First of all, thanks to the few of you that emailed or left gift advice for Lu’s birthday in the comments of yesterday’s post. I ended up getting a very fun gift, with some inspiration from all of you. I’ll post a picture on Monday, but for now, just know that my gift for Lu involves whales, monsters, bubbles and an airplane or two.
To say the last few weeks have been hectic would be a complete understatement. We haven’t really spent time at home in at least four weeks, and the small amount of time we have has been riddled with sickness or work or something else in life. After our big NYC visit this past weekend, Lu came down with a super-illness. Not only does she get to deal with a fever and stuffy nose, but, lucky her, a throat so sore she can barely talk. And how the hell is she supposed to catch an airplane if the pilot can’t hear her shouting at thirty thousand feet?!
To top it all off, and prove that timing really is everything, tonight Trent’s dad and stepmom come into town for a long awaited visit. They haven’t seen Lu since Christmas, and suffice to say, she’s changed. Just a bit. OK, maybe she’s an entirely different species now, but I don’t want to alarm anyone. I think she’s still human.
In order to make up for what I’m sure will be a snotty, runny, grumpy weekend for our guests, I spent most of the afternoon cleaning the crap out of our tiny house. Who knew it would take so long to clean four rooms? I think the ant infestation in the kitchen added at least an hour. I even went so far as to ask our very-nice-but-sometimes-a-bit-strange neighbor if she could cut me some of her roses to put in vases throughout the house. By the way, do you says vay-ses or vaaa-ses? I can’t decide which is correct and it’s driving me bananas.
Trent had the audacity to ask me why the heck I was scrubbing the whole house for a short visit from his dad when it dawned on me. My mother used to do the exact same thing. My parents house in general looks like a wannabe contestant on Clean House, but when company was coming, no matter who it was, my mom was on her hands and knees in the kitchen, scrubbing the crap out of the yellow linoleum. And I know that because she would repeatedly tell me, “I’m in here scrubbing the crap out of this floor and what are you doing?! Go be helpful!” And I would think, “Who the hell is going to care if our kitchen floors are spotless when you can’t close your closet door due to the amassing of junk that ends up there when company comes over.” But I wouldn’t say anything because I was a bit of a rule follower and nothing scared me more than my mother being mad while cleaning floors. Deadly combination.
But look at me now. Just twenty years later, and it’s official. I’m her. Pass the mu-mu and Diet Coke. I may as well go quietly.
