or "Why I Can't Let My Twins Go To Charleston For A Week."
I know you think that my kids are darn-near perfect. Right? Cause if you've read a few posts, well, it's sort of obvious that they are. I mean, they're fairly polite, they pretty much behave, and they're all stunningly gorgeous if I do say so myself.
But I have a confession to make.
They're seriously flawed.
And it's all my fault.
Well, not really. It's their Daddy's fault, actually.
And the flaws that my kids have?
Well, they're keeping me from letting my twins visit their good buddies Parker & Noah down in Charleston this summer. Because HOW could I possibly let their mother know how badly I've botched the business of raising capable, independent young people?? Chelsea does an excellent job with her own kids. Her thirteen year old boys know how to jump-start a car for heaven's sake! They clean out her monster van and do all sorts of manly things! I simply can't let her find out that I've manage to raise four children who will be forever velcroed to their mama's side, unable to perform the most basic tasks in life without Mommy's help.
What if she realized that I've engineered it that way on purpose! Bwaaa ha ha ha! They're never going to be able to leave home and survive in the big wide world.
(It's all a part of my evil plot to keep them here forever...shhhh!)
Sure, Darling Daughter spent a week with the Gour Family last July, and yes, she's headed back there this weekend for another fun adventure in which flinging bubble-gum-pink paint at bedroom walls and ripping down wallpaper are all part of the entertainment Chelsea painstakingly plans to
make things fun take full advantage of the strong, willing work force she sneakily employs each summer!
But Darling Daughter is clever at hiding her ineptitude.
This year, Chelsea invited my twins to visit, too!
And I thought about letting them go. I did. For about 37 and a half seconds. And then?
Dinner time made it glaringly obvious that I could NOT let my babies go to Charleston.
Because of the "Baked Potato Factor," you see.
Let me explain.
See my husband is a great big baby. In twenty years of marriage I don't think the man has buttered his own baked potato TWICE. He always says, "But I like it the way YOU make it, baby. Please do it for me..." so I do. And my children? They like baked potatoes better the way mom fixes them, too. So, it's become a habit at his point. I don't even think about it any more. Whenever I cook dinner and baked potatoes are on the menu, I just go ahead and cut, smush, butter, salt, and pepper SIX freaking baked potatoes before I even put them on the table. Even if we have "Loaded Baked Potatoes" I still put the various toppings, bacon, cheese, ranch, chives, on the potatoes for them just the way they like them. Every time.
Which means that last summer...when Darling Daughter first arrived at Chelsea's house and sat down at the Gour Family Dinner Table for her first meal with her hosts...and was served a baked potato STILL NAKED AND UNBUTTERED...NOT EVEN CUT OPEN FOR HER!!
Well, needless to say, she was shocked!
Still, she managed to overcome. My brave girl shakily reached out and picked up a knife and fork. She courageously sliced into the potato and then surveyed the toppings displayed before her. She wasn't sure what to do, exactly, but she persevered. And for the first time in her life...she fixed her OWN potato!
At the age of sixteen!
My babies, though, are only twelve! (OK, 13 in a month.) How could they possibly be expected to cope??
A point which Darling Daughter brought up last night when I plunked dinner on the table before my family...baked potatoes all buttered and salted and peppered appetizingly. My girl looked up at me and said, "MOM! The boys cannot go to Charleston! BAKED POTATO FACTOR!!"
So, I'm sorry, Chelsea. Sorry, Parker. Sorry, Noah.
I guess I COULD take some time over the next couple of days to coach the twins in proper potato-management. But really...is it worth destroying almost thirteen years of careful planning and grooming them to need their mama for the rest of their lives??
I'm afraid not.