I've been away for nearly four days, only it feels more like forty.  I crossed over the state of Indiana, but yet it feels like I crossed an entire ocean.  You see, I visited my immigrant parents in Chicago over the weekend.

On my last visit in the summer, I watched as the Time Warner guy removed all the cable boxes from my parent's house while my father rubbed his hands together in anticipation for his grand scheme.  "No.  I no need extras.  Remove everything!"  He dictated to the poor soul.  "I do the live streaming from internet.  I plug the computer in TV and have live Polska news."  So glad I was leaving the next day before the live streaming had begun, I thought.

This past Thursday, my kids were safely tucked into their beds under my parents roof, my father rubbed his hands again in anticipation.  "Sit down next to Mama and me.  We watch Polish soap opera.  I share my peanuts with you."   I politely declined his invitation and made it known that I frequently go to bed at nine because motherhood was truly that exhausting.   "You will miss good show.  Dobranoc Paulinka." I went to bed unaware of the bubble boy or who was kicked off of America's Next Top Model.

On Friday night, my children accustomed to family movie nights enthusiastically gathered in their pjs on the couch of my parent's house.  My mother spoon fed them a smorgasbord of fresh fruits and at the same time wiped their noses because obviously the fact that I let them run loose without socks in Cleveland was the cause of their illness while my father intently scrolled the computer through all of the children's programs he had recorded for months.  "I show you good tv.  Sit down here and I share the peanuts with you.   We watch Polish cartoons."  The kids hemmed and hawed and later booed his choices as Babcia and Dziadek translated each word trying to out shine one another, their voices getting more and more pronounced and even louder.  "Woda!  Water!!  The elephant wants water for bath.  Woda!!!  Water!!!!!!!!!!!"  The kids went to bed and I followed them up in record time.

On Saturday night, the kids were running around the house in anticipation of the night's company.  Family and friends gathered to celebrate our impromtu visit, on the same night as the Blackhawks game.  "Sit down next to me.  I show you good tv and will share my peanuts with you."  My father told my American uncle and to the very American husband of my best friend, both avid hockey fans.  The men sat around the over-sized plastic container of salted peanuts and watched the motor-cross race being live streamed from the hillsides of Poland.  "You see.  This good."  My father rubbed his hands in delight.

On Sunday morning, my children begged for "normal" tv so I broke into the basic cable, found PBS, and disabled all the settings on the live streaming via computer.  My father joined his grandchildren on the couch to watch a cartoon featuring a big red dog.  "See?  This good tv.  I share with you.  Polish people are smart people.  They show English shows to teach the kids English."  Good tv!"

And.  We both rubbed our hands in delight.