The Circle of Life, the Unicorn addition

My husband and I sit in the garage wondering what we will find when we go inside.
"Do you think they tried to cook?"  I ask with great trepidation in my voice.
"Do you think they tried to go upstairs?" he asks with a look of fear.
Then we both say, "Do you think anyone got hurt??!?!"

No.  We are not talking about young children or teenagers.
We are discussing our parents who have been visiting for the holiday week.

It's amazing how quickly life turns topsy-turvy.   Not too long ago our parents would join us for the holidays and help by entertaining the kids, or with the cooking and cleaning.   Now our children are in their early twenties and suddenly they are the ones with the extra hands who swing in to lend a helping hand.

I watch as my daughter ties my father's shoes because his bad knees prevent him from doing the job.  I see her making bunny ears with the laces just like he taught her to and the irony isn't loss on me.  "Is that tight enough?" she asks, echoing a question that was asked of her just twenty short years ago.
My kids fetch them drinks (scotch instead of apple juice) and snacks, even sneaking chocolate into their hands right before dinner with a smile and a wink.

"Did you just give her chocolate?!" I scream from the kitchen.
"No" my daughter replies.
"You're going to ruin her dinner you know" I shout.

While my children seem to enjoy returning every sweet gesture that their grandparents ever bestowed on them 20 some years ago, my husband and I feel like we are in a house run amok by geriatric toddlers.

"When was the last time they ate?" we ask each other.  "How much did she eat?" "Is she drinking enough water?"  We are on tag team duty trying to not leave them on their own for too long.  My mother will try to do too much.  My mother in law will not eat or drink without being reminded.   My father will force every one in the house to watch hours of football on volume 100.

Before I go to the grocery store I ask everyone if they want anything, "No!" they collectively say, "I'm sure we'll be fine with what you have here."  Sure.  Okay.

I get home and have just finished unloading the groceries when my mother asks if we have soup.  "Um," I think, "I'm not sure."   I want to remind her that I just asked a half an hour ago if she wanted anything from the store and that she had not requested anything.   Instead I dig through the pantry in search of soup.  I find a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup - the "Frozen" edition - with princess noodles.   "How about this?" I ask.  She sneers at the can. "I don't like that kind."   I half expect her to lay on the floor and have a full blown tantrum.  "Well, it's all I've got" I say and she whimpers. "Fine.  I guess I'll have it then."   Not long after I warm up the soup my father comes in to ask if I have chips.  "Did you ask me to get chips at the store?" I ask, my patience waning.  "I just thought you'd already have them." he says.  "Well I don't" I say and toss him a bag of salty almonds. "These will have to do the trick."    He mumbles something and takes the nuts.  

Taking them anywhere is tricky.   I remember when my kids were little my friend and I would talk at the end of the day and discuss our days in terms of how many "ins" and "outs" of the cars we had to manage.   We would kind of brag and at the same time lament any day that involved getting in and out of the car more that five times.  "Today I had to go the pediatrician with a sick kid, then to CVS, then to Blockbuster (yeah, remember that), then to the grocery store and then another kid spiked a fever so it was back to the doctor and then back to CVS."   And, of course when your kids are little and you are the only one home, you have to schlepp all the kids everywhere.  Luckily, geriatric toddlers can be left in the car alone for short periods of time, or home alone.   But there is some risk involved.   A geriatric toddler who has been living in Florida for an extended period of time cannot survive in temps lower than 60 degrees for more than 15 minutes apparently.  Kind of a problem in New England in November.  So you either have to leave the car idling which is frowned upon in these global warming times, or you have to bring them into the store with you where, like their younger toddler counterparts, they will start asking for things. "Ohhhh.  Is that chocolate?  Can we get ice cream?"   Or, maybe, they will have to say hello to everyone in the store and giggle at their Boston accents, out loud.  "Did he just say Mahk?  HeeHee"   "Yes.  He did.  Mark is the other employee's name."  "But he said Mahk" (followed by lots of giggling).

Geriatric toddlers are not an easy bunch but there were some moments that gave us satisfaction.  Like telling them all that they had to get in their pajamas before they could have ice-cream.   Off they ran! Well, actually, they kind of slowly rolled through the halls with their walkers but you get what I'm saying.   Then, one of them came downstairs and after already spending two nights here shamefully admitted, "I forgot to bring my pajamas."
This caused my husband and I some concern, "You forgot your pajamas?  What have you been sleeping in then?"    The defendant shrugged her shoulders.    I looked at one of my daughters. "Go find your grandmother some pajamas to wear."   She ran upstairs and came down with a pair of flannel pjs with a juvenile print that she had long outgrown.   They fit the ever shrinking grandmother perfectly who then sat and watched "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving" while contently eating her peppermint stick ice-cream.  Meanwhile, my daughter sat in another chair, not paying much attention to the TV because she was using her phone to send e-mails to people at school about an event that would be coming up after break.

It's funny how familiar everything seems.   The cozy pajamas, the Peanuts, the peppermint ice-cream, the distracted adult, it's a scene that's been played out probably hundreds of times in our family.   But the roles played by the resident players have decidedly changed, with my husband and I firmly sandwiched in the middle as our children become adults, and our parents become, well, the people in unicorn pajamas.

But I know that even my time in this place, the cream of the Oreo, the bologna in the sandwich, the pearl in the oyster is limited.   It's all so very limited.   Soon my tenure in the middle place will be over.    So, I will remember to take great care when tying my yet-to-be-born grandchildren's shoes, and will be sure to slip them some chocolate when no one is looking.     I understand now.

Because someday I'm sure I'll drive my own children crazy as I settle into my own unique version of geriatric toddlerhood.   And, I'll need someone to run upstairs and fetch me those unicorn pajamas.