The kids and I took a ride to visit my folks on Sunday -- Holly was scheduled to work this weekend and my husband Garth (not his real name) stayed behind to try and get some work done here at home -- and, as soon as we walked into the kitchen, my mom began to show me some of the new tricks she learned during rehab:
- She can reach her arm behind her back: which, only a few short weeks ago, the pain of attempting to do so would have caused her to pass out (me too)
- She can cross both her arms in front of her: see previous bullet
- Oh, and watch this: she grabbed her elbow and gestured in an "Up yours!" sort of way, Jersey style
Mom stood there grinning like a school girl, after we whooped and wowed, as if she just finished showing off some super cool new cheer-leading routine and I half expected the woman to drop down into a split.
"Wow, I am SO proud of you!"
Aaaaaand, then it happened.
Me: What is up with ALL the birds?
It was a weird sort of Freaky Friday moment, which started out innocently enough: I looked out the window and, I swear to you, there had to be about two dozen birds hanging out, in and around the bird feeders.
Mom: I know your father just filled up the feeders, this morning.
What IS it with senior citizens AND birds?
Me: But it's already half-empty!
Honestly, my in-laws are the same way. They'll eat a bowl of crackers soaked in warm milk...[blech!]...for dinner, but don't think twice about dropping some major bucks on a 50 lb. sack of gourmet bird food, they can barely lift.
Me: You know, those dumb birds don't know how good they have it.
Aaaaand, that's when my father's bionic hearing kicked in.
Me: I mean, they eat WAY better than you guys do.
I was able to crack that last little ray of sunshine off before my dad finally limped his way into the kitchen.
Dad: Yeah, but they make your mother happy and I would pay anything for that.
Aaaaaand, I had just been served up a lovely peace of humble pie (accented heavily with rolling r's and w's that sound more like v's) for dessert and, well, when did our lives go so crrrrrrriz-crrrrrrroz epple-zauze, eny-vays?!?
Mom: I think maybe she's right.
Who? Me? Really? I looked around to make sure no one else was standing in the kitchen, just in case.
Mom: Maybe it's time the birds went on a little diet.
So, my parents decided it would be okay to feed them every OTHER day and, well, those dumb birds really don't know how good they have it.
Dad: Oh, and we picked up a strawberry short cake for the kids too.
Notice how he said "for the kids" which is perfectly fine with me and not because I don't like strawberry short cake -- it's my favorite.
Me: Sounds awesome, thanks!
I was already sort of full of, you know, humble pie.
Me: I'll make the coffee.
[one beat, two beats]
Mom and Dad: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Heh...yeah, right...some things, however, NEVER change...including my inability to make a decent pot of coffee...damnit.
Hope: I'll do it!
My ll year-old, on the other hand, makes an AWESOME pot of coffee and, well, good thing too.
Hope: Dad taught me how.
Because my husband, Garth (NHRN) is going to have his hands full...I mean, he IS married to me...and I really don't care for the taste OR even the thought of warm milk...[blech!]...no matter WHAT my kids say.
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