Because I'm supposed to:
WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else that we think might help. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. Won't you please make sure that the maximum number of people are subjected to our FPs by recommending?
2011. The summer that wasn't. Next summer will be different. Oh, yes. It will.
Dear sibling: I love the job you have. Working for the government overseas in a high-powered position is exciting and exotic. Your weekly letters allow me to live vicariously, and I love them. The work you do is important and makes such a difference for people in need around the globe. Of course, when you took the job, I didn't know you'd be home on a month of R and R every summer. It didn't occur to me as I watched you rent your house that you'd need somewhere to stay when you were home. For a month. A whole month. Imagine my surprise! We'll just put off our family vacation so we can get ready for your arrival. And the fact that the house will be under constructon when you need to arrive will only add to the excitement!
It's a tough situation. I love you. And I adore my sibling-in-law. We all miss you both so much when you're overseas. But all of that doesn't shorten the month that you are here. It's terrible to admit that the month is perfect only for making sure that, boy, are we darned good and ready for you to get on that plane at the end of it all. It would all be a bit easier if you two didn't act like two-year-olds and hiss at/refuse to speak to each other. Yes, I understand that it's just the way you both are. That doesn't make it any more tolerable. I like your idea about buying a condo close by. It tells me that it's a long month for you, too. At least we're headed in the right direction.
So, dear summer house guests, please note: No matter how much someone loves you, a month can make your usual 8000 mile proximity seem like an okay thing. Especially if you make us all live "The War of the Roses" while you're here.
Dear parents-in-law: We don't see you enough, I know. There are 4 states between us (The over-sized, western variety. Not those adorable, little eastern ones.), and time and expense separate us more than we all like. So when you call and say, "We know it's last minute, but we have some time! We're coming out to see you in two weeks! Can't wait!" please understand that the catch in my voice is strictly from the sentimental reaction to seeing you, and has nothing to do with watching a week that I was going to enjoy silently rescuing my garden and drinking cold beer go up in a puff of sight-seeing and small talk. I appreciate your stated understanding that it might be "a little tough" on us - your arrival 2 days after my sibling leaves. And I thank you heartily for being so accomodating in changing your schedule so that you don't arrive on the same day she leaves. ("Oh. Well I guess we could put it out a day or two, if you really need us to...") Hooking up that 48-hour I.V. of gin while I stare at the wall will be just what I need to simultaneously recuperate and prepare.
Also, I'm terribly sorry that the last-minutude of your visit didn't allow me to take any time off. Being a nanny for two families is a logistically challenging and more-than-fulltime gig. 10-hour days are not unusual. Now let's add to that the fact that I work in our house. This means that you are living in my office. Much of this mountain is scalable, with one exception. Dear mom-in-law: I love you. But, you cannot alternate between telling me how much you hate children and saying "Oh, they're not bothering me at all!" Also, please understand that there will be times when I will interrupt our conversations to actually - you know - check on the childrens' well-being. If I have to choose between letting you finish your sentence and preventing an accidental amputation, I know where it's gonna fall. It would help if, in the recitation your horrid life at the hands of the world at large, you could come up for air once in a while.
So, dear house guests, take note: If you have invited yourself at the last minute, some scheduling compromise may be in order. Also, if your host or hostess is self-employed and works at home, at the very least, please don't make their job harder.
Dear sibling-in-law on the Hub's side: The brutal truth is that if we had known your folks were going to come out, we wouldn't have invited you to come. The Hub really needs to show up at work one of these days or they're going to forget what he looks like. That doesn't mean that we aren't looking forward to seeing you. It does mean that we're sick to death of sight-seeing and have completely run out of small talk. Let's all hope for the best.
So, dear house guests: Understand that, if it's late in the summer, you're likely not the first people to need clean sheets. We may be happy to see you, but ask us how our summer has been at your own risk.
And to everyone: Your gastronomic eccentricities are not something that I memorize. Next year, I will have a handy questionnare to send to everyone who comes to our house. It will include food preferences and allergy information. If you'd don't eat fish or can't eat wheat or don't like peas or can't stand blueberries, having these pre-filled-out instructions on hand will save me the trouble of making a fresh-caught salmon en croute with garden-picked peas and home-made blueberry pie for dessert. From now on, if you don't like dinner, you'll know where the cereal is kept. Knock yourself out.