Signs They're Home

There's no mistaking when the boys are back home. The noise level in our otherwise quiet home goes way up. It seems like I am forever loading more salt into the water softener. I need to pull out my GPS to find the window in boys' rooms and then get to back out to the hallway again. The laundry load increases by a factor far greater than one would expect with just two additional people. The grocery bill reaches astronomical levels each week. The pantry, if there is actually any food left in it on any given day, is filled with stuff like Fruity Pebbles and Chocolate Krave cereals and severely lacking in things like Quaker Oat Squares and Mini-Wheats.

Yes, things are very different when the boys are home.

Perhaps the most telling sign, though, can be observed in Diane. While she complains of the frustrations of all of the extra work they bring; deep down, she is reveling in having her "babies" with her once again - even if it's just for a brief time. She immediately goes back into Mother Hen Mode - that set of behaviors that only another mother can understand.

As a general rule, Moms and Dads see this stage of life differently. Don't get me wrong; I love the boys, but they're adults now. Nothing is really the same as it used to be. For Diane, though, it is an opportunity to live out the task she was born to do - care for her "little ones." She has a laser beam focus on her "babies."

I put on a cloak of invisibility.

Take Saturday, for instance. Matthew requested that we have ribs for dinner. Diane complied and purchased  four large half-racks of pork baby back ribs. Cooking ribs properly is a lot of work. Of course no one recognizes that since it's "Dad Work." I marinated them for hours in preparation for cooking. I have to admit that I cheated a bit to cut down on the time by pre-boiling them for a short time. They don't turn out quite as tasty and pull-apart tender as just smoking them from the start, but it cuts hours from the overall prep time.

Before starting the smoking portion of the process I asked Diane what else she had; assuming (never safe, I know) that she remembered that I don't like ribs. She rattled off a bunch of "accessory" items like beans, pickles, etc. I realized she hadn't gotten anything else and, to be quite honest, there wasn't any room left on the grate for me to cook anything else, anyway. I found a leftover brat from grilling a couple of nights before and just warmed it the last few minutes for me to eat.

Needless to say, I ate my brat while the rest of the family feasted on tender, juicy ribs. It was great watching them enjoy their dinner. Diane, of course, apologized profusely after pronouncing that she had forgotten I didn't like ribs.

Of course she had forgotten.

Her "babies" were home!

I shudder to think what life will be like when she has grandchildren...