Sunday, April 11, 2010

I'm over the shock now. It took a week.

I think I've recovered sufficiently from the Easter weekend to post about what happened here on Easter Sunday morning.
This is how it goes when your children are young adults.

Very strange here - no Easter treats, no one interested in chocolate (except me, secretly) any more.
Dave and I woke up to find evidence of a 'house guest' in our midst.
Our 19-year-old son went out last night, to a club, and we didn't hear him arrive home.
We found a pair of boots in the front hallway this morning, obviously belonging to a female: very tall black leather boots with high spike heels.

There is only one bedroom door closed: our son's.  Our 22-year-old daughter doesn't live here any more, and all other spare rooms are unoccupied.
We can only conclude that our dear son has brought home a female from the bar last night.
We also conclude that this must be someone we do not know; he was seeing a vegetarian girl (who wore running shoes all the time), but is no longer.
This does NOT sit well with me. NOT AT ALL.
I want to burst into our son's bedroom and wake them up and tell him to take his floozy "new friend" home.
Dave wants to wait until they wake up, and then talk to our son more discreetly.

I rant and rave at Dave and the cats: This is totally inappropriate, this is MY home, this is WRONG, this is EASTER SUNDAY for cripe's sake (the irony of me being even more upset on a religious holiday when I'm not even religious is not lost on me). When are they going to wake up?  The grandparents are coming over!

Dave is more sanguine: maybe there is a reasonable explanation.
Like what? I say.  He's got a transvestite in there?

I am mad that Dave is not more disturbed by the situation.
Is he secretly proud of his son, the stud?

Suddenly, our son's bedroom door opens and he zips into the bathroom.
Dave and I exchange glances; "Go and see who's in that room", I hiss.
Dave refuses: Just go and ask him whose boots those are, he says.

I waylay my boy on the way out of the bathroom, yelling, "T_______ (his name), Whose boots are those?".
My tone is nasty. I am ready for confrontation. I am near tears. 

Turns out they are our daughter's boots. She too was out last night, and ended up closer to our home than her home.
Since she's coming here for Easter dinner tonight, she thought she might as well sleep here. (this is so logical and practical that my head explodes!)
I follow T____(son) back to his room and find T____ (daughter) sleeping in his bed, and that he had been sleeping on a pad on the floor!
He climbs back under the small throw he's been using as a blanket and says he's cold.
Why didn't you put T_____(daughter) in the guest room, I say?
We didn't want to make noise (opening up the hide-a-bed), he explains.

Not only has my son NOT brought a strange girl home from the bar, he has been a gentleman and given his bed to his sister (this same sister who would never in a milion years have even set foot in his room when they were growing up, lest she get his cooties on her).

Suddenly I feel warm and fuzzy. (like a unicorn kissing a care-bear under a rainbow with sparkly hearts exploding in the background).

Dave says I have to learn not to let things bother me so much, and not to assume the worst.
I mumble that it's the wrong time of the month, and he says, "That's still happening? I thought it stopped years ago", 
so I say, "I'm still a spring chicken!" and "Let's have another baby!"
to which he says "Are you insane?",
and I say, "I'm kidding, kidding, kidding....(no I'm not insane, are YOU insane to think I meant it?)

Meanwhile Milo (the cat) has gone into T___(son's) bedroom and all three of them have gone back to sleep. 
Happy Easter,

Kathryn : O