Monday, October 4, 2010

Eight is way more than enough, thank you!

So this past weekend, I had eight, count 'em, 8 freakin' people in my house! I'm still not sure what drugs I was on when I decided this was a good idea. Actually, I don't know that I ever thought it was a "good" idea but it didn't occur to me for some strangely bizarre reason that it might overwhelm me.

Now, if you knew anything about me, right about now, you'd be smacking me upside the head. See, I don't do large groups of people. And to me? Eight is a large group. When I'm in a group of more than 3 or 4 people, I tend to go into overload mode. I get this huge mental block and I'm completely incapable of processing what's going on around me. I just kinda sit there while information passes around me like flies in the air and it's a small miracle that I'm not drooling the entire time.

If I spend too much time in a large group, I started to get agitated and antsy, I totally go into fight-or-flight, and as it's really inappropriate to punch family members or neighbors when you, or they, are not drunk, I usually fly. Not that I would punch family members, mind you. Well.... there's one I'd like to punch... but I'm kinda getting off the topic.

So. You're asking, what the hell was I thinking having 8 people in my house? And I'll tell you what I was thinking. My dad, who is 80, lives in Delaware, and hasn't come out this way in ages, was coming out for a visit. He didn't know exactly when he would be here. Moon Unit, Dweezil, and Frank haven't seen him in years. I think Frank, who is now 11, last saw my dad when he was maybe 1 or 2? So yeah, a long time. And of course, the kids all needed to see their grandpa coz honestly? Who knows when or if they'll see him again.

I knew the chances were good that my dad would show up the same weekend Kismet was moving in. And there was this part of me, a totally psychotic part of me that should have its mouth sewn shut and its hands duct taped to its feet and dunked into a vat of quick-drying cement so as never to have any sort of influence on my thoughts and decisions ever again, that thought it would actually be a good idea, since I have limited time off to use in a year and it would be good to get it all done at one time.

Umm... yeah. So Brad picks up Kismet and brings here home. Then my dad and step-mom show up. And then we go pick up the boys. And Dweezil had fallen off a friend's skate board and injured his wrist. So right after I pick them up and drop Frank off at the house, I run off with Dweezil to the urgent care to get his wrist x-rayed. And we get back and everyone's kinda running around and things seem a bit hectic but I think, "It'll be okay."

And it wasn't. Because I totally went into brain lock the next day. And I couldn't think of a single thing to do with 8 people. I blame Utah for being such a boring state and I'm totally not going to take that back, but it was probably partly me, too. But mostly Utah. And I just. Couldn't. Think. And so? We didn't really do anything.

And then Sunday rolled around and there was more of the same. No thoughts in my head of what to do. And so again, we did nothing. And the whole while, I'm feeling totally stressed out by it. I'm a terrible host. Why can't I think of anything to do with my family? Why can't I take my folks out and show them around? I mean they've been here before and they've seen most of it but still. There's just nothing. I can't think of anything. And I feel like the scum of the earth coz we're just hanging out at the house.

My dad then tells me that they are intending to head out early in the morning so that they can get a jump on things and do some sight-seeing along the way. And there's this horrible other part of me that's breathing a sigh of relief. And also thinking that he's probably bored out of his mind at my house and I'm a lousy host. Because I am.

Monday morning rolls around, Kismet goes off to school in the kind of God-forsaken, early morning hours that only farmers and graveyard shifters getting off work should see. And my folks go at the same time. And me? I sleep through it all while Brad sees off Kismet and my folks. And I kinda feel guilty. But when I get up? I feel sooo much better that the house is empty.

I am never having a houseful again. And if you hear me saying I'm going to do that? Feel free to whack me upside the head with the nearest blunt object you can find.


Anonymous said...

Sometimes surviving is a victory.

(Some military guy probably said that)

Marianne said...

Don't feel bad that you didn't have activities planned. Whenever I'm visiting family I like nothing more that to just sit around the house and talk and catch up. Maybe watch a DVD or two or maybe even play a game of cards. It's relaxing and I LOVE just being with the people (family) that I haven't seen in a long time.

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