My parents ventured from Michigan to the final frontier (my new name for the Mojave desert) last Saturday for the week.
It’s been wonderful having them — lots of laughter and chatting. I was also busy taking care of a house full of four adults and a toddler. I made pots of minestrone, potato and cabbage soups. I grocery shopped daily, did several loads of laundry and wiped down the kitchen floor at least twice a day. My dad said yesterday, as I slid a baking sheet of potatoes into the oven, “Boy, you’ve really turned into a domestic goddess.” (If you knew me, you’d probably burst out laughing at this.)
Throughout the week, I let my parents soak up time with C. I also slipped out when I could for a run and a pedicure (first one since October).
This morning, my parents left to drive to the West coast, so C. had me all to himself. After lunch, I told him to run around and let me know when he was ready for his nap.
I was in the kitchen when I heard a door click close and a muffled “mama!” “mama!” He shut himself in the guest room. “C.!” I called. “Where’s C.?” I opened the door, and he giggled. Then he pushed the door shut again and waited for me to say, “C.! Where’s C.?” It became a game: I’d turn the knob, he’d emerge in a fit of giggles and run into my arms, hug me, turn and toddle back into the room.
We laughed really hard for about 15 minutes before he finally collapsed in my arms and signed that he wanted to nap. I think my little guy was happy to have me focused entirely on him once again.
Also, he’s such a jokester (check out some of these expressions), I can’t help but wonder when he’s going to start playing practical jokes on me. I think I’m in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.