Have you ever known those parents who just won’t quit?
Like mine.
When I was 15 I had moments where I just wanted them to stop, you know, molding me into a decent human being who knew how to succeed and work hard in life. How annoying that they would care that much.
Now at 26, they still won’t stop. This weekend my little babe and I went down to help them move into their new home. I totally missed the memo that my little helper babe was actually planning to freak out the entire weekend. So this whole helping move and decorate idea was kind of a disaster, and ended up being an everybody-help-Jill kind of weekend. Instead of doing the endless things they needed to do they became the pourer of my coffee, the packer of my diaper bag, the maker of bottles in record-breaking time, the meltdown stoppers, and the undertakers of the impossible task of trying to get my son to nap.
It reminded me of the time that my parents were on grand-dog duty, before they ever had human grandchild duty. I was traveling for work and my dad drove an hour to deliver my dog to me at the airport when I returned home, just because I like my dog. Or the time recently when mom drove up to watch my babe just so I could shampoo my carpets uninterrupted.
