Pat and Norma

Pat and Norma would be sharing a bathroom with the kids, so I made sure that there was enough room for the things they would need: another soap dish, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and spare towels. I put away my kids’ bath toys and moved the shower head up so it wouldn’t hit them on their heads when they were taking their showers. As I was tidying up the bathroom, my sullen kids watched me with their arms crossed. Another room of theirs was being changed, and they were eager to tell me how they were feeling. At that moment, I began to regret that I had always encouraged the children to express their feelings and speak their mind. Instead, I wanted them to go sulk silently in a corner.    

The thermostat in the house is usually set at 67 degrees. My parents had complained in the past that our house was always a bit too cold for them, but my husband loathed raising the thermostat because of our enormous heating bills. Just wear a sweater, he would say. However, he was away in sunny and warm Charlotte, North Carolina, while the rest of us had to deal with below-freezing temperatures. So I raised the thermostat to 69 degrees, laid out extra throw blankets on the sofa and in the sunroom, just in case either Pat or Norma became cold, and anticipated making pot after pot of hot tea. Knowing how much tea would be consumed during their stay, I had purchased five different kinds of herbal tea in advance (decaffeinated green tea, ginger, red zinger, chamomile, and melatonin). But I didn’t purchase much else for them. My mom likes to go to the local Trader Joes and shop for food, and so I anticipated that they would head over there as soon as they could.

When Pat and Norma arrived, they carried with them two suitcases, a ten-inch color television, a trash bag containing dirty laundry, an air purifier, and two bags of food they had taken from their old kitchen. If not for their wholesome and hygienically sound appearance, I would have sworn they had been dumpster-diving for some of these items. I quickly put their suitcases and the television in their room and discreetly threw away their two bags of food. I would deal with their dirty laundry later, so I left the trash bag in the hallway. My parents made themselves comfortable in the living room, plugged in the air purifier, and played with my kids. Once they were enveloped in my parents’ loving embrace, my children forgot that I had moved their stuff around, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Mama” and “Papa” (as they affectionately call my parents) were here, and nothing else mattered to them.