My mother is a snake charmer. I deliver the kids to her in the little baskets that I've stuffed them in, and mom sings a soothing melody, and they come out--not acting evil and snake-like at all. Damn, damn grandmothers and thier infernal powers!
On Saturday, I called my mother, and while Claire provided the background music ala banshee screaming, I asked my mother, in a solid, practiced voice, "Do you want her?"
"The small one."
"Bring her over."
We conduct business like a drug deal--straight and to the point.
I packed up the 26lbs of evil, grabbed her a pair of pajamas, said goodbye to the fam, and loaded her in the car. I was at my mom's in about 10 minutes. Of course, Wee Evil was asleep in the carseat. That's what she does: Screams until her head threatens implosion, and then passes out from the lack of oxygen. Works for her, but meanwhile, anyone who's been within 2 miles has ringing ears and is wondering what the hell that sound was.
I unloaded her and dropped her off in mom's guest room. Out cold, so it seems. She opens her eyes, sees my mom, and becomes an angel child. It's sickening the way that happens. If it's the "island spice" potpourri that mom has going on in her house, I'll gladly douse myself in it, if it makes the kids behave.
I make my break. As I'm walking out the back door, I ask my mom, "Should I feel guilty for just dropping off my baby?"
"Nope, I used to do it all the time."
Gotta love moms.