We have returned home.
A blissfully uneventful drive was had between Montreal and Fredericton.
My favourite kind.
The house remains in one peice, thanks mostly to the efforts of our youngest child, Emily.
She called me during our first full day in Montreal and exclaimed, "It's really hard being a parent to Meredyth and Keith!"
Tell me something I don't already know.
It would seem that Mer and Keith fully, completely, absolutely embraced our absence, while Em saw it as an opportunity to demonstrate that she is moving towards adulthood and can be trusted and responsible.
Everyone did an excellent job embracing their chosen roles.
Em was indeed responsible and trustworthy, as we came back to a house as clean as we left it.
Mer and Keith indeed embraced our absence and had one hell of a good time.
At least from what information I've been able to gather.
Causing Em a most stressful time.
Conversations, "talks" will be happening later today.
When we pulled into the driveway, Tikka was standing guard at her usual spot in the kitchen window, wanting it to be us, hoping it was us, but not letting herself completely believe it was us until she saw us emerge from the car.
Ears back, smile on her face, tail wagging at 100 kms per hour, she ran from the kitchen to the front door leaping and jumping in ways I haven't seen her leap and jump in a long time.
I anticipate she'll have sore hips today as a result of her excited frolicking.
Frankie had given up hope that we were ever returning, prefering to believe we had doomed him to a life of living with the kids.
So when we walked through the door, he literally leapt out of his skin, walked on the ceiling, and engaged in such a creative and energetic welcome home dance, I wished I had a camera to capture it.
And we were only gone four days.
Imagine if we left for any length of time.
They'd probably split themselves, leaving us with four dogs instead of two.
Hmmmmm. . .four dogs. . . .that sounds rather lovely, doesn't it?
Reilley and Goblet did not come downstairs to greet us upon our return, prefering to make us come to them.
Reilley was in Emily's room, of course and when she brought him out the meowing and caterwauling was vociferous.
Goblet was resting on my chair in the office.
When I came in to get her, she looked up at me as if to say, "Oh. You're home now. How nice. Thanks for leaving me in the care of people who haven't the brain capacity to look after a sponge."
Her icy demeanour thawed, apparently, by the time Stephen came to bed, as within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, her lips latched onto his earlobes.
Ahhhhhhh. . .the normality of life at home.
There has been one change to our nightime living arrangements as a result of our time in Montreal.
Frankie is no longer sleeping with us at night.
If one of us is in the bed, fine, he can come up.
However, we have decided, a mutual decision and decree, that when we are both in bed, it must be a Frankie-free zone.
And how did we come to this cruel and harsh decision?
A good night's sleep.
On a hide-a-bed no less.
Our first night in Montreal, we slept like logs, not even getting up to pee.
We thought it was a result of the long drive through the treacherous 185, and then the lovely visit with Donna and Andrij.
Our second night was the same.
We slept so soundly that in the morning our bladders were singing the Hallelujah chorus and we were racing to the bathroom.
Our third night was the same.
We're social scientists.
Trained to identify and interpret patterns.
And there was definitely a pattern.
Leaving us to conclude that we slept well because we were in a Frankie-free zone.
Meaning neither one of us spent the night in such contortions around Frankie that we could audition for Cirque de Soleil.
That we didn't wake up in the middle of the night frigid and freezing because Frankie has made a nest of our covers.
That we didn't wake up both herded into one corner of the bed while Frankie lounged and luxuriated in the rest of the bed.
That we weren't each herded to a side of the bed while Frankie stretched out horizontally in between us, making us look the letter H.
No more Frankie in the bed.
So last night, when Stephen came to bed and after Goblet had her first post-visit to Montreal suckle, Frankie launched himself onto the bed with his usual gusto.
Only to be greeted with a "Frankie, down."
Resolute, he stood his ground.
Mummy and Daddy were back, ergo logic dictates Frankie should be on the bed.
Surely we must be suffering from some post-long drive delusions.
Until Mummy got up and sternly said, "Frankie. DOWN."
Completely and thoroughly pissed off, he spent the rest of the night on the couch, punishing us for our clear ignorance of the rules and unfeeling and callousness.
He's thinking things will return to normal this evening.
Someone is in for a shock.
At times like this, it isn't a good idea to lock horns with a Mummy as stubborn as, if not more, than you are.
Because Mama has had a taste of a good night's sleep, and now she wants more.
One of the things about visiting Stephen's parents is an adherence to their schedule.
Should we want to ahere or not.
Including the 8.00 am reveille.
And if we decide that we aren't ready to get up, Stephen's mother will start by walking up and down the hallway, repeatedly, talking to Stephen's father as she does so.
If, by some misfortune, that doesn't work, she resorts to yelling from the kitchen that breakfast is being served and if we don't get up to get it now, we won't be getting any.
Imagine how happy this makes the morning-doesn't-happen-until-noon-Stephen.
This, we are used to.
What was new and exciting this visit was their absolute unwillingness to let us go anywhere on our own.
Now the trip to Costco needed to be a family affair, because we aren't members and Stephen's parents are.
That was fine.
We wandered through the aisles, picking up a few things we can't get here.
Such as pants for Stephen.
When you have a 36 inch inseam, pants are challenging.
For some reason, Costco carries the 36x36 pants Stephen likes, so we always come back to Fredericton with items necessary to cover his butt and avoid making him look like he's worried about perpetual flooding.
Water for Elephants for me at the cost of $9.98.
120 bulbs of something that looks like a small, purple tiger lily.
A low fat cheese that Stephen loves and has promised to not devour in one sitting.
Yeah. Right.
Stephen's parents browsed with us, picking up a few items here and there that they needed, however, Stephen's mother had knee surgery in July and is awaiting surgery on the other knee, so her ability to browse at length is limited.
Meaning when they were finished, we were finished.
Whether we were or not.
The same happened when we mentioned that we wanted to go to Esposito's for Montreal bagels and Adonis for whatever we could find that we can't find here.
Which is pretty much everything given the amazingness of Adonis: http://www.adonisproducts.com/.
Again, they insisted on coming with us.
Again, we browsed as long as they wanted to browse.
The last time we were there, we wandered through the aisles for almost two hours.
This time, we were in and out in 45 minutes.
In spite of the brevity of our visit, we did manage to come away with two bottles of herbe de provence, two boxes of tea we can't find here, ginger pear and chocolate spice and six Adonis reuseable bags, the ones that cause the grocery cashiers at the Superstore to oooohhhh and ahhhhh.
We decided, this time, to stay away from the half a kilo of petit fours, although it was difficult.
There they were, in their pyramids of glorious goodness, beckoning to me, calling me, inviting me to just. try. one.
I resisted.
My strength wavered, but was not defeated.
However, such was not the case with the gelato counter.
Square, stainless steel containers artfully filled with such gelato delights as white chocolate, coffee, mango, vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, coconut, lemon, snickers, etc.
I did have a tiny, and I mean tiny, bowl.
As did Stephen.
Because I wasn't falling off the wagon alone.
Coffee for me, white chocolate for him.
So delicious!
At Esposito's we were in search of Montreal bagels, freshly made.
Walking into the store, we are greeted with the smells of warm, fresh bagels. We just followed the scents to the back of the store, where we bought four dozen fresh from the wood fired oven bagels.
And while Stephen paid, I was able to watch the men behind the counter make such bagels.
I could have stayed there all day, just smelling.
But the weight gain just from smelling was a strong deterrent.
Of course, we also returned with our usual cargo of egg bread.
Although given the size of a Ford Fiesta, it wasn't as much egg bread as we usually come back with.
But given that we are headed to Brantford in May for the 2011 Qualitative Analysis Conference, we'll manage to make it through until then.
We hit every grocery store with a 20 km radius of Stephen's parent's house, emptying their supply of egg bread with lightening speed.
At Maxi's, we also bought Keith a case of spruce beer, which has been described by our little Pookie as "Christmas in a cup" and a gigantic bottle of Budweiser.
A bottle of Argentinian red wine for Mer.
A now empty bottle of Argentinian red wine, I might add.
A case of Jone's Soda for Em because she likes the labels and the fortunes inside the cap.
A box of Austrailian white wine for Stephen that we are unable to find here.
Everyone is well liquified.
And then, of course, there was the requisite emptying of the house by Stephen's parents.
They are preparing to move into the Ukrainian seniors residence.
At least they've put their name on the waiting list.
When they actually get there is an entirely different story.
Nonetheless, years and years and years of antiquing and collecting has resulted in a three bedroom bungalow piled to the rafters with, as Stephen calls it, "stuff."
And the mission now is to get rid of as much "stuff" as possible.
Because when they move into the residence, they will be living in a two bedroom apartment.
And unless they want to end up on A&E's Hoarders, they need to downsize.
We came back with coats, hats, shoes, books, a half-moon table, collapsible cooler large enough to hold 96 cans of beer should we ever desire such a thing, paintings, photo albums. . .
The car was so packed that the only way to see out of the back window was to peer through the rungs of the half moon table.
Now they are telling us we need to cost out the price of a U-Haul truck for a future visit.
For the furniture.
I wish I had a camera to capture in perpetuity, the look on Stephen's face when he realized what his parents were telling him.
There's still more.
Believe me.
A four day trip to visit Stephen's parents provides fodder for several blog entries.
So you'll have to wait for the rest until later.
Because we're going to see Megamind at the Toonie matinee.
It's all about priorities.
Title Lyric: I Just Wanna Stop by Gino Vanelli
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