Par t 1 is here
A Tale of Two Grandmas (Part 1).
Each person in our family has their own seat, especially my husband as he is the only one legally allowed to drive. But don’t worry they still have plenty to argue about in the 5 minute marathon drive to their grandparent’s house. I can emotionally disconnect with most of the car arguments. There is one sure way of getting my attention and getting one of your sisters screamed at I regret to say. The finding of the borrowed accessory in the back of the car. I have this irrational belief that if someone is nice enough to lend something to you then you should make an effort to give it back, not leave it wherever you happen to be when it suddenly becomes a bore. I know it’s unreasonable, but that is how I feel. So whenever one of my lovely ladies feel the need to listen to a sister in pain they know what to do. I am only collateral damage, I have to believe that.
“Mum, is this the necklace (for example) you lent ___. It was in the ashtray in the back seat!”
Instantly the other three will deny responsibility.
“Well I didn’t!” insists the one who delivered the initial report.
“Well I never sit in the backseat so I suppose it must have been fairies!” I sometimes say aliens or other paranormal creatures. My eldest rolls her eyes, the rest consider the possibility. But it doesn’t really matter, this is one of the things that makes Mum yell, they all enjoy the show. Leaving accessories and jewellery in the car is great insurance; if they are slow getting ready next time they’re being dragged somewhere and their unreasonable parents ban accessories, they can finish in the car. They are usually my things, so no one will miss them, besides…what were we talking about…shiny thing…
“It’s Mother’s Day so we don’t have to listen to the kids’ music!” says their dad.
“We never have to listen to kids’ music!” I grumble, he is the pushover but I have to share the punishment.
“I’m still listening to my music!” little miss 15 doesn’t tolerate any music but her own.
I don’t need music I can listen to the bell like tones of my children fighting. They can wrangle for hours over whether the music is too loud, too soft, emotionally disturbing or obscuring the sound of the other music. Which music you ask, it could be the car radio, the 15 year old’s music, the 12 year old’s game’s music, or the music in the 21 year old’s head, or it could be their parents singing but only on the long trips when the radio is on loud enough to drown out the other devices. How loud can the music be, all I can hear is the fight. Here I must admit that the 23 and 12 year old have sensory issues with some sounds, that and they both think they are in charge.
We arrive at Grandma’s, but we still have a road to cross and the long, long wait for the bell to be answered. First thing I see when I exit the car is the grey boots my eldest was after, on her 15 year old sister.
I speak without thinking, “Does Cat know you have those?”
“I’ll ask!” she is all innocence.
And before I can stop her she rushes to the other side of the car. I could hear the bellow if I was still at home.
“Mum, that’s why they weren’t in your wardrobe, Tabby had them in her room!” the necessity of a severe punishment is implied.
“Mum lent them to me;”
I don’t say last winter I say; ”Tab please don’t keep borrowed things in your wardrobe, return them. Please! Next time.”
“Okay!” She assimilates this ‘new’ rule happily. “I love you!”
“I love you too!”
I know what you think but my teeth were not gritted, this could have gone so much worse.