Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The Closest My Father Has Ever Gotten to a Bad Batch of LSD

I suppose I should have known that my parents' visit would be slightly out of the ordinary when on the first or second day of their visit, BaPa came back from his daily walk only to tell me that he had been hit by a car.

It seems that a little white van had taken a corner just a wee bit too sharp and whacked BaPa on the arm with it's wing mirror as it drove past. Since neither the van nor my father were moving very fast at this particular moment, he was hardly any worse for the wear. He was happy to tell me that the driver did stop to check on him and, luckily for BaPa, the woman behind the wheel actually spoke some English, which of course meant that BaPa could tell said woman what he thought about her driving.

I'm still waiting to find out which neighbour caught the wrath of this man wearing a "Marquette Dad" sweatshirt, but so far no one has admitted being anywhere near the scene of the accident. I'm thinking that's a good thing.

BaPa was also ever so lucky to see that road rage manifest itself in 3 out of 4 of our little people. He got to witness Mini-Husband getting angry over his little brother stealing his toys, watch Bubba-Love having major conniption fits over DVDs and the lack of juice in the house, and the most magical tantrums of all, those from The Princess. I think my father has finally met a little girl whose stubborn streak can almost, almost, beat out her cute factor on any given day. I used to think Dad didn't like dealing with my boys and now I'm not so sure he really likes dealing with my daughter. Let's just hope by the time the littlest one starts her tantrum career, the others will have grown out of theirs.

And if screaming fits weren't enough for a fun filled two week vacation, there was also a massive dose of Catholic Guilt BaPa got to enjoy. Here we were on Friday morning at 7:30am: Kitty, BaPa, Rosebud and me ready to head off for a day at Oradour-Sur-Glane, one of the most tragic places in France, when by accident, BaPa let the dogs out. (CUE MUSIC..."Who let the dogs out? WOOF, WOOF, WOOF...")

Hubster and I took off in two cars, frantically searching the fields around the village. We were able to catch the aging lump, Typhon, rather quickly, but the two Siberian prima donnas decided they weren't done harassing cows, chickens, and sheep just yet. After two hours of frantic searching, Hubster told me to head off to Oradour all the same and he'd call me when he had found them.

So off we went. Me, convinced all small furry animals around the village would be toast by noon, my mom anxious about Hubster, and my dad, unable to do or say anything except feel guilty. We toured the site at Oradour, taking in all of the horrors that happened in that village over 60 years ago, awed and silenced by the fact that these atrocities continue in other places still. I'll admit, the whole time I couldn't stop thinking that this was happening in the form of furry huskies on innocent sheep. Not at all the same level of horror, I know, but horrifying to me all the same.

The return home was a quiet one with still no word from Hubster about the dogs. We got back about 7pm, to be greeted by a lonely Typhon and some very worried children. At that point, we had given up hope of finding Anouk and Abaka and BaPa was quietly beside himself.

"We've all let them escape at one point or another," Hubster told him. "It's just stinks that this would be the one time they haven't come back."

Can you feel how UGH that was? Really, seriously, UGH. No idea what to say to each other, no idea what to do. Just UGH. YIKES. BLAH. UGH.

And then a little miracle happened. Musher Boy's mom shows up. She's jumping up and down, ringing the front bell, and yelling,"I'VE GOT THEM!! I'VE GOT THEM!"

Thirteen hours later and at least 10k from our village, she found them wandering near a main road. There they were, Anouk and Abaka, tired, muddy and only slightly tainted pink. (So far, we've only had reports of 3 chickens taking a hit. At this point, I'm cautiously hoping that's all they killed.)

I don't think I've ever seen my father so relieved as he was when those dogs got back.

Well, until this morning when he knew that this insane holiday at the Birth Control Bed & Breakfast was coming to a close. I know he loves being with us and loves seeing us, but I think BaPa is going to be very happy to get back to chez lui, where he can walk on safe sidewalks, only fight with Kitty over the remote, and open his front door as wide as he wants.

Until next time.

6 comments:

michael said...

Don't sweat it. Dad has seen all of our children throw tantrums, fight with siblings and worse then that, not finish their food. He also has had plenty of opportunity to see Snickers on her escapades which frequently last several hours. And he has been the one to let her escape on more thenone occasion. And he still calls almost everyday and he and mom show up to see what those nasty children are doing more then we would ever expect. This way, he'll just be so delighted at home much they've matured when they see him again. And this is Di posting, not Michael Chrismer Patton.

Sue said...

I would also like to add that he witnessed us fighting, let Klein out and survived a houseful of hemoraging women monthly. Yet, he still loves all of us!!

Kitty said...

And we still love him!!

Diane said...

In my opinion he is still the best father I have ever had and he's definitely the best grandfather my kids have!

Dig said...

I'm just glad he keeps wanting to come back. He's a wonderful brave soul, that guy. Somebody on that side of the pond go hug him for me and then pour him a Canadian whiskey on the rocks. Love you, Dad!

Diane said...
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