They are here. The girl (TG) and the boy (TB). They arrived last night, and we made the family trip to the airport. Mr. Gadget went in with itinerary in hand, hoping the powers that be would let him go to the gate to greet the kids. It’s a shame, the impact that 9/11 has made on the airport experience. No more crowds of anxious families waiting for their loved ones, breaking out in boisterous hugs and smiles when a familiar and beloved face emerges from the gate. Now it seems like the meet and greet brigade has been diluted into a confused swarm of meeters, greeters, and travelers milling about the luggage claim.
To avoid exhorbitant parking fees and stern reprimands (or even fines, gah!) from the local airport law enforcement, Mr. Gadget went in, and I drove on. Away and anon, to circle the airport until the reunited family emerged. At least, that’s what he suggested. I think not. Not with an extremely unhappy (and commensurately expressive) toddler seated behind me. No. Instead, we drove to a quiet, peaceful grassy place nearby. As luck would have it, a stately old cemetery is near the airport. I think it was a stroke of genius on my part. From a bustling crazy throng of traffic to expansive lush green lawns and ancient shady trees, we were instantly transported. I let my sweet little munchkin out of the confines of his carseat and he romped and played in the grass. We had a grand time. That is, until my allergies kicked in. We were finished playing by then, and back in the car, ready to drive to the front of the baggage claim area to collect the family. Wheezing. Coughing. Choking. Where is the benadryl I had some, luckily, but it took all night and a morning to clear up. Hrumph.
They’ve only been here an evening and a morning, and already…
Already, TG has breakfasted on Cheetos. TB has made a long distance call. Both without asking. My side of the family is admittedly a band of hooligans, and I’ve recently been blessed with visits from nieces and nephews of assorted ages. Hooligans or not, not once did any of them help themselves to anything without asking. They are much more polite than I give them credit for, and perhaps not hooligans at all!
I know I can be controlling. Even so. Am I out of line, feeling a bit annoyed I think I am more surprised than anything. It didn’t occur to me that visitors in my home would not ask. It seems so impolite. Perhaps they are simply independent sorts. Even so. I expressly mentioned that we have cereal (and please, don’t open anything new until what’s already open is used up) and bread for toast. I shouldn’t have had to explain that Cheetos are junk food, and we only have them once in a while as snacks with sandwiches or something, but certainly not for breakfast. I shouldn’t have had to explain that we don’t have a long distance plan on our land line (so if we happen to make a long distance call, it costs a fortune), and that we use the cell phone to call long distance.
Arrggggghh! Do people not teach their children manners I don’t want to be forever known as the evil stepmother, because I expect a certain level of courtesty (and not even very much, at that).
This happened last time. We’d assumed they were old enough to be left unattended while we worked. To my dismay, they snooped and poked and prodded into seemingly every corner of my house. Things were used without asking. Things were consumed without asking. I was a little distraught. It seemed as though they assumed that the home was their dad’s, and what’s his is theirs, and they therefore didn’t need to ask. And they were so pleased at his apparent good fortune.
Ah, the joys of a blended family. I was a well established single, prior to saying I do to the gadget man. The home was mine. The furnishings were mine. A lifetime of investments. He brought with him little more than the fallout of a bad divorce, which was mainly a substantial debt, bad credit, and a whole lot of nothing. I didn’t marry him for his holdings, for goodness sakes! But it has been frustrating, on occasions like this.
So this time, I have the privilege of working from my home office. To keep a semi-watchful eye. Hence the surprise that even in my presence, they don’t think to ask.
I kindly and gently explain these things to them. What a delicate situation, to express expectations with kindness, but with authority and firmness. It is no small effort.
