I remember Election Night 2000. I was pregnant with Jacob. We had Hooters for dinner because all I could eat until Christmas that year was hot wings. Then I spent the rest of the night monitoring contractions thus beginning my odyssey into pre-term labor. Fun.
On Election Night 2004, I was pregnant with Adam. Jacob had his first hot dog for dinner that night. Two hours later we all met the hot dog again on his sheets, his floor, his wall. More fun times.
On Election Night 2008, I was home alone with three kids who had maneuvered themselves into the pantry and on top of the highest shelf to feed themselves Halloween candy while I was sprawled out on the cool, cool tile of the bathroom floor puking every fifteen minutes.
Election Night does not agree with me, apparently.
In fact, I did not even know who won until I woke up this morning.
And I guess I could write an entire soliliquy about the entire event, but you can find all kinds of takes on it all over the web today, and plus I have bigger things on my mind today.
My mother-in-law is coming tomorrow.
She arranged her trip, paid her money, hopped on a train, all without running it by us first. Well, at least that's the husband's story and he's sticking to it.
She left a series of strange voice mails detailing her trip arrangements while we were at the lake a couple weeks ago. When she knew we'd be at the lake. When she knew we wouldn't get her calls. When she could just do whatever and we could just accept it because she couldn't get her money back. She'll be here tomorrow and she's staying until November 23. Or maybe the the 15th. It changes everytime she calls. Which is a lot. I do love Caller Id.
In case you missed last year's installment, my mother-in-law hates me. Well, all my in-laws do, but she's the only who thinks it's her God given right to show up here whenever she pleases. I have no idea why she comes. She spends the first half-hour acting like she loves the kids but when times up she sets about her "vacation" which is too park herself at the table with our telephone and call everyone she knows every single day to let them know "Can you believe she br*astfeeds that baby?", "She cooks the strangest meals, all I want is a pot of beans. I'd give anything for a pot of beans.", and my all time favorite, "They are beautiful children. Thank goodness they all look like Derick."
But you know the biggest reason I dread her visits?
She smokes. Oh, sure, sure, she'll smoke on the patio. She'll give me the evil eye while she's doing it, but she'll go out to the patio because the husband lets her know just how much I hate it. Never mind that he hates it too, it's really just my problem because then he'd have to disagree with his mom about something and we can't have that can we? What a monster I am to want to shield my children from all that tar and nicotine that could potentially give them cancer one day! So, yeah, she'll smoke her pack and a half a day outside, but when she comes back in she reeks. And her clothes reek. And then my furniture reeks. And then my daughter's room will stink because all her stuff stinks.
You know what I love? When I walk into my house it still has that new house smell. I've never had new house smell before. I love me some new house smell. I'll be trading new house smell for sleazy bar smell in just a matter of days. My heart is breaking.
Another November. Another eventful election. Another Mother-in-law visit.
Is it over yet?
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