They are Coming

I write this on Sunday evening, December 12th. Next weekend at this time, my parents will be here - the first time that we have seen them since we moved to France in 2002. To say that we are all a little frazzled is an understatement. There seem to be hundreds of details to attend to, and they are not even here yet... This includes a mandatory cleaning of the house. My mother is legendarily tidy and clean, and her house looks like it popped off the pages of "Better Homes and Gardens" - a far cry from our habitually messy place which always seems on the verge of being overrun by half-complete creative projects, wandering home restoration, or what I will kindly refer to as "cat crap" (About seventy five stuffed mice, stuffed snakes, rolling balls, strings, scratching posts, not to mention the semi-mobile hairballs themselves).

When I was in my teen years, my grandmother Talbert (Who was often amusingly messy herself) told me, very seriously, that, "Any woman you marry is going to have an awful time if she tries to live up to your mother in housekeeping, because she keeps her house perfect". I didn't understand this sagely bit of advice at the time, but years later I've come to be entertained by the whole "Wife/Mother-In-Law" relationship. The dichotomy between my reactions and my wife's is particularly funny this week - since I grew up with mom, I long ago came to accept that no housecleaning I did would be up to mom's standards, so I generally don't bother. I sweep, I straighten, and if anything beyond this is unsightly, too bad for the offended. Emily, by contrast, might well burn up like a mouse on an industrial transformer this week, as she races around the house scrubbing the edges of under-sink piping with toothbrushes.

On the other hand, I wonder what mom will make of the fact that Frenchmen urinate in public...