When Ken and I left for St. Louis last weekend we left the boys with my mother. I called to check in I asked what she was doing.
"Vaccuuming your stairs."
"Oh. God love ya, Mom."
On Sunday, my grandmother came over and mom decided to get in some digs about my current housekeeping du jour because for the last year and a half that I've been taking classes, I don't even do it. Not anymore. No way. Nu-uh. NO. NO. NO. There are plenty capable people who live here who have been trained in the Kelly Way To Clean.
We sat in the living room and moved the piano bench out so they could play Scrabble on it while they sat in chairs (sidenote: Granny beat my mom - I love that.) and my mom saw a pair of socks that were near the piano pedals.
Mom: "I'm pretty sure that those same pair of socks have been there since I moved in here a few weeks ago."
Granny: "Is that right?" She wasn't addressing me, either. They were having a conversation about my housekeeping skills right in front of me. Instantly, I was 12 years old again. How do they do that?
Mom: "Yep. I'm thinking of cleaning Kelly's house and retiring on the change I find."
I'm not only a poor housekeeper, but I keep money all over the house.
Oh. And I'm lazy. To wit:
As I'm lying here on the couch I realize my battery is now red (RED! RED! FIX ME, KELLY! FIX ME!) so I decide to revel in my life as a professional sloth and ask Mason to bring me a power cord.
"Mason?" I try a little louder.
My mom doesn't say anything, but she's behind the couch where I am permanently working on my assprint on the middle cushion. I ask her if he's upstairs and she says that she thinks he's in the bathroom.
"Oh." I say to her and turn my head to really bellow it out. "MASON! MASON!"
"I'm so proud of you. Don't move. Just yell louder, Kelly!"
Of all the things she's said around here lately, she redeemed herself with this final one:
"I think that every Friday's menu from now on should include tequila. Lime, salt, and tequila. Mmkay?"
I'm not complaining that she's living here. If she wants to feed the family on a diet of Mexican liquor made from agave, she can discuss the management of my household affairs all she wants.