Ready for Heaven

My parents are visiting. Staying at the new-to-me house even. In fact, they are fixing up the new-to-me house. My mom called every day the week before actual arrival:

"Make sure you make a list!" for my dad. So I made a list, it's got about 20 things that could possibly be fixed on it. #1 was the stovetop, that was done day #1. #2 was the dishwasher, it's day #7... not done. Not that he hasn't worked on it but as my mom has now told me, several times, he's an electrical engineer not a plumber. And as I told her, I'm a follower not a mindreader. I made a list. How was I to know I should have let plumbing off and made it in the order of skill sets he had?

On day #2 my mom and I volunteered in daughters classroom. I have enormously great respect for her preschool teacher, for all preschool teachers really, because after two hours of supervising, singing, dancing, coloring, praying I was done for. I happily left her to finish the day and went for a cup of coffee with my mom. Over coffee my mom shared her volunteer experience with me. One of the kids had noted:

"Oh you are really old!" yes my mom calmly acknowledged. "Don't worry." He reassured her, "You will go to Heaven soon and you will get a whole new body. You will be as good as new!" The things they teach in Catholic school.

Today my mom went shopping again, day #7 in a row, I begged off since I have a 10-hr shift this afternoon. In fact, I took a bath, read a book, and layed down a minute... only to get woken up from a deep sleep by a loudly, wildly, beeping fire alarm. My mom had set my new-to-me oven on fire. Flames coming out and everything. All is well, no worries. Dammit. My beautiful new-to-me avocado green oven will remain. My mother was a little discombobulated, but I reassured her that cooking a meatloaf for a family of seven, including three teenage boys, is overwhelming for anyone. She couldn't have known the meat would overflow the pan, overflow the cookie sheet and drip onto the element sparking the flames. Not when she's used to cooking meatloaf for a family of two.

As for my dad? He has a new favorite word 'exaggerate'. That was his comment to her big meatloaf that almost got me a new oven. She shouldn't have exaggerated the size. Now, please, hear this pronounced not exaggerate but more like "ex-sag-ggggerate', in a dutch accent. He first used it at dinner sunday night and we've since heard it a million times.

Speaking of that dinner, he was a little irritated that I let me kids up from the table during the meal. In his day that didn't happen, if something was needed, well, the parents got it and the kids stayed in their seat. I said okay, we'd do it his way since he was our guest and we wanted him to feel welcome. Shortly thereafter middle child needed salt. Up he got. Two minutes later eldest needed ketchup. Right after that squareboy needed more milk. He didn't catch-on till eldest again needed something less than 30 seconds after he sat down. Luckily he has a sense of humor.