The one that you think, that's a nice thing that you thought.

“The one that you think, that’s a nice thing that you thought.”   - Chris Stehower

Who would have thought my mother could rival Dr. Seuss?

Not sure, but I believe she was telling me the shower invitation I made for our daughter’s baby shower was nicely done.

Our daughter lives in California. She met a nice young man in the Navy and when they left Hawaii (and the Navy) they settled in California. He’s in training to be a US Marshal (his name is Dylan so we can call him Marshal Dylan), and she graduated a year ago with master’s in elementary education.

All great accomplishments, but the big news is they are expecting twins this fall. We are all pointing fingers at King. Since his family background is an unknown, it must be his family that has the twins somewhere.

Once again, I digress.

Although we've told Mom many, many times “the girl in California who used to be in the Navy is going to have twins,” it really doesn't mean much to her. And the concept of our daughter coming home in June and our hosting a baby shower is totally foreign.

So I printed out a shower invitation for Mom.

She ooohhhed and ahhhed for a couple of days. The card was so nice and did I really do that on my computer? She kept it on the dresser in her bedroom. Then one day she came out with it in her hand.

“Is she really having twins? Two babies?”

“Yes, Mom. She really is.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful. Isn’t it? And we are going to have a party here in June?”

“Yes, right here. In June.” And I knew what was coming next.

“We better start cleaning.”

Now you must understand by most people’s standards my house is clean. There are no piles of clutter, the dishes are always done, fresh towels are always in the bathroom and the beds (except for our granddaughter’s bed) are always made.

Every morning Mom sweeps the floors (we have wood floors) and dusts the living room. She even keeps the dust cloth stuffed in a cubby next to the DVD player so she can always find it.

Some would be bothered by it; in fact I took great umbrage to it when she first moved here. But it’s something she still can do and she enjoys it. So every morning she sweeps and dusts before we head to the post office and then out for coffee.

I will never, ever, ever be able to keep my house as clean as her house was. That is because when we were growing up we were taught (drilled) to be fastidious in our cleanliness. I tried when we were first married and when the kids were little. It was too much work. So I simply closed bedroom doors and when I found junk, moved it to the offending child’s bedroom. Cleaning was done.

The dogs are still trying to figure out what they have
done wrong.

But now Mom is stuck on the fact we are going to be having company and the house hast to be clean. Which, in her mind, means furniture must be moved and the space behind them cleaned, the dogs must be killed (they shed) and we need to find the arm rest covers for the sofa.

The poor dogs have no idea what they have done wrong. Where they once had free roam of the living room, they are now no longer allowed within five feet of the furniture. I don’t mean sitting on the furniture, I mean they are not allowed within proximity of the furniture.

Mom glares at King and our granddaughter when they leave their muddy shoes on the mat by the door. Apparently they need to take them off outside, hose them down and leave them in an inconspicuous space outside. Preferably at the neighbor’s house.

I've decided I need to act quickly or life is going to become unbearable.  So the other day while she was outside shaking out the dust mop, I went into her room and hid the shower invitation.

Life is slowly returning to normal.