Stalking Surrogate Grandparents

Today is the day.


I have been slinking about the neighborhood looking for some likely candidates for my little scheme. Surrogate Grandparents. Ah. It sounds beautiful doesn't it? Like a dream. Let's just savor that one more time....Surrogate Grandparents. Surrogate Grandparents.


We need more help. I need more time in the studio, time to write, time to feel like the girly girl that I am. My parents are great but mainly like to sail into town, take the kids somewhere Italian, try and snap a picture of the kids in between mouthfuls, and split. And, babysitters are expensive. Swapping with other families' kids is fun and all but I need someone who adores my kids, wants to play and spoil them endlessly and hopefully model some kind of cleanliness that has eluded Burnt Toast and myself.

My requirements include:
1. Live within walking distance
2. Smell sufficiently like Grandparents (sweet and mothy)
3. Able to talk about weird childhood memories
4. Be a Republican - let's face it...they have money, good health care and cook a fine brisket.

I think I have found them! Just catty corner behind us, in our alley, live two fabulous little retired folks. They let my kids play in their perfectly manicured beds of impatiens. Put up Christmas lights covering the entire roof. Drive matching Lexuses with one being a convertible! And keep a garage so clean and organized I could have my 3rd C-section right on the garage floor, which would be fabulous as they have a second fridge out there (of course) filled with Diet Coke and I could waddle home at the end of the day.

The only snafu I can find is that they already have two grandchildren. Damnit it all to hell. I've seen them out pushing these children with their shiny trikes and push bars, building a new bike with a pink banana seat, sanding down a dresser for a little girl princess room. (This last one killed me. I watched through my own garage windows with binoculars, biting my nails the whole time, just imagining he was doing that for Short Stack! Or, let's get real, me.)

But, they seem to like us. They joke about how our kids can never behead too many of their roses or wail enough dirt bombs against their freshly scrubbed garage door or scream loud enough to stop the ball game on cable. (Put "watches lots of football on TV" on the list)

So, I'm taking a deep breath. Armed with my homemade vanilla caramels and most pathetic smile - I'm going in. Keep you posted....

Mindless Mommy