Even I Hate Me A Little

You may have noticed, if you come here on a fairly regular basis, that posting has been light this week. It's not due to laziness on my part. Oh I'll grant that I'm lazy, but my slothhood has nothing to do with why I haven't posted much this week. Well, maybe in a roundabout way it does, actually. Because when you procrastinate about things like cleaning and laundry, they tend to pile up and then take much longer to complete.

I have been running around here like a chicken with its head cut off trying to prepare. Prepare for what, you might be asking? The Apocalypse? The Second Coming? Halloween? Christmas? (Christmas?!? Don't you people know me better than that by now? I'm organized, but not quite that organized.) No. Bigger. I have been preparing for my parents to come.

Now, I know that doesn't sound very big. And even though they haven't been to my home since July 4th and their arrival would normally be a Big Occasion, it's the reason behind their coming that is the really big thing. We ( and by "we" I mean Patrick and I) are taking a trip. It's mostly business for him, but it is an awful lot of NOT business for me. And I cannot wait!

Usually, his company has their fall business meeting at their company HQ in Maryland, but they met some numbers goals this year and so are meeting off site. And the spouses are invited. (There is a God and He does answer prayers!) We will be taking off Saturday for here. So my parents have graciously agreed to care for our children while we are away.

Can I tell you that it's been much too long since my beloved and I have had even one night alone? I think it's been something like 5 years. My memory is fuzzy because having children has made me stupid. Seriously. They siphon off all of your brain cells when you are pregnant. So I can't give you the exact length of time, I just know it's been a very long time.

So I have been cleaning my house so that my mother doesn't see that I am actually a pig and am raising piglets. She always says as long as the bathrooms are clean, she's good, but I know better. I lived with her. I did chores in her house. I know good and well that if she saw my house in the state it was in, she would never say anything, but inside she'd be wailing and gnashing her teeth and rending her clothing. Then she'd go out shopping for sackcloth and ashes. Also, I don't want her to have to clean my house for me. Looking after my children is a big enough job, she doesn't need to be a Merry Maid as well. (What a stupid name for a company, by the way. I am highly suspicious of anyone that proclaims Merriment over being a maid. And I can nearly guarantee that if they came to clean my house, they'd no longer call themselves Merry Maids, more like Cranky Cleaners.)

I have also been preparing a list of important information about my kids, their schedules, foods they'll eat, homework stuff, and things like that. You know, a veritable Bible of "How Not To Kill Your Grandchildren and Granddog" type of thing. Because apparently I don't think enough of how my parents raised me to let them take care of my own children for a week. Actually, it probably has more to do with my Control Freak Gene. I could tell you all about my genetic makeup, but that's a whole 'nother post...(and yes, it would fall under the "this is why I'm crazy" tag.)

And I have been shopping. So mah preshus baybees don't starve while I'm gone. And doing mountains of laundry. Although I'm not sure there is any formation for laundry in my house that isn't a mountain. And I've also been working, of course. And do you know what I've discovered about a part-time job? It's not really part time. This is a big secret that nobody tells you until you are right in the middle of it. Kinda like when nobody tells you that when you breastfeed your nipples will feel like someone has set them on fire. Noooo...all they say is "Oh, it's a wonderful bonding experience and so good for your baby!" And they're all "Oh it hurts a little but it goes away! You'll love it." And then you discover that all those things are true--AFTER your nipples turn to leather. But nobody tells you that. So part time jobs? Kinda like that. But without all the talk about nipples...

(Truly, I have no idea where that comparison came from. Honestly. I am not even having a glass of wine right now. See how bizarrely my brain works? Pity me.)

Anyway. I am leaving for a string of days. My parents are coming over. My children are ten shades of jealous. And good mother that I am, I rub it in every chance I get. I say things like, "Gosh! It's only going to be 45 degrees today! It's cold out! Good thing I'm going to Florida soon!" and "Um, Tuesday when you are in gym? I'll be playing on the beach," and "I'll say 'hi' to the sun for you! Loser!!!"

You can send my Mother of the Year Award to my home. Although I may never come back to accept it. (See? Made you hate me just a little there, didn't I?) I may try to post while I'm there. If I can find anything to post about that doesn't include the beach. Or the spa. Or shopping. Or dining out.

Yeah. I'm starting to hate me too.