Tired and clueless

Saturday night. I've overdosed on my story, I'm done for tonight. I'm not feeling all that positive about The Novel right now, but that's okay, that's what January is for. (December is for The Wedding.) I'm so tired you guys, so tired. I'm not sure why, because I've done a whole lot of nothing this holiday weekend, and I'm looking at several more days of nothing, lucky me. 

My mom and dad brought Jack and Molly up this afternoon - J and M stayed overnight last night - and the plan was to actually cook dinner for my parents and have a nice little family evening, since we do that, oh, NEVER at my house. (Why this is, plus additional House Thoughts forthcoming. You = on tenterhooks.)

But Jack and Molly were so... bad. I don't know if this is true for you guys, but my parents are always going on about how sweet and cheerful and well behaved the kids were at their house, and how they ate HUGE breakfasts and played together SO WELL and took fifteen hour naps and blah blah why don't the kids just live THERE then, if everything's so perfect. Perhaps I am exaggerating, but NOT MUCH. Anyway, I know kids treat their parents a little differently than they treat everyone else, but WOW were they in top form tonight. They weren't in the house five minutes before Jack was antagonizing Molly and Molly was diving headfirst into one of her patented Shrieky Temperfests. DEAR GOD. And my mom was all, "But he was so good at our house!" and my dad was all, "I've never heard those sounds come out of my precious granddaughter's mouth!" and I'm all, "Come on people, this is nothing." Which, of course, was Molly's cue to ratchet it up into The Shriekiest Shrieky Temperfest I Have Ever Had The Displeasure To Witness, No Lie. 

Now, Molly was obviously tired. It was only six o'clock, but still, the girl's eyeballs were practically rolling back. And maybe Jack was a teensy bit excited about being home and all that. Plus I was cooking and I do mean I was COOKING (I had to throw out my first two attempts at bechamel sauce, I am SERIOUS about the cooking) and not paying them one ounce of attention. Maybe this will sound strange to you, but most days I am convinced that I could be dressed in cookies and dripping M&Ms from my fingertips and Jack wouldn't give me a second look if Grandma was around. Molly has always been super attached to me, but she's been great with grandparents lately and I just don't think they want ME. I am not fun. Also I was hellbent to put dinner on the table - dinner I never ever cook for my own parents - and SCRAM, CHILDREN. 

Anyway, what felt like a gadzillion hours later, we put Molly to bed and Jack was happy playing with the bowl of pennies we keep on the bookshelf and my dad said, "They missed you."

Why is this such a revelation to me? Why am I surprised, every single stupid time, when my kids are wrecks after a marathon of holiday dinners and visiting and sleeping in strange beds? We spend so much time in these other houses though, I've stopped thinking of them as strange beds. And it doesn't matter which set of grandparents we're visiting, our kids don't even turn around when we say we're leaving. If you saw them at their grandparents' houses you would never think they'd ever want to come back home, not with those grouchy ogres they have for parents. I'm serious. 

But I think they do. They must. And they have to readjust and get back to normal and maybe when their mom is leaking brains all over the stove they feel neglected. I don't know. It doesn't occur to me, and now I feel terrible. 

And tired. Did I mention that? We sit down to eat dinner and people ask me questions and I can't even form a coherent answer because one child is screeching and the other wants to get down after eating half a crust of garlic bread for dinner and I don't know which wine glass is mine and did I even really HEAR the question? 

I love my kids. Phillip and I keep looking at each other these last few weeks and sort of marveling over them. They are SO sweet right now, SO adorable. In the mornings Jack stands up in his crib, looks at my crusty half-dead self and chirps, "That's my MOMMY!" And Molly, Molly says "BUH-BLE!" on command and gives kisses and snuggles her face into your neck and you think it cannot possibly get better than this. We want to bottle our kids up and label them The Best Years Of Our Lives and we gripe at each other for not being better picture-takers because we know they're not always going to love us like this. 

All that, and still, when my dad says, "they missed you," I'm disbelieving, eye rolling, shrugging it off. 

Comments

[Road Blocks and Roller Coasters]

I completely understand! My daughter spends a lot of time with her grandparents since they watch her while I work and she just adores them. I often hear the "she never does that at our house..." comment and I'll admit it that it makes me nuts. She also doesn't bat an eye at being left with them. It's hard to imagine that she misses me, but I suppose she does in her own way. At least that's what I like to tell myself as she's pushing me out the door! ;)

[HereWeGoAJen]

I don't leave my baby at my in-laws house because they live too far away, so I can't comment on that part of it. But she behaves much more terribly after we come back from there anyway. She's just frazzled.

[Carrie]

I can totally relate to this with Ethan and pretty much any other person on the planet. He's never seemed to care one bit if it was me around or someone else, as long as he has some sort of adoring audience. But he's starting to at least ask where I am if I'm not around, so that's something :)

[Rosemary]

My boy is allergic to eggs, and he loves this "cake." It's really good, but I put less sugar in it than PW does. Original recipe is cloying to me.

http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/08/the_great_cobbl/

[Rosemary]

Oh I'd say if she puts a cup of sugar in, I'd put 2/3 of a cup of sugar.

[Jess]

I think we all tend to brush off our own importance in a lot of ways, so it makes sense to me that you would do it with your kids too. I'm glad you have some inkling that they like you, at least.