When the boys and I were home for Winter Break, they were ‘downgraded’ to a spot in my parent’s bathroom. So, the concept of ‘downgrade’ for the boys was: the same size bedroom area, their old hay sack, two water bottles, a slightly smaller kitchen area, the same two pellet dishes, the same salad dish, the same two snug sacks, the same hidey hut, and their own personal refrigerator.
Yes, my parents moved a small wine refrigerator into the bathroom specifically for the boys food and ‘special snacks’ they bought them. I gave my parents a list of five foods that the boys could eat as ‘snacks’. My parents bought all of them…all of them for the boys. I knew that I was in trouble when I saw the packed refrigerator and I hadn’t put their ‘real’ food in it.
I had to lay down some ground rules with the grandparents’ regarding their furry grand babies with the following handwritten note:
RULES FOR FRED AND LAMONT
1) No more than TWO (2) snacks a day…
2) Never let them get cold… Keep the heat around 68 F. (Yes, I know it costs money to heat the bathroom.)
3) Never feed them after midnight, no matter how much they beg…
My parents’ were not amused. They added number four in their own handwriting:
4) When guinea pigs ‘throw poop’, Kerry Anne will clean it up.
So, I added another rule:
5) Parents will not agitate Fred and Lamont enough to ‘make them’ throw poop… Where is the vacuum cleaner?
Tuesday, this appeared:
Downstairs behind the couch and vacuum up here too…
On Wednesday, the argument was on:
I am not the maid! You want dinner tonight?
Thursday things took a downturn:
Really? Really? I’m an adult. Then stop posting ‘rules’.
Stop over-feeding my guinea pigs!
Merry Christmas! I gave the boys the boys some extra food for a Christmas celebration.
I looked into the boys’ cage and saw food carnage. My mother had over filled their bowl with greens and snacks. The boys had picked through and devoured what they liked and spread out the rest for later. Both boys were sleeping in the bedroom area of their. “Fred?” I asked, “Lamont?” Fred picked his head up and yawned. “Oh, good,” I sighed, “my mother didn’t kill you with food…” Lamont adjusted his position. “He’s out,” I giggled.
I heard my mother coming up the stairs. I grabbed the note / argument and threw it into the trash can.
“Hey,” my mother called from behind me.
“Yea?” I answered.
“How did the boys like their Christmas dinner?” she asked looking down at the two sleeping masses.
“Oh, they’ve had their fill,” I sighed and added, “they’ve had a good Christmas so far…”
“Where are your rules?” my mother asked laughing.
“Screw the rules,” I said turning to her, “we are on vacation…” I gave her a hug and said, “Merry Christmas, mom.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said hugging me back.
I added, “And you are cleaning up all of those presents the boys are going to leave after eating your Christmas meal…”
My mother let me go, “We will see… they are you kids…”
“What?!” I sighed as we walked out the bathroom and down to a family Christmas breakfast. The argument over who was going to clean up the extra poop from the boys continued throughout the day between my mother and me. But I knew they were my boys and it was my mess…