I was staying at my daughter’s over the long weekend presumably to help with the twins but truthfully I really just hung out and played. It occurred to me that a ‘good’ mother would be doing dishes and working around the house a bit but personally I prefer to play. So though I didn’t feel like sweeping I was definitely looking for an opportunity to be useful. It was bed time for her older girls and I was standing in the kitchen wondering what might be the most impressive action for the smallest amount of work. The answer came from my daughter who called for me (in a rather trepidations voice) from the other room. She was carefully unzipping her eldest child’s back pack. “There is something in there.” she whispered. Fearing that whatever it was might run out I felt the tingling nakedness of my very bare feet. (Personally I don’t really mind coming upon unexpected critters – unless of course I come upon them with unadorned skin.) Her daughter came into the room and my daughter yelled for her husband to come help.

Her husband hesitantly moved about the bag making quite a show of things. I suggest that there wasn’t really anything there. My daughter assured me that I was wrong. “Oh No you have no idea how absolutely certain I am that there is something in there.” I asked her why she unzipped it in the house if she is so sure it was alive inside and she mouthed words over her fixated with anticipation daughter’s head “This is more fun.” Being a combination of someone who was half raised on a farm and preferred excitement to boredom I proudly thought “Yup she’s her mother’s daughter!”

At that point we both returned to watching her husband very carefully move the bag out the door and then move way up as he kind of tapped it with a stick before jumping backwards. My granddaughter voiced her thoughts with amusement “Not a very manly man!” and we women stifled our giggles. At that point all the apprehensive approaching of her bag lost its fun for me and being a woman of action who was looking for a job I stepped forward and turned it upside down- carefully aiming the critter away from my feet should he in fact be in there. My granddaughter continued to narrate “Dramma’s braver than Tim!” I puffed up my chest and smiled happily to myself. My previous lack of helping had been vindicated. At that point an enormous black RAT!!!! zipped into the yard and we all girly screamed into the house.

Overall it was a pretty satisfying weekend. After all, I got to play with kids, feed babies in the night, retain my position as ‘the heroic she who goes first aka been alive the longest = pretty tough bird” and completely avoid housework. Perfect!