My mom has been at my house for just under 24 hours and already I have learned:
- I am not a good housekeeper. Not sure how my mom–she who actually has floors so clean you can eat off of them (which we did one Thanksgiving…but more on that later)–gave birth to me. (However, thanks to my mom and some cleaning supplies, my house now has that “Judi sparkle.”)
- My mother causes small people (namely, my son) to resist napping. She is to toddlers what green kryptonite is to Superman. Though, I am the blue kryptonite in this analogy, and eventually got the little man down. (Should this Superman talk be confusing, I direct you to Wikipedia.)
- It is possible to simultaneously adore and be infuriated by your mother. I have known this since I was about 15, but was reminded about this critical piece of information earlier today when my mother did I don’t even know what anymore. (Probably when she was lecturing me about the state of my shower curtain.) I guess I have about 15 years before the kid in my belly figures this out.
By the way, I am NOT naming her Judi. No matter how clean my house is when she arrives.