I Gotta Cut Loose! Footloose!

We are living the high life here at The HomeFront Corp. tonight, my friends.

We have farmed two employees out to some beneficent trustees for the weekend. That's right - Francie and Fiver are spending the weekend with my parents, which (do the math!) leaves us with just Sally and Bun. I am finding it very hard to cackle and rub my hands together maniacally while I type, but I'm giving it the old college try.

(As an aside: I just looked up maniac in the dictionary and it says: "a person characterized by an inordinate or ungovernable enthusiasm for something." Yep, that's just about right, Mr. Webster.)

This weekend was originally supposed to be a "work" weekend for Francie so that she could earn money for new riding boots for horse camp this summer. My mother offered her a flat rate for the weekend if she would come over and help my parents "get the gardens ready for planting." If by "get the gardens ready for planting" she means walk around and pick up sticks for fifteen minutes before complaining about the bugs and asking if it's time for lunch, then Francie's her girl. (Then again, she does anything for my mother, so what do I know?)

This weekend was highly touted by Francie as a "special weekend for just me." She had her bag packed by Thursday afternoon. What she didn't count on was her brother's heartbreakingly sad eyes when my mother came to get her. We had explained to him that he would have his own special weekend with the grandparents, and he seemed fine with the idea, but when it came down to go-time, he choked.

His mouth turned down in almost comic proportions as he gravely said, "I am a good worker, GeeGee. I will work, work, work all day. I won't play at all, I will only work because I am a good worker." Umm, okay, Mr. Crazy Work Ethic, we're feeling you.

Even though I launched into my spiel about how he would get his own weekend, with his own plans, blah blah blah, my mother was no match for Fiver the Sad, Yet Incredibly Willing to Work. She interrupted me to tell him that he could come.

Hey, guess who didn't take that news so well?

While Fiver bounced around his room pulling out all the things he would need for an overnight trip (my pillow! my money jar! my toothbrush! my light up spinner from Santa!), my mother consoled Francie by telling her she was so proud of the big, generous girl she had grown into. I merely asked her not to cry and complain in front of Fiver so that he wouldn't feel crummy.

She didn't cry in front of him, she just proceeded to remind him, every single chance she could, that she was letting him come on this weekend. He owed his presence to her magnanimity. I think it was her intention to crush him with guilt. Of course, Fiver is so oblivious to reading emotions that he would respond with, "I know! It's great!" Not exactly the desired effect.

It seems that some of the bitterness has been resolved, because we got a call from the employees this evening and things sounded hunky-dory. They had been out to eat and then had been out for ice cream, and then my mother was going to read them stories and sing songs and braid hair and freeze their bras and whatever other sleepover shenanigans they could muster.

They were even going to sleep in the same room, which sounded fairly amicable, although my father did say that when he met up with them at dinner, Francie came running up to hug him. And to whisper "We had to bring You-Know-Who" in his ear.

So what are our big plans for the weekend, now that we are down to two? Well, if they are anything like tonight you may just have to brace yourselves, my friends.

We made a dinner that we enjoyed; one where no one pushed the food around on their plate and said they didn't really like this kind of chicken. We put the little ones to bed and then we each took a turn on the treadmill. Now I am blogging and Rob is working from home.

We are living on the very edge, my friends. I know it's easy to feel jealous, but don't succumb. Maybe one day you too will get to live the easy, breezy kind of lifestyle we enjoy.

I think we might even order a pizza tomorrow. With toppings.

I know - we are living the dream.