Lies Our Parents Tell Us

By parents, I mean OUR parents - the Grands. Remember when you were a teenager, and you thought you knew far more than your parents did? Then you got smacked upside the head with reality and came to your senses? Well, apparently as we age, this process reverses. Your parents tell you things and think you won't catch on.

I'm a bit concerned this will continue to devolve, until they're actually spelling things again. "DeeDee, do you think Jen would mind if we fed I-C-E C-R-E-A-M to her children after taking them to the P-A-R-K during their N-A-P T-I-M-E?" If that conversation ever takes place in front of me, I've already got a game plan. I'm raiding the freezer and eating all the ice cream before they get back.

"She's kidding right? She couldn't possibly eat that
much ice cream..."
"We'd better tell PapaDeeDee to keep some extra
in the deep freeze."

Seriously though, the list of lies is astounding. Here are some of my favorites:

"The kids were great!" - I live with these short people. There is no way you had them for more than 24 hours without someone having a meltdown, eating the dish soap, climbing onto the kitchen table or - and I KNOW this one happened - stealing toys and hitting one another.

"We're just going to get them a little something." - I don't know if there was just too much LSD in the air when they were growing up, but a "little" ice cream somehow ends up being the ZiggyPiggy dish from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. A "little" gift takes up fourteen square feet of your living room, requires more battery power than the first supercomputer, and has it's own atmosphere. Which brings me to my next point...

The Grands are great! Mom and Dad will
never know we haven't slept all night!

"They went to bed a little late." - Clearly the word "little" changes it's definition as one ages. Eleven p.m. is not a "little" late. Eleven was my curfew just three months before I officially became an adult. Remember? Curfew? The time the Grands set as "too late"? Oh, if we could only reverse time. Let's see, my kids are supposed to be in bed by eight. They usually get to bed around ten when they're with The Grands. This equates to my waltzing into the house at 1 a.m. as a teen. If only I could have told them I was "just a little late" and recorded it for future use... but you know what they say about hindsight.

"Enjoy this time, it goes by way too quickly." - Nostalgia, n: a yearning to return to the past. Alzheimers, n: a progressive degenerative neurologic disease characterized by loss of mental ability. Nostalgheimers, n.: a progressive, degenerative loss of mental ability that begins the moment a parent is born.

Generally kept in check during the child rearing years, when grandchildren arrive Nostalgheimers rapidly erases all memory of potty training, temper tantrums, feces artwork and virtual heart attacks brought on by swingset mishaps. Left in its wake are nostalgic memories of the wonder of childhood, where your daughter sincerely asks to touch the moon, the search for a snail supersedes all other responsibilities, and the triumphant announcement "I did it myself!" somehow makes up for the fact that your child has walked into a fully populated room with no clothing, but two shoes on the right feet.

Christmas 2010

Unfortunately, a parent was born in September of 2008, and already the effects of Nostalgheimers is beginning to show in her memory banks. I was looking back on pictures from last year, when Mark had his "faux hawk" hairstyle. I'm already missing that soft red strip of hair down the middle of an almost bald head. Grace was enamored with the smallest of things... and her little face revealed all her emotions, because her words hadn't yet formed well enough.

"I did it myself!"

There is no cure for this disease. So, rather than confront the Grands with their devious behavior, I've decided to let it slide. It really isn't their fault, since it began the day they became parents. (Which makes it my sister's fault. In case you were wondering.)