Greetings, everyone. As you might have guessed, there hasn't been much time to write lately because Grandma Jellyspoon skipped town this week, after almost a month of service above and beyond the call of duty. She arrived here by train on April 28 and spent every night on the floor wedged in the corner of Robert's bedroom, on a leaky old air mattress that I had to re-inflate every night. And all the while, she made Mary Poppins look like Nurse Ratched by keeping us 1) fed, 2) clean, 3) organized, and 4) up to our expanding waistlines in baked goods. Number 4 was especially shrewd, given her twofold agenda. One, it kept Robert engaged for hours in an activity he loves (I often came home to find him coated in flour and proudly asserting, "I made something for you!"). Two, that something was usually a few dozen chocolate-chip cookies or a pie made with fresh produce from the Farmers' Market.
Sure, you're thinking, she sounds like a dream mother-in-law. But all that help must have come with a price, in the form of tons of smothering, unsolicited parenting advice.
Nope. Not a syllable.
When I found a moment to thank her for all she had done for us, she said she was blessed, because so many grandmas don't get the chance to be a part of their grandchildren's lives (or for that matter, to be the first pair of hands they feel outside the womb). At this point I forgot every word in the English language and just backed away, genuflecting as I left the room.
So this is our first weekend on our own with two children, one of whom is suddenly steadfastly opposed to setting foot outdoors. Instead, he'd rather enjoy extended Naked Time and build small Lincoln-Log/MegaBlok cities that he deems obsolete approximately 90 seconds after completion. He then attacks his creation with cacophonic gusto until it crashes to the floor and startles a dozing TwoBert. This is more of a drag than you might think, because TwoBert is struggling with a case of reflux that is pushing my gas-removal skills to the limit. It's hard to get a good nap in when you're stuck in a constant cycle of nurse-fuss-burp, nurse-fuss-fart.
So thank you, Grandma, for everything, from the bottom of my heart. You're a true MILILF. *