It was great for me too.
My dad LOVES saving money (or not spending ANY money).
My mom LOVES projects and has BIG ideas sometimes confusing those around her (specifically raising chickens).
My dad climbed into the back of my van today with a torn out advertisement for Tepenyaki. He told me that the lunch was only $6, so we headed to Salt Lake. I had been fasting (blood test this morning as part of my FREE ObamaCare preventative doctor's visit), so I was looking forward to eating and I thought my kids would enjoy the experience of the chef cooking right in front of them. We arrived to find that Tepenyaki is not opened for lunch on Saturdays. We were a little bumbed, but still hungry, so dad chose a Chinese place in Centerville- "the one that you don't have to leave a tip" (What?)
Before returning north, my mom asked if we could drive past her childhood home on 8th West. We parked in front of the house and she told a bunch of memories. We all loved hearing about her childhood. Before getting on the freeway, I took my parents to Vosen's German Bakery on 2nd South between 2nd and 3rd West. They had never been there and I'm slightly obsessed with going there anytime that I'm downtown or downtown-ish. The prices aren't great, but they always throw in extras. Today I ordered 3 berliners and 3 brochen and they gave me 3 berliners, 7 brochen and 1 sweet pretzel--all for under $5. My dad ordered $9 worth of stuff (which shocked me), but he walked out of there with lots of free stuff, so he was happy.
My girls and mom were in heaven with the baked goods, and my dad couldn't resist as I drove--they were all kinda full when we arrived at "the place where you don't have to leave a tip". We must have stayed at that little Chinese place for nearly 2 hours. The girls were so content and I thoroughly enjoyed conversing with my parents without having to compete with their TV.
I confessed that when I experimented in the kitchen as a kid, I would occasionally mess up and have to bury the evidence in the backyard. I didn't want my mom to know that I wasn't following a recipe and I knew what kind of trouble I would be in if my dad saw wasted ingredients in the garbage can. My mom laughed so hard, because, she had done the same thing in her back yard AND her own mother confessed to burying bad cooking attempts behind the house also. I don't know how common the burial ritual is, but apparently it runs in the family.
I did have to interrupt my mom once though. She started saying something so offensive to my ears and my heart that I thought I certainly must be misunderstanding her. She said, "I don't think that a woman should ever be president. They are too emotional and hormonal" I thought surely these words cannot be coming out of a woman's mouth--even my own mother's mouth. When I realized that she truly believed the crazy stuff she was saying, I lost it. I told her I was so disappointed that she felt that way and I didn't want her to ever say things like that in front of my girls again. My stomach literally felt sick and I was no longer hungry. I told my mom that I never knew that she felt that way and wondered how she could raise us without us knowing all her beliefs. She said, "well, I guess I felt like you needed to make up your own political decisions". THANK GOODNESS!! I think if Sharla had been with us, my mom would have really gotten a tongue lashing. I changed the subject.
My dad started talking about a Great Dane that he met at the mechanic shop. He has always wanted one. My mom said, "no, it would eat my chickens".
He told my mom that she was not to get anymore chickens. (Last Spring, she had nearly 30 chicks in their dining room while she built a coop) Before Christmas, she had some people from Idaho deliver 3 red hens to a meeting spot off the Centerville exit. Addicted you ask? Maybe . . . I do have to confess that I may or may not have been the cause of her initial interest in chickens. When I was 8 years old, I asked the Easter Bunny to bring me a red hen instead of candy in a basket. The crazy fictitious character left me 12 fluffy yellow chicks which grew into 12 ugly white hens. My siblings and I all had the privilege of raising them. (Shelly was pooped on once. Right as she was heading out the door for jr high, she realized that it was her turn to break the layer of ice that formed on the top of their watering can. Once inside the coop, her feathered eighty's hair became an unlucky target)
So as my dad was telling her no more chickens, she smiled like she runs the roost. His blue eyes bulged and he said, "I swear I will step on any new chicks that come on my property!" My girls weren't paying any attention, but my mom said, "Tom, don't talk like that in front of the girls!!" I laughed right out loud.