Adventures in Parenting
My parents are currently houseguests in my home for a few days. They are the first houseguests I've had in my new house, and this is also the first time they've ever stayed with me when they've visited. Since my parents are used to a certain level of comfort when traveling and staying somewhere overnight (ie: preferring a bed, and food), they usually prefer a hotel over my previous one-bedroom, mostly crappy apartments. My housing situation of the past has not typically provided much in the area of good hospitality.

Needless to say, I've had a certain amount of anxiety about this particular visit from my parents, although it has been countered with excitement, too. There's a good bit of pressure to make their first official stay with me into a good experience for all. I always enjoy seeing them and spending time with them, and I'm very glad they are here. We've gotten closer and are knowing each other better over the past few years. But, as is true with many parents far and wide, it's also difficult to spend that much time with them in one chunk.

It's not that they are high maintenance, exactly. They are just sort of particular in many ways, and I'm not used to having them around constantly, as opposed to having a break when they leave to go to their hotel during past visits.

Not to mention, my mom is Martha Stewart's non-evil twin. She loves to decorate, and her house is immaculately clean all the time. So, for the past week I've been rushing around the house, cleaning everything, even if I haven't used it in the two months I've lived in my house. I've made sure everything matches and coordinates and overall looks mostly nice. I bought lots of food that I don't eat but that I know they eat. I've tried to be the best hostess I could possibly be, trying to make the few days of their visit as pleasant as possible for everyone. It's not a five star resort, but it's pretty darn close.

Of course, there are the usual things that are typical of a visit from the parents. No matter what time of year it is, my home is always too hot for them. The first thing my dad does when he walks in the door is find the thermostat and crank it down about 20 degrees from where I keep it. I hate being cold, and I get cold easily. But my parents prefer to live life in an igloo environment, so even though it is 80 degrees outside, for the next few days you will find me tightly bundled up in sweatpants and sweatshirts while at home.

Living by myself, I generally keep things pretty neat at the house, although I don't generally care if stuff is out of place sometimes. It's just easy to keep things neat when I'm the only one there to mess things up. So after we'd all been home for five minutes last night, and I walked out of the room only to come back two minutes later and find all of the pillows from the couch all over the floor, suitcases everywhere, newspaper all over the table, my dad's feet propped up on one of my good napping pillows where my face usually is, and a new aroma coming from the bathroom, I had to fight the urge to run around behind them, pick up after them, and fuss at my dad to get his feet off of my pillow. It dawned on me that I was experiencing a reversal of roles, where they used to notice the same things about me and run around cleaning up after us kids. Things were out of place and it bothered me. So bizarre.

I promised their visit this time would not involved any work on my house. Their last visit was a week long adventure of helping me clean and paint and generally fix my house up when I first moved in. They had no time to relax and enjoy my home. So this time I wanted to make sure everything was in good working order, intending for them to not lift a finger during their stay. I'm even going so far as to cook dinner for them tonight. Something I have never done for my parents. Ever.

Mostly because I love them and I fear for their safety.

But, I think my house sensed that Handy Man Dad was in the house again, because the very second he walked into the house, a repair need erupted. The ceiling fan in the guest bedroom was already a source of concern for me, as it wobbles uncontrollably when it runs on 'high' mode, and personally I wouldn't dare sleep underneath it. But alas, this was where my parents would be sleeping for the next couple of nights. The fan was in bad shape when I first moved in, but after a run-in with my head while I painted in that room on a ladder, the fan just never was okay after that. Nor was my head. However, the fan was still functioning on a low speed, and my head eventually recovered. Neither were entirely broken, yet.

Of course, my dad walked into the room before I even got home from work yesterday, and knowing nothing of my concern, flipped on the ceiling fan. He was promptly rewarded with a fan blade breaking off in his hand as he noticed the wobble and tried to examine the problem. When I got home from work later, my mom made him tell me what happened to the fan, and I realized he thought he broke it. Once I assured him that it was already on its last leg and it wasn't his fault that fan blades were falling from the sky, I realized that my plan to one day save up for a new fan and eventually replace it was over. The time was now.

So, after dinner we made a trip to Home Depot and my dad bought me a new fan, which he then installed for me. Poor Dad. I had promised him no housework. I swear I didn't plan for the fan to freak out for him like that.

Today, there was the 'at-work' phone call. My mom called me at my office, from my house, just to see what I was doing. There is nothing wrong with this. I'm just not used to it. I may have sounded annoyed because she kept asking me if I was okay, which annoyed me more. I'm just used to a bigger buffer zone.

Tonight we'll have dinner, which I will make for them. We'll play our family tradition of Scrabble. Tomorrow morning we'll all three play golf together for the first time since my mom picked up the sport. Then they'll hop on a plane and head home tomorrow evening.

Another great adventure in parenting.

C.T.