Blame These Guys

If you’ve noticed a decided lack of stories this week and are wondering how on EARTH I could have missed posting about Mel Gibson’s shocking split with his baby mama or the breaking news that zinc in pregnancy combats babies’ diarrhea, blame my mom and dad who are visiting from Pennsylvania.  Visiting their granddaughter, that is.  I don’t even delude myself into believing they are here to see me anymore.

Thankfully, I’m the only one who knows how to get around town — Miss Skye hasn’t really mastered the freeways yet — so I’ve managed to horn in on their exclusive party by chauffeuring the three of them everywhere from Malibu to Marina del Rey.

Basically, they’re forced to hang out with me if they want to get anywhere.

Of course, considering these guys shuttled my behind to ice skating lessons, assisted with my Brownie troop, coached my softball team when none of the other parents would sacrifice their time, bought me a bad-ass viola and paid for private lessons even though times were tight, and came to every single one of my orchestra performances, from the out-of-tune ear assault that was my fourth-grade orchestra to the more dulcet sounds of All-State Orchestra three hours away in Pittsburgh… well, considering all of THAT, I suppose reciprocally chauffeuring Mom and Dad so they can spend quality time with their granddaughter isn’t so terrible, after all.