home.
My parents live in the same house I grew up in. I have the same room with my name on the door that boasts that I am the 1983 #1 shoe tier. Growing up it felt like our house was large, but when you add 4 of my boys to it, it swells and feels as large as a motor home. I arranged the boys in my sisters old room and the baby was to stay with me. Getting them bathed was a challenge because rather than shower curtains, my parents have shower doors. Plus I couldn't figure out how to work the faucet.
If senior citizens are notorious for not knowing how to work modern technology, then I apparently can be noted for not knowing how to work ancient technology. After spending hours trying to figure out which remote turned on the tv, my dad walked in and pushed the button on the television. INGENIOUS!
The boys view my parents house as a local theme park. Filled with soda, chips and entertainment (a tv) in every room. They travel to various corners and gorge themselves on junk food. Amazingly, I was able to get them in bed by 9:30 after they had jumped off the beds for the 200th time. It was around this time that Parker said his stomach hurt. I explained to him that when you stuff yourself with chips and soda, the combination forms a combustible gas that could possibly make him implode. I gave him a Tum and tried to sit down on one of the 3, very comfortable lazy boy recliners my parents had recently purchased. With in two minutes I'm rubbing my son's back as he vomited what seemed to be an enormous amount of food for a boy whose stomach is suppose to be the size of his fist.
I know that my husband is not to blame for this but somehow I would like to.
I can hear the pitter patter of little footsteps running up and down the hallway. I can hear the inner screams of my parents pleading, Why? Why?! And all I want to do is go to bed. After Parker was finished, he returned to the bathroom for the grand finale which released anything remaining to come out of his body, only this time the other end. As bad as he felt, he still was able to point out that I was wrong, he didn't implode, he exploded. Touché.
Once I felt that my Vesuvius son had calmed down, I retreated to my accommodations that I had spent the first 20 years of my life sleeping in. It felt smaller...well, there is a pack n' play in the middle of the floor. I layed down on the same bed as I slept in in high school, under the same glow in the dark stars that I incorrectly arranged on my ceiling, beside my once beloved stuffed animals. And as I rested my head to fall asleep.....I didn't.
After an hour or so of staring at the adhesive solor system I must have drifted off. If my bedroom has one great quality it is that it is warm, very warm.
Having older parents means that they wake up at 4 in the morning, so pleasantly coffee was already made, along with a few extra hands to help make breakfast. Not to mention my parents staying home with a my sick son and happily doing so. The fact that my mom palmed me 40 bucks as I left the door was reminiscent of the good ol' days when she gave me too much lunch money.
I actually made it in to work early today, I'm not sure how that happened, maybe I'm on PTZ the parental time zone which causes one to arrive at everything 20 minutes early.
1 day down, 3 to go. Who knows by the time Thursday comes maybe my parents will have decided to have a staycation with Graham.
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