So, of course, they waited until my mother came to visit to show up.
4 a.m. and I hear her screaming bloody murder. And then again at 7. Apparently a flock of mice were traipsing around her room (the one where the baby is supposed to go).
So, what to do? We’d get a cat – but the last time we had a cat, well, we had to get rid of the cat. He was ten years old and drooling and whining constantly, and with a tiny newborn I was going nuts. But a cat would do the trick. I know it.
So mom is visiting, we’re stressing over the mice, and then my two-year-old daughter has a blowout diaper and tells my mother very matter of factly that she has s-h-i-t.
WHAT??? I have NEVER heard my daughter say that, but she, too, just like the mice, has perfect timing.
So my mother, a Methodist minister whose standards for cleanliness, both physical and spiritual, would make Mr. Clean look like Pig Pen and Mr. Rogers seem derelict, is now contending with a dirty mouth, dirty mice, my dirty house, and I’m sure she’s still annoyed by all the buddha statues around the house.
She also told me last night that she found it horrendous that some mother she knew let her daughter climb into bed with her in the middle of the night and didn’t take the child back to bed because “she said she was too lazy and tired to do so. Can you believe it!!?? And then it screwed up the kid… somehow… can’t remember…”
Of course I can believe it. SHE’S TALKING ABOUT ME! I’m the one who’s too lazy to take J back to her bed in the middle of the night. Good Grief.
It’s only fair. If I expect wayward men to be castrated to keep them from raping and abusing, I should have a sex change done on me at age 50 if I start to become the kind of old lady who nags and criticizes and picks and insults and damages her children. Seriously. I’m not saying my mother is completely like that, but a lot of mothers I know are, and I don’t want to be that. If medical science has to intervene, I am all for it.
But I will try meditating first… as the little mice prance around the buddhas…