May We Present the Grandparents All the Way From Las Vegas

Over Labor Day my parents paid us a visit. This was exciting business as my Dad wasn’t able to come up for Norah’s birth. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal but it turned out it kind of was.

He called on one of the first days we were in the hospital while the entire Sunderland family was visiting. There were six people in our hospital room, not including us. We thought it was a good idea to knock everyone out at once in the hospital. With Gwyneth we had the suite and everybody fit just fine, with Norah we got a smaller room and boy was it crowded, loud and a little overwhelming. Let’s just say that we were probably hated by our neighbors and by the nurses for sure.

When I hung up the phone my Father-in-Law asked how my Dad was. I burst into tears, catching us all by surprise, myself included. The noisy crowd quieted into an uncomfortable silence as the woman who just delivered a baby was crying.

Apparently I missed him a bit more than I realized because the crying continued to happen over the course of the next two hormonally charged weeks whenever I thought of him, not just the one time due to drugs or exhaustion.

So my parents coming to visit was a good thing that I was super excited about. Who am I kidding, isn’t it always?

A few highlights involved some putting up shelves to complete the kitchen renovation. I originally requested floating shelves to which the contractor said no to. Naturally he left us with a bare wall where we had decided to get rid of a wine rack/alcohol cabinet. Over the weekend we had limited time and my Dad had few tools so while they may not be the floating shelves I envisioned, they are open shelves that look great with my china stored on them. They give us that open shelving trendy feel minus the accountability of having to keep your cupboards organized, which we fully realize we are incapable of.


We also had ribs, prepared by my mom to off set the rib cook off craving without the cost. And since Labor Day marks the end of summer we had s’mores, cooked over the stovetop with a fork. Somebody may have singed their lips on a fork eating a flaming hot marshmallow off it. That somebody totally wasn’t me. And that somebody totally didn’t have blisters and swollen lips for two days….

And then on Monday they drove off into the smoky sunset back through the barren desert to the hot city of Las Vegas that they call home.

Until Nevada Day we will meet again, sigh.


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