Sorry, Grandma

Every Monday night we go to Mark's parents for dinner. If Mark is going to be extrodinarily late from work, he always calls his mom and me on his way home to let us know that we won't be over. This past Monday, Mark worked late, and forgot to call me. (Hey, it was a long day, and he does work hard. It happens to the best of us.)

On that exact night, Mark's mom had made an exceptionally brilliant meal, complete with a roast chicken, mashed potaties, veggies, cucumber salad, fresh baked rolls, sweet potatoes (Mark and my favorite) and a dozen apple dumplings (Mark's favorite). I know...wow.

I sat at home waiting for him with two hungry, whining kids. Once it was 6:30, I had no other choice but to feed them (we normally eat at 5:00). I was so pissed at him when he finally got home.

The following night, Mark stopped by his parent's house to pick up leftovers that she had saved for us.

Last night Mark told me that his mom was upset. (I had been so busy being pissed, that I never bothered to ask if he called his mom that night. He didn't.) Mark's brother told him that his mom sat at the table, filled with all of her food, which she cooked all day, and cried when nobody called or came over.

I felt horrible. Yes, Mark should've called, but I should've called her when I was feeding the kids.

So, today Dylan helped me bake a chocolate "Sorry, Grandma" cake. She was happy that we did that for her, and pleased that I appologized a million times for our utter lack of manners. For good measure, I'm also sending Mark over tonight with a case of her favorite beer as his peace token.

I still don't feel better about the situation. The woman gave us the leftover sweet potatoes and apples dumplings. I would've given them to the dog.