As per usual, Cinderella (the band, not the princess) had it right. It was just last Wednesday that we had our last summer Wednesday at Oma and Opa’s. It happened to be a rainy day and past Labor Day, so we didn’t go to the pool (or wear white). I told my mom we’d have to come up with a Plan B and she reminded me about her brilliant parenting philosophy, “you don’t always have to do something.” [Editor’s note: that could also be a great Cinderella song.] So we just hung out, and you know what? It was great.
The kids played Hors-opoly with Oma. (It’s dumb. You try learning to say “Go to stable. Do not pass Giddy Up” instead of “Go to jail. Do not pass Go.” without sounding like an idiot.)
They also enhanced the enjoyment of Hors-opoly with their new discovery: arm farts.
We completed this puzzle:
Rosie and Teddy established a truce (i.e. she stopped bullying him for a short time).
We had one more epic dinner by Opa: wontons and bok choy. Even though I use my dad’s exact same recipe when I make wontons, they’re never as good.
Not to be outdone, Oma made her famous Peach Roll, which is very much like her famous Strawberry Roll, except you can probably figure out the difference.
It appears George has inherited his father’s flatulence problem. The emissions are frequent and smelly, enough that Oma had to institute a “No Farting At The Dinner Table” rule. So, George would frequently say, “Excuse me” and then we’d hear a big fart and an “Ahhhh” from the bathroom down the hall.
I know I say this every “one summer at home,” but we are so fortunate to have Oma and Opa in our lives. I love that my kids have inside jokes with them, that we have lame games that we only play at their house, and that they’re stricter about certain things than I am. And I love love love all the incredible food we were spoiled with every week. I’m definitely gonna miss our weekly time together, but there’s always the weekends…
I’ll leave you with these words from Cinderella:
I count the falling tears
They fall before my eyes
Seems like a thousand years
Since we broke the ties
Also, I’m sorry that Rosie peed on your rug (again), mom.
One thought on “Don’t Know What You Got Until It’s Gone”
Sounds like a great summer.