I will be forced for the next few weeks to wash dishes after every meal, to do at least one load of laundry every day, to sweep and vacuum daily, to dust for Christ's sake, because if I don't do it, she will. And I cannot handle anyone at all cleaning my shit. It wigs me the fuck out. And she'll totally try to clean my house, just to prove that she's better than me. That I need her. That she can take care of these people better than I can. (Which is probably true. Bygones.) I will also be forced to find all sorts of activities to keep her, and me by proxy, busy enough that I don't start talking. Because when I get nervous, I fill the empty spaces by talking. And talking. And talking. Myself, right into holes. It could get ugly.
The glass is half full: I have a great big list of touristy things to do with my mother in law to keep her from drilling me for information she can later use against me so that she will have an amazing time and go home fulfilled and happy and ready to begin her golden years. I purposely signed 3of3 up for one day of preschool and one day of mom & me dance class so that gramma could take her. The boys school has a free, drop-in literacy mom & me class that gramma can take her to, to bond, you know? All of this gives me time to get some laundry done and mop the floors and sneak cigarettes.
I'm hoping that by the time she leaves, I'll be on a decent cleaning-my-house schedule, which I really desperately need. I'm hoping I can talk her into teaching me how to sew, and maybe I can start in on the projects I have stuck in my head. I'm hoping that 3of3 will fall head over heels in love with her, just like my boys already are. I'm hoping that this visit is everything my boys dream it will be, because they've got some high expectations. I'm hoping that The Donor and I actually get our shit together enough while she's here to get the hell out of this house for a weekend and go celebrate our 10th anniversary with a hotel room, quiet morning coffee, and swanky little dinners by candlelight.
Or, you know, I'll just go absolutely bat-shit crazy, and start talking in only run on sentences and referring to myself in the third person and eating nothing that isn't Fuchsia and then can you just imagine how much fun this blog will be? Win - Win.