Sometimes on Saturday, after an exhausting morning watching our mother figure out which Thanksgiving side dish will go in what serving bowl, we like to wrangle her away from what appears to be a stress-filled road headed straight for Anxiousville and grab a mid-afternoon snuggle which inevitably involves her interrupting our special nappy time by talking to no one in particular about the redeeming qualities of Yukon Gold vs Russet Potatoes.
Make Her Stop,
Ned the Neglected
Sometimes on Saturday, after we put in a good couple of hours at our upstairs post, waiting to bark at the people and animals and leaves and plastic bags and toddlers in strollers that go by, we like to make sure that our mother knows we are doing our level best to keep the homestead safe by flashing her our I-Got-This-Covered look, knowing that if that 700 pound Rottweiler should happen to charge our fortress she will be there to help us.
Yours In Occasional Back-Up,
Sometimes on Saturday, after we’ve spent the entire afternoon binge watching Olive Kitteridge with our mother, we like to contemplate all the subjects our mother is always droning on about—such as loneliness and forgiveness and compassion and most of all that people do the best that they can in their own way—and we try to tell her that we understand where she’s coming from and we love her truly just the same.
We’re All In This Together Right?,
Sometimes on Saturday, after a sleepless night filled with terrifying wind and rain and explosion noises, we like to take our minds off our troubles and wrangle our parents into an endless game of throw the loud yellow toy until we all collapse.
Thank Goodness For Naps,
Sometimes on Saturday, after an afternoon into an evening and then another afternoon that our Dad is embroiled with several workers trying to install an elaborate new surround sound musical system that involves ladders and wires and drills and cursing, we like to escape to the quiet retreat that is the upstairs bedroom and partially cover our head with a blanket until the whole ghastly nightmare is over.
Yours In 8-Track Cassette Players,
Orville Old Fashioned