It rained a little, today. Only for about… 6 hours of our drive.
The kids were fantastic. We only listened to two books’ worth of audio, and the rest of the time they played Gameboys, read, colored, snacked, and asked me how much further. Monkey commented no less than 10 times, “I don’t really like the DRIVING part of the trip, I just like SEEING Grandma and Grandpa.” I would nod and he would add, for emphasis, “At the END.” Right. What are you trying to say, son?
At last we pulled up and as I gathered some of our things together, I told the kids to go ring the bell.
Chickadee beat Monkey to the door and–horror of horrors–RANG THE BELL as I’d asked her to. My poor stepmother opened the door to a beaming Chickadee and a SCREAMING, crying Monkey. Hi! We’re here, and we’ve brought our inflexible expectations and also our tantrums!
Fortunately, a short “break” (once you get past about five, they’re no longer time-outs; they’re breaks!) Monkey was able to pull himself together. We doled out kisses and hugs and roamed the house checking to make sure everything was still where we thought it was, and spent some time telling the world’s nicest dog that he is just as nice as the last time we saw him. He thanked us by licking the children’s tonsils and flopping all seventy pounds of his hairy self down on my feet. (It’s a fine way to be greeted.)
Despite the too-long period of time since we were last here, all three of us settled into familiarity in no time. Chickadee dumped out all seven billion pieces of furniture that go with the world’s biggest dollhouse, Monkey crawled underneath the dining room table with all of the dog’s toys, trying to tempt him to come out and play (the dog was unimpressed, and happily licked Monkey’s face and thumped his tail but refused to move), and I tried to stab my father in the eye with a pair of kitchen shears.
Not really. If you want to get technical, I was trying to snip this one wild eyebrow hair that was snaking its way up to his hairline and considering taking over the world (you think I’m kidding, but you should’ve SEEN this thing). But my dad, GEEZ, you’d think no one had ever come at his face with scissors before. He’s so skittish.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Poor Mir’s dad. She’s telling the entire internet about his unruly eyebrows. Is nothing sacred? He must be so embarrassed.” But let me tell you something. Actually, TWO somethings.
One: My father is practically unembarrassable. I don’t know if that’s a cause and a effect thing because I’m his kid or if I just lucked out, but there you have it. It’s not very hard to make him nauseous, but it’s hard to embarrass him.
Two: In a later discussion of dog breeds my father spontaneously declared that perhaps he had SCHNAUZER BROWS (hence the long hair). He then demanded that I blog his exciting discovery. There you have it. The man has been assimilated. What used to be embarrassing is now just excellent blog fodder.
Then again, it may all just be part of his nefarious plan to lull me into a false sense of security with his easygoing manner. Just when I was starting to feel superior (after all, MY brows are always neatly groomed), he took out yesterday’s paper and turned to the 6-star difficult Sudoku.
Before now I’d managed to avoid Sudoku. I had no idea how to do it and I didn’t want to know. But I am here to tell you that the man with the doggy eyebrows does a mean Sudoku and he taught me how and now I CANNOT STOP. Must. Find. Numbers. People with a touch of OCD (not that I know anyone like that) should not be allowed to do Sudoku.
It’s supposed to rain the entire time we’re here. Just think of all the Sudoku I can do while we’re stuck inside. Kids? What kids? Oh. Go sharpen Mama’s pencil!