Since Bigbitey has gone back home with Littlebitey, the laptop is mine, all mine once again. No more squeezing in five minutes to check my email, or bang out a couple of quick notes for my thesis while Bigbitey eats lunch Yes, yes, YES! I’m back in the swing of things.
Well, I will be back in the swing of things–once I get over the temporary bout of depression that follows the departure of senior biteys. I’m a little drained at the moment.
To be honest, the sniffling has already ceased, as the quiet routine of my day re-forms into a pre-visit familiarity. I love my parents. I’d do anything for them. I love that they come out to see me, to spend time with me, to support me and bring pretzels and peanut butter to me, but as they depart, I am simultaneously sad and glad in the way only a visit from loved ones can leave you.
So what is it about parents? Why is it we love the people who gave us life when they drive us berserk by leaving empty water bottles around the house, freak you out by supporting conservative republicans on Fox news, astound you by the amount of cheese they eat, and irritate you when they overfeed the Budman so much he can’t fit though the doggie door? What is it that binds us to parents, makes us love them unconditionally, regardless of their prejudices or penchant for button-pushing? Sometimes I wonder if I would be friends with my parents if they weren’t related to me? Then I laugh at some ancient family in-joke, or eat the Irish Soda muffins Littlebitey made, or am reminded Bigbitey was my hero in a Charlton Heston kind of way. And I’d never have it any other way. I want them just as they are:
On their way back to their house.
Oh, I so lie. I’ve got my laptop back, the front room has transformed into a study again, my grocery bill is going to reduce by 75%, and there won’t be any stray water bottles leaving rings on my polished wooden floors, and I can get back to the business of writing the next huge thing, but I think I’d really rather have my parents here or nearby, they way Shrinky gets to.