My mother in law is here for a week.  My mother in law doesn't know about this blog.  It's kind of important that it stays that way. This puts me in a tedious position.

I honestly don't know anymore why I don't want her to know about it.  When I started blogging, no one that knew me knew about it, save a handful of people.  About a year and a half into it, my husband found it.  Right after I left him, conveniently enough.  Good times, good times.  Once it was outed to him, I started letting it slip to others.  My best friend sent me an email one day saying that she was starting one of those self-indulgent, woe-is-me blogs and to not judge her too harshly, to which I replied that I already had one of those myself and maybe our blogs should meet.  Then a mutual friend started one, and so I fessed up to her as well.  My old next door neighbor and PTA bestie found me on NaBloOhYouKnow totally by accident.  And then one night I got extremely trashed and sent my brother the link.  I will never understand why I told my ex-boyfriend about it, but I did and he still talks to me, so I guess it's okay.  Maybe.  I gave the link to my best work-friend when I moved to Canada and swore him to secrecy.  And I even told one and only one of my in-laws about it, which is kind of fun because now when I get busted, I'll have an accomplice.  Truthfully, I guess I've told three in-laws since both of my sisters-in-law know about it, but none of them really count as in-laws because I like them.

My point is that it's coming out, this blog.  But I still don't want my family to read it, I still won't tell any of my neighbors about it and dear god in heaven, I will die the day my mother in law finds it.  Because I like my privacy, which is completely fucking ridiculous since I'm talking about a public website that any old joe-blow could read at any given point in space or time.

I never claimed to make any sense.

So she's here for a week on her way to Alaska for the summer and I can't exactly sit around commenting on blogs logged in as Mr Lady and I can't exactly have her reading over my shoulder when I open the heymrlady email account and I can't explain that the girl I talk to on the phone 15 hours straight a day is a blog friend and so I just can't be on the computer while she's here.  Which is a whole lot like saying that Paula Abdul can't take pain medications for a week straight, and so I just have to get myself and the computer as far apart as I can.  Or get really sick.  Or exert myself more in one hour than I have in the past decade.  Or send my husband to have surgery on his balls.  Or do all of those things at the exact same time.

Which is what any totally reasonable person would do, of course.

The Donor had his snip on Friday and his mother got here on Saturday, and they had some wholly disconcerting lovely mother/son bonding time.

A Little Too Familiar
They get bigger if you click'em, and the rest are on FlickR.  

Which all sounds almost but not quite naughty.

At 1 am on Saturday night/Sunday morning, my throat swelled shut.  AGAIN.  After a week on penicillin for strep.  Which was awesome because A) it was 1 in the morning, B) my mother in law was here, and C) we were running in the Vancouver marathon in 8 ever-nearing hours.  Which we totally did anyway.

Sight for sore eyes.  And legs.  And arms.  And everything.
Better than a happy meal toy.

And directly after that, we rented a mini-van and drove it up a mountain to Whistler for an overnight stay on a school night, because we're great parents.  At one point, when 2of3 asked us to turn up the radio because Kiss was on, The Donor turned to me and whispered, "You gotta admit; it's kind of awesome that the kid knows who Kiss is" and a few minutes later 1of3 told 2of3 that the next day was (our last name) Family Ditch Day from school and 2of3 asked, "What does ditch mean?" and I leaned over to The Donor and said, "Yeah, but that's more awesome."

We drove for 2 hours and I passed out in the front seat for all of it because ohmygod I was so sick I could die, and I missed a whole lot of this.

Does Not Suck

We checked into the hotel and then checked out the town.  Which is like Vail's little brother and is going to rock the fucking kasbah in 2010.  We got directly to doin' it like they do on the Travel Channel.

Princes of Main

And then I sent my 68 year old mother in law and my mutilated husband and the children I am no longer capable of replacing off to strap harnesses around their special bits and slide on wires over ravines which loom in the fathoms below.   


We got home late on Monday night and woke up early on Tuesday morning for an all day track meet.  In the goddamnmotherfucking Pacific Northwest rain.  Because I'm totally not sick enough.

3rd Place

And tonight, the night I have to write the American Idol recap, the night I HAVE to be on the computer, Ms. I'm An Antique and Have To Be In Bed By Eight decided that she wasn't tired at all and would just read.  On the couch.  Directly behind the computer.

We were off to such a good start, too.  Now's it's 3:25 in the am and I just want to bring that bitch DOWN.

The Post I Will Be Deleting In Two Weeks When She Sniffs Around My Laptop And Finds My Blog

My husband's mother, she is a saint.

She retired 2 years ago, and decided to join the Peace Corps.  She sold her home, divided all her worldly possessions amongst family and friends, and hopped on a plane to The Flying Spaghetti Monster only knows where in Africa to do things involving, I can only assume, Peace.  Also, Corps.

Her oldest grandchild was almost 15 when she left and her youngest was 5 months old.  We had, only 3 weeks before, packed up everything we owned and moved to Vancouver, so the transition was easy for everyone.  My boys have missed her more than I think any of us thought they would.  She is, truth be told, an amazing, attentive, loving, doting grandmother.

And, oh yeah, I kind of hate her guts.

I mean, I am fucking her son and all, and that just never plays into a relationship very well.  Add to that the fact that I am the world's most terrible mother, a pathetic excuse for a wife, and don't forget that my carelessness and fertility ruined her son's chance at a successful, real life.  We were doomed from the start.

You can imagine how much I have suffered since the day she moved to Africa, how sad and lonely I have been, how I have pined away for her from afar.  You can only imagine the sheer joy I felt in my heart when I heard that she was leaving the Corps and moving back to Denver.  Where none of her grandchildren live.  Where none of her children live.  Where her sisters that she sort of hates live.


A few months ago, before she decided to come back for good, she emailed to say she was visiting for 3of3's birthday.  Which is, honestly, awesome.  The kid needs to meet her gramma already.  We got each other on the phone one day soon after the email came and she asked me to research hotels in my neighborhood.  I said, "You know the kids aren't going to be okay with you staying in a hotel" to which she replied, "Mr Lady, you? Me? Two weeks? REALLY?" to which I replied, "I'll get back to you on the hotels."

She's been stateside for a week, a week and a half now?  I get an email last night.  Here it is:
I've gotten my tickets and will be on your doorstep, or least at your airport, very soon.  I will arrive in Vancouver on Sept. 17 at (doesn't matter o'clock) on a (airline) flight originating in (American city) and will leave Vancouver on Oct. 3 at (not really anyone's concern o'clock).

Here is where I fucked up, bigtime.  Here is where you should learn from my mistakes.  Instead of my follow-up email saying, as it should have, "So, do you still need hotel info or did you already book one?" my dumb-ass, passive argressive, can't even stand up to a 65 year old woman because she scares the fucking shit out of me self asked:
What's the plan while you are here?  Are you staying with us?

Yeah, you know exactly what the response was:
I leave it to you.  I remember from our last conversation about my coming that you felt the kids wouldn't have it any other way.  Mostly, I just want it to be easy and fun...and cheap, of course.  So, whatever works.  Love, (Clever mother in law who just dumped the Bitch Card squarely in my lap)

Fuck. Me.  Either I give up all hopes of sanity for two and a half weeks, find some uppers or some serious downers to swallow for a few weeks, and let her stay in my house where we don't have a spare bed, a spare room, or a spare minute, where it would just be me and her and the baby big girl all day, every day because her son works no less than 70 hours a week and the boys are in school 8 hours a day, or I make a poor woman who just spent two years in Africa spend what would clearly be the last few dimes in her retirement fund to stay in a hotel where she'd miss some of the only hours she's had with her grandchildren in two years because I am selfish and don't care about anyone but myself and am clearly no more fit to raise these children than I was before she left.

All of this?  Is because I am a pussy.  Is because, though I can write fucking odes to carbohydrates, I cannot properly compose one 10 word email to someone who already knows she should be getting a damn hotel room.  Is because I left the fucking door wide open, man.

I have two living, breathing, fully existent and sentient parents, and I don't speak ONE WORD to them.  There's a reason for that.  Why I have to be the one to deal with his mother, I'll never understand.  I've never made anyone talk to my mother, let alone try to negotiate with her.

Someone, anyone, get me out of this mess.  Or mail me some Valium, and fast.