STRANGER THAN FICTION: THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME, THERE'S NO PLACE...

The quickest way to see The Other Half revert to childhood is to take him to his parent's house.

When we took our jobs in Pensacola, management told us we could take vacation time after three months on the job.

Our three-month work anniversary was April 8. We left for Missouri April 12 to spend a week with The Other Half's parents, Momma Half and Daddy Half.

What can we say? We were homesick for our friends and family in Missouri, and we couldn't miss Charleston's annual Dogwood-Azalea Festival, where you can buy any food item "on a stick."

Mr. Half's parents live in the greater Charleston metropolitan area, specifically in the village of Bertrand. Since we married two years ago, I've always been amazed to see the effect walking back through his parent's doors has on The Other Half's psyche. He might as well be a 13-year-old on summer vacation.

He sleeps until noon, then staggers into the kitchen to eat cereal out of a box in front of cartoons. He's surly. He likes girls but is afraid to kiss 'em in front of his folks.

That's where the problem comes in, me being along and all.

So far, our only joint activity has been driving up here together, which was a thrill in itself. There's really only one way to entertain oneself in the car: eating. I think my jaws were the only part of me that moved during the nine-hour trip.

We immediately parted ways upon arrival and just met up on Monday night. The transformation was complete. I walked into his parent's house just in time to hear him asking when his mom expected to have the laundry done, because there's a cool shirt in there he REALLY NEEDS.

Of course, I'm not myself around the in-laws, either. The whole See-Your-Son-Couldn't-Possibly-Have-Done-Better-In-Choosing-A-Wife stage hasn't quite worn off yet. The biggest challenge is not fighting with Mr. Half in front of his folks, which he makes a real challenge.

Take the other night, for example.

"Great chicken-and-dumplings, Mom," he said. "Heidi never cooks like that."

"Well, Sweetie, I get home from work at 6 p.m. and have to have a meal ready for you in 30 minutes," I said, smiling through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, but what about on the weekends?" he asked.

I left the room and banged my head on the bathroom wall until I felt better.

Of course, my cover was blown Tuesday morning when I was fooling around on Momma Half's home exercise equipment. It was a NordicTrack kind of device, and was trying to see if a person could stand on it backwards.

You can't. At least without falling into your mother-in-law's craft table and making a loud noise.

"What was that?" she yelled from the other room.

"Nothing," I replied, picking iridescents out of my hair.

The Other Half, being 13, had to rat on me. "That was Heidi falling into the craft table."

Four more days. Four more days.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who resides in Pensacola, Fla.