Let me tell you how my day started: at 6 a.m., the boys were already bickering about what to watch on TV. I hadn't even made the coffee, and Harry Potter and Sponge Bob were already ruining my morning.
Will and Owen were up until 10:30 the night before, and thank goodness the AC was on and the windows were closed because I don't think my neighbors would have appreciated my yelling: "GO TO SLEEP! IF YOU GET OUT OF BED ONE MORE TIME, I'M GONNA HAVE TO CALL SOMEONE TO COME AND DEAL WITH YOU! DON'T MAKE ME DO THAT, DON'T MAKE ME CALL SOMEONE TO DEAL WITH YOU!" Sure, it was all bluff, but jeepers Christmas. Four-year-olds should not be awake at that hour. Either should exhausted mamas, for that matter.
Now, let me tell you how my day ended. My children were asleep by the time I came home at 8 pm. It's now 9 pm, the laundry is done, the kitchen is clean and I'm in my pjs with my feet up in the recliner. I can't take credit for this feat ... no, it was Saint Nonna, my dear mother, who picked up the boys from daycare, fed them dinner, took them to the park, bathed them and put them to bed. Somehow, she also managed to walk the dog (on the way to the park in 85-degree heat), do a bazillion loads of laundry and vacuum the bathroom floor, too. And she was SMILING upon my return. Not because she was relieved to see me but because she actually had fun being my housewife for the evening (or so she claims).
Mom was booked for an extended stay tonight because Pat is out of town for work, and I had to attend a meeting with my city's planning commission in order to beg them to pass our request to build a new garage. Variance, conditional use permits and setbacks, oh my! Since Pat couldn't attend the meeting, my dad joined me. Before the meeting, he treated me to dinner at a local wine bar where all the waitresses know his name. (He and my mom joke that Sage Wine Bar is their version of Cheers.) We enjoyed a delicious glass of chardonnay, seared Ahi Tuna over a bed of greens, scallops wrapped in bacon and Bananas Foster for dessert. I think he knew I was feeling a little worn out -- and being a Sirek, Dad also knew that nothing could lift my spirits like a good meal, especially one that I didn't have to plan for, shop for or prepare in my own kitchen. The icing on the cake? The planning commission is recommending our garage plans be passed, which means my husband might actually stop spending every waking moment cursing the city of Mendota Heights under his breath.
My parents are incredibly generous with their time. I sometimes wonder what I'd do if we lived states or even hours apart, how different a mother I would be without their support (I'd probably be locked up in a mental hospital by now). I also wonder if I lean on them too much, if they ever feel taken for granted or unappreciated.
Just in case there is any doubt: thanks, Mom and Dad.
Oh, and P.S., Owen totally called my bluff. He woke me up this morning and was all, "Mom, WHO were you going to call last night to come and deal with us?"
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Tell them you were going to call Uncle John. And then feel free to call him. He's up late, anyway, and I think Owen still wets his pants when he remembers the time John raised his voice half a decibel and told him that he will absolutely NOT throw forks.
Well, this sure makes up for Will telling me, in the heat of the death march back to your house from the park last night, that he hated me. I told him that I felt the same way about my Girl Scout leader, who hiked a bunch of 11 year old campers for nine miles through mosquito-y blueberry bogs. By bedtime, Will was in love with me again and all was right with the world. There's nothing extra juice and a shower won't cure.
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