Do you ever find yourself amused (and amazed) by peoples' white trash antics?
Sure you do.
Southern Fried White Trash takes a humorous look at the unbelievable mindset of the national subculture (and Southern specialty) we affectionately refer to as "white trash."

Monday, April 25, 2011

Wow. Raise your hand if you made it through another family holiday!

We did! And I don't say that for the typical reasons about which I often write. We had a whole new experience this year. You see, my Dad stayed at his retirement home and had brunch with my sister and niece. When he comes to my house for a holiday dinner, he no longer enjoys it like he used to. He complains about the cuisine, feeds my dogs from the table, says my house is too busy and noisy and wants to leave pretty much as soon as he eats. It's nerve-wracking.

No, this year my son's girlfriend and two babies stayed the weekend with us. Well, my son lives here anyway. His girlfriend is in the process of moving down here from north Georgia and needed a place to stay until the house was ready. So being the mean grouch that I am, I of course agreed.

The babies are 14 months and 2 1/2 years old. Within 15 minutes of their arrival, I was reminded of why God only gives women a set number of eggs, and they only stay viable for so long. Don't get me wrong; they aren't bad children. They're just little, very young. They don't understand that it's been 15+ years since my house was kid-proof. My dogs don't understand little creatures that run, crawl, clumb, pull, pinch and slobber on them. They were both very patient and never snapped, growled or even sighed too loud, but when they did get a brief break, they collapsed and slept like the dead. My husband periodically disappeared occasionally during their stay. I don't know where he went and I didn't ask. He's a wonderful man, but little little ones perplex him. I think they get on his nerves a bit, too.

The girlfriend and babies are at the new house cleaning, unpacking and preparing to move everything else in and stay there permanently. My dogs are grateful and relieved. I can tell. I am relishing the quiet as I never have before. I think I have scrubbed every little fingerprint, oatmeal blob and slobber trail left in my house, even though I believe they will return  here in just a few hours to spend one last night.

I have learned a few things about myself this weekend, and here goes:

- Yes, I still love holidays. Norman Rockwell would have been  a bit disappointed yet again, but it is what it is.
- I love babies, but only in small doses and when I can leave the room or hand them back when I've reached my limit.
- When the babies are my grandchildren someday, they can do as they please, and I will cherish every minute. Do-overs don't suck.
- Poopy diapers and barf are even more nauseating when your kid doesn't produce them.

Oh, Happy Easter!

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