A couple of weeks ago, my mother calls me to tell me that my father and herself will be on vacation in a couple of weeks and can the kids stay the night at their house for a couple of days. Now, I express to my mother that they live all the way across town and it’s a pain in the ass to drive all the way over there, unload everything and then come back to pick them up and reload everything and then unload when I get back. My parents get to see their grandbabies about once a month because of the distance and depending if my father works on the weekends. But my mother wants to take care of them because she knows that my husband and I need some “time to ourselves.” Somehow I think my parents secretly want my kids. If they could, I think they would take them for themselves. It’s like my parents want to raise children again. I can’t believe that I’m raising my own children, who by the way drive me bat shit crazy sometimes, let alone wanting to raising my grandchildren. What’s wrong with my parents?
Anyway, I thought about it and it would be nice to have a couple of nights with just the husband and I. My parents can’t cause too much damage to my children right? I know I don’t remember the couple of times that I stayed over my paternal grandmother’s house, my kids probably won’t remember too much at my parents house at their ages anyway. So I told my mother ok.
The night before I send the kids over to my parents house, I have to pack and get their clothes ready for tomorrows sleep over. I dread this part of the task. I have to remember; shirt, shorts, underwear, socks, diapers, wipes, onesies, towels, soap, wash cloths, toiletries etc. I always forget something. Then in the morning, I have to remember, the breast milk, I have powder formula just in case I run out of breast milk, the kids vitamins, toys to bring, The Don’s mobile so he can sleep, Bambino pack and play which will be used as his make shift crib and anything I missed before we leave.
I think about the drive to my parents house. It’s about a thirty minute drive. You may say, ‘it’s not that bad.’ Well try driving down there every week like I use to when The Don was an infant. It’s a pain in the ass. Then it’s the unloading of the stuff, telling my parents or should I say my mother what’s what with what child, getting the kids settled and telling them that I will see them in a couple of days. Then it’s the thrity minute drive home.
After a few hours, I would check in with them to say goodnight to my babies. This always happens when they find something on the kids that looks “suspicious” like a bump on the head or a scraped elbow and wondered ‘what happened’. This is the main reason why that my kids don’t stay over because one time my parents was so judgmental about The Don not having the correct size shoes, but they didn’t put his feet in all the way and suggest that he need shoes. Now The Don was nine or ten months at the time and he wasn’t walking outside so he didn’t need shoes. My parents act like we couldn’t afford the shoes and wanted to pay for the shoes. When I told my husband about it he was like ,”They’re about to lose their babysitting priviledges,” he was so pissed off. So, my parents never get to have The Don over for about two years until this past November. My parents learned over time that we raise our children the way we see fit. If they ‘find’ something wrong, I would tell him ‘it happens, they’re kids,’ matter factly and move on.
After the two days have past, by this time I’m ready for the kids to come back. I make the drive back to my parents house. I would hear how my parents let one or both of the kids stay up late and how they ate a lot of ice cream, and junk food, and how they let them do what they wanted. All I hear is ‘Your kids are full of sugar. Their sleep schedule is off. Have fun putting them back on schedule and eating health food ha ha ha!” Then it’s the drive back and unloading the car and then separating the clean clothes from dirty clothes, and putting their toys back the way it was.
All I have to say is that this better be the best two days of my life going through all this trouble. It better be!