I just got off the phone with my parents, who never call me lately because they are busy with their own affairs, and it's like, my sister has cancer now so suddenly she's all anyone can talk about. If you don't have cancer? Back of the line.
I was calling to say that we four are going up to their mountain house for the long weekend, and might we see them sometime? And they were all, no, we're meeting your brother in Huntsville for this and that, blah blah, and no, you are not on our itinerary.
And I was like, "It's not as good being at the mountain house when there are no grandparents to get up with the kids." And they were like, "Uh huh, oh, and also the hot tub needs cleaning so you might want to take care of that."
Then I asked if they had figured out their plans for when to go to Australia to be with Amy and help out with her family now that her surgery is scheduled for this week. Oh, well, yes, they had gotten tickets last Thursday, hadn't I heard? They're leaving at the end of this month and staying seven weeks.
Seven! Weeks! Spanning a period when I thought that yours truly might have need of their domestic services for times when Matt or I are traveling. One weekend in particular, they will be gone and Matt's mother is busy and I'm going to a conference for four days. I guess the children will have to be cared for by their father? These retired "active adults" kill me. Get a job!
I sputtered. "Well, I'm glad that you guys are going to be able to go and stay so long. Of course I'm glad. It's just that I'm going to miss you."
Dad said, "Well, think of these seven weeks as a preview of our deaths."
So you can see why he is so in demand at sick beds and in the homes of the ailing all over the globe. Sunshine, just constant sunshine. Coming at you, Amy.