Ah, family
I love my parents, so much, and I actually like spending time with them. And even when they drive me bonkers, I have to smile and just shake my head, because at 70 and 68, they're not changing (and, frankly, at pushing 31, neither am I). To wit:
The Smelmooo is out of town tonight, making good on his Survivor bet, and it's supposed to be a beautiful weekend, but I had a crazy-busy week at work, so I wasn't sure if I'd feel like doing much tonight. But I wanted to feel out my options, so I called my dad yesterday to find out (1) if he and my mom would be at their place at the beach tonight (yes), (2) if so, whether they had dinner plans (no) and (3) whether they'd be amenable to having Tucker and me come for a visit overnight (yes, although I could hear in his voice that he was envisioning Tucker wrecking their stuff while we went out to dinner, which is exactly what I'd have been thinking before we actually got our dog, who pretty much will run around sniffing everything for 10 minutes, sigh, and curl into a ball and sleep for the rest of the night).
I must have told my dad six times that I was only checking to see if it'd be a possibility, because I didn't know what would be going on at work, and because I have a friend visiting from out of town on Saturday afternoon, so I'd wing it and call to let them know whether I'd be coming down.
But of course, a few hours later, I had an email from my mom telling me how excited she was that Tucker and I were coming to visit, and she couldn't wait to see us, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point. And I truly believe that she was happy to have me visit, and glad that I'd be getting to the beach, and not consciously throwing a guilt trip on me, but regardless of her motivation, I acknowledged that her email meant I was going to the beach tonight.
And I got a little stressed out this morning about whether I'd be able to wrap up work and get home and on the road again in time to beat shore traffic, and I felt guilty about the spinach in our fridge that'd probably go bad if we left it uneaten for a couple more days, and I had to convince myself that my friend won't care if the house is a little messy when he visits. But I figured that I'd make it all work, because it'd make my mom happy.
So of course, my mom calls me at work this morning and says: "Hi, honey. I'm dumping you for dinner, is the upshot." Friends from out of state happen to be visiting family nearby, and they're having dinner with them, instead. "You could come, but we're going to plan our trip to Australia, soo.... But I really want you to come down and stay over!"
Which actually works out, because I can go home and eat my spinach and take my time, head down after the rush-hour crawl to the shore, get some ice cream or something with my parents tonight, go for a run on the boardwalk in the morning, maybe grab a couple of hours on the beach tomorrow. With my somewhat nutty family.
The Smelmooo is out of town tonight, making good on his Survivor bet, and it's supposed to be a beautiful weekend, but I had a crazy-busy week at work, so I wasn't sure if I'd feel like doing much tonight. But I wanted to feel out my options, so I called my dad yesterday to find out (1) if he and my mom would be at their place at the beach tonight (yes), (2) if so, whether they had dinner plans (no) and (3) whether they'd be amenable to having Tucker and me come for a visit overnight (yes, although I could hear in his voice that he was envisioning Tucker wrecking their stuff while we went out to dinner, which is exactly what I'd have been thinking before we actually got our dog, who pretty much will run around sniffing everything for 10 minutes, sigh, and curl into a ball and sleep for the rest of the night).
I must have told my dad six times that I was only checking to see if it'd be a possibility, because I didn't know what would be going on at work, and because I have a friend visiting from out of town on Saturday afternoon, so I'd wing it and call to let them know whether I'd be coming down.
But of course, a few hours later, I had an email from my mom telling me how excited she was that Tucker and I were coming to visit, and she couldn't wait to see us, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point. And I truly believe that she was happy to have me visit, and glad that I'd be getting to the beach, and not consciously throwing a guilt trip on me, but regardless of her motivation, I acknowledged that her email meant I was going to the beach tonight.
And I got a little stressed out this morning about whether I'd be able to wrap up work and get home and on the road again in time to beat shore traffic, and I felt guilty about the spinach in our fridge that'd probably go bad if we left it uneaten for a couple more days, and I had to convince myself that my friend won't care if the house is a little messy when he visits. But I figured that I'd make it all work, because it'd make my mom happy.
So of course, my mom calls me at work this morning and says: "Hi, honey. I'm dumping you for dinner, is the upshot." Friends from out of state happen to be visiting family nearby, and they're having dinner with them, instead. "You could come, but we're going to plan our trip to Australia, soo.... But I really want you to come down and stay over!"
Which actually works out, because I can go home and eat my spinach and take my time, head down after the rush-hour crawl to the shore, get some ice cream or something with my parents tonight, go for a run on the boardwalk in the morning, maybe grab a couple of hours on the beach tomorrow. With my somewhat nutty family.
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