Crazy, I’m crazy for feeling this way…
My in-laws were here for a visit this weekend, and they brought with them fresh-picked apples and Concord grapes, and for someone like me who lives in a place in which fresh, local fruit is limited to crabapples and Saskatoon berries, this gift was most gratefully received. I’m mowing through the produce at an unbelievable rate. They also, kindly, brought me a female scarecrow for the front yard, to complement the three male ones, and my husband set it up in front of the window, where it looks very cute. Unfortunately, it keeps startling me every time I walk past the window and see a large figure in my peripheral vision. It’s like having my very own non-threatening peeping Tom.
I go through my closet a couple times a year and make up bags for donation. One place I – obviously, it would seem – never go through is my bottom dresser drawer. That drawer seems to be devoted to non-every-day-use lingerie type items, sleepwear, and the like. Yesterday I went to look for a pair of tights, and found nine pairs of gigantic maternity pantyhose. Nine pairs! Since I was a jeans-clad stay-at-home mom throughout my pregnancy with Jake, that means that those are from my first pregnancy, seven years ago. I have had gigantic maternity pantyhose taking up a large amount of drawer space for the past seven years.
The reason I was even looking for a pair of tights is that I am getting together my real dress up clothes – not just my good jeans – because I am going on a little vacation! My husband’s birthday is coming up and it’s a milestone one, so we are heading on a three-day-two-night vacation. Here’s my confession: I have never left the boys for more than 24 hours, so I’m feeling a little bit anxious. I know. I know.
My parents are moving into our house for the duration and I hasten to add that my mother is VERY competent. She knows the kids’ routines and their schedules and their school doors and their food preferences and even the names of their friends. She could certainly handle them for more than this short vacation, but despite this I seem to be a mass of nerves. I’m flitting around the house, frantically cleaning things and preparing food because my mom has only been cooking for DECADES. She might not be able to handle spaghetti. Clearly, I’m crazy.
The only foreseeable issue is that my dog will become even more spoiled. I swear, my mother spoils my dog almost as much as she spoils the boys. When I told her about the vet appointment that found Barkley on the road to obesity, she indignantly came up with excuses ranging from “The vet’s scale must be WRONG” to “Maybe Barkley’s just big-boned.” Yes, and maybe he’s getting his period and is retaining water. So the only issue in going away is that the dog’s diet may be derailed for a couple of days, which is not much of an issue.