So my husband and I escaped our hectic lives for a bit over the weekend. Saturday morning we hit the road and left our rambunctious five year-old behind with my parents. For about 36 hours we reveled in adult pleasures. (get yer minds outta the gutters people) We wandered the city streets and shopped without a wee one asking when we would get candy or toys. We went into a liquor store and didn't worry about gasps about bringing a kid in (or some little hand knocking glass bottles over). We watched an entire sporting event from start to finish without having to take 15 bathroom breaks and 10 trips to concessions. We had dinner and cocktails in a whiskey bar. With grownups. We slept-in. It was glorious.
Yesterday was supposed to be a return to reality-my day back to work and our son's return to school. Grandparents are now departed. Routine is restored. But the fog rolled in on its little cat feet and parked right over our respective school districts. Unexpectedly we had an extra day off. An unplanned for three-day weekend! What did I spend my day doing, you ask? Why hearing all about "your parents." Our son told me not about grandma and grandpa, but called them "your parents" in some formal way. He told me how my mother (side note, I have never called my mom mother in my life) made him Christmas pancakes for breakfast in the shape of Mickey Mouse-and didn't make him eat a cereal bar. You know, the breakfast he has chose to eat for the past year or so. He told me all about my father (aka dad) and his puzzle making abilities. At one point he said "your parents are the nicest family around. Nicer than our family. Nicer than any family I know. I want to live with them." Sigh. Someone was spoiled.
Not that I begrudge him the weekend of spoiling. I had weekends with my grandmother where I sat on the kitchen counter while she fried up French toast. Weekends where we went shopping and lunched. Sleepovers where we watched Gone With the Wind for the gozillionth time while she rolled her hair. Long phone conversations from my dorm room to her kitchen. I may not have said it the same way my son did, but my dad's mother was lovely. So I get it. Parents are the ones who have to make you eat gross foods, do your homework, pick up your clothes, clean your playroom, sit in time-out, write apology notes to teachers when you have to clip down, make you come in when it gets dark, and turn of that darn TV. "Your parents" are the ones who give you extra dessert, make cookies with you and let you lick the spoon, craft until the glue coats their hands and arms, color all afternoon on construction paper, play mysterious games of football where they don't understand the rules you've created, and indulge your every whim.
I think all three of us needed a weekend of indulgence. My husband and I needed to have one long date. Our son needed some serious grandparent play time. It recharges batteries. We are now officially headed into the three busiest weeks of the year. And I am so ready for them. Thank goodness for my parents, some fog, a whiskey bar, and an excuse to get away.