The Parents are Coming! The Parents are Coming!

Sound the alarms! Set off the road flares! Call in the National Guard! My Parents are Coming to Town! This is not a drill, people!

It has been months since my parents have seen the Hobbit and the Gnome and apparently they can’t take it anymore because perhaps even as I type this, they are driving down from just to the left of Anthony Wiener’s picture of New York to the sweltering bug-infested paradise of the NC Coast. I have no illusions that it is me that they want to see. They saw me on a daily basis for 18 years and I’ve been told by close friends that is more than enough to satisfy anyone for a lifetime. No, they are here to visit with the grandkids and that is a totally fine and perfectly acceptable reason to visit.

In fact, I am one of those rare people who actually gets along with his parents. Despite their odd political views and my Mom’s strange obsession with yogurt, they are delightful people and I wish that they could visit more often (Not like every weekend or anything… let’s be serious here).

You should know that I’m not just saying all this because my Dad had one too many beers during a phone call a few months ago and airily promised to help me put in a new laminate floor the next time they came to visit and even now, there is a largish stack of boards in front of my fireplace. No, I would have said all of the above anyway.

So why the alarm bells and road flares? My mom raised me to be neat. In order to keep a good home one must dust, vacuum, and scrub on a regular basis. One’s home should always be ready for an impromptu photo shoot and/or a surprise visit from the clergy. Suffice it to say that I have completely failed to learn this lesson.

So this means that before every visit there is a flurry of activity in my house as I desperately try to straighten things up to the point where it looks like I just didn’t have enough time to straighten things up before they arrived. I have long ago given up on keeping my place as clean as Mom’s, but instead I try to approximate what I think a normal person’s house might look like if they worked 3 jobs and suffered from narcolepsy.

The only reason I think that I have thus far avoided a scolding for this sad state of affairs is that Mrs. RW and the kids are so charming and fun to visit with that my parents are able to distract themselves from the mess enough to avoid saying something.

In any event, this afternoon and late into the evening I’ll be desperately trying to get the place halfway presentable so that Dad and I can tear apart the house and rearrange all the furniture while Mom and the girls go to the beach. Does family time get any better than this?!

Oh, and if you’re in the area and have an extra beer or two you don’t know what to do with and always wanted to find out why I’m so warped, feel free to drop by for a visit this weekend. Trust me, it’ll become clear in short order!

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