Crazy Weekend. . .what, you're surprised?

Last week was a whirlwind of activities. Seth had 4H meetings and a band concert, and some of the family, who missed the party earlier in the month, were coming on Friday to celebrate Christmas; this time there would be overnight company.

I waited until Thursday to do my major cleaning, and paid dearly for my procrastination. The house looked worse than it did before I started; cleaned window treatments were draped over the back of couches--which were pulled away from the living room walls so I could sweep behind them--cookie sheets and empty mixing bowls filled the kitchen sink, and remnants of Christmas wrapping paper littered my bedroom floor.

"There's no way I can get all this done by tomorrow," I muttered, rubbing my forehead as I walked from room to room, surveying the damage. In addition to the cleaning, I still had to finish cooking, Christmas shop, and finish stringing up the rest of the outside lights I had bought a few days earlier.

"Hey Mommy," Robert called from the living room. "I'm helping you clean."

That bodes no good, I thought, my "mommy-sense" tingling as I hurried to the living room. I pressed my fist hard against my lips, fighting the scream that was building inside of me because of what I saw.

There, standing by the antique off-white couch my mother-in-law gave me before her death, watercolors and paint brush in hand, was Robert. "See, I made it pretty," he announced proudly, pointing to the large, rainbow-colored streaks on the cushions. As dismayed as I was, I couldn't remain angry; after all, he did think he was helping.

"Umm. . .yeah. . .that's pretty," I said, kneeling down until I was eye-level with him. "But, you know, we don't paint furniture. Why don't you paint that pretty rainbow on paper, then give it to Granny as a gift?" Robert's face had fallen when he was told he couldn't create masterpieces on the couch, but his enthusiasm returned at the prospect of giving Granny a gift. Great, now I have to add "steam clean the couch" to my list, I thought tiredly, getting manilla paper out of the craft drawer for Robert's creation.

By Thursday night, the chaos was under control, or so I thought. Friday morning I cleaned furiously, as if my life depended upon it; in a way, it did. My mama, the "neat freak", was coming with the remainder of the family, so everything had to be perfect. In the past, when she came to my house, inevitably, she'd find a wayward toy under the coffee table, or peaking from beneath the couch. This led to a five minute lecture from her on the "tripping hazards". Not this time though, this time my house would be perfect. My house isn't filthy; I guess, in a sense, I'm a "neat freak" as well.

At noon, Robert and I stopped cleaning long enough to pick up a couple more gifts Christmas in town--would you believe nothing happened--and grab a bite to eat. I finished up the house when we got back. Later that afternoon, I became a mother again, six times over. John came home with Seth's 4H project, five baby bunnies and their mother. We had just put the bunnies in their hutch when my family pulled into the driveway.

Noisy, heartfelt greetings were exchanged, and we all trooped into the house. I held my breath as Mama coolly glanced around the house. "The house looks and smells wonderful," she said finally. Everything past inspection, and I was relieved.

"But dear," she continued, looking me up and down disapprovingly, "you're not going to go out to eat with us looking like that, are you?"

I felt, and knew I looked like crap. My hair was windblown, and waving in different directions; glancing down at my dirty, rabbit pee smelling shorts, I had an evil thought. "Of course I am Mama, and I'm going to stand up and announce to the restaurant what your name is, that you never let me have nice clothes as a child, and this is the only way I know how to dress," I retorted mischievously.

"Funny girl," she replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I showered--rabbit pee isn't my perfume of choice--changed, then we all ate at Texas Red's, an old cotton gin converted into a restaurant. You're served peanuts as an appetizer, and since the floor is hardwood, you're asked to throw the peanut shells onto the floor, so that it can absorb the peanut oil when the shells are stepped on.

Mama didn't understand the philosophy behind the discarded shells at first. "Debra, didn't I raise you not to throw trash on the floor?" she scolded. I tried to explain, but it was in vain, she was convinced I was making excuses. I grabbed a passing waitress, and made her explain it.

"Well, I'm not going to do it," Mama whispered to me huffily. "I think it's rude."

I sighed and slumped in my chair. Mama was a lot of fun to be around, but she was so proper, sometimes too proper. The dinner went great, the only exception when Mama got into the habit of throwing her shells, and accidentally hit my cousin in the face.

The next day, we celebrated Christmas together, and after the cars were loaded with their gifts, we bid the family a tearful good-bye. The house whose walls rang with laughter, now sat quiet, too quiet. The dust had not yet settled in the driveway, and already we missed our family members.

Our sadness was short-lived when a family friend (a surrogate grandfather) arrived a few hours later, gifting us with a slightly used golf cart. Way cool!

Hmm. . .golf cart + me= adventure and possible disaster, don't you think?

What did you do this weekend?