This weekend my parents are finally coming to visit my husband and me. This is the first time my mom will see our townhouse, and the first time my dad will see it while not moving furniture.
Now, this may not seem like a big deal to many of you, but I want their approval. I want them to see that I'm a real person with a real house living in a new city and that I'm succeeding. Silly, yes. But true.
When I moved into my 2nd apartment in college, while my roommate's mother was preoccupied with decorating and cleaning, my mom was busy spying the view from the back porch. She was very concerned about the rather meager housing and the fact that people were all gathered on the porch rather than out working. I told her not to worry about it. After all, it was probably just lunch hour. (Granted, her assessment was totally correct. A meth lab blew up in one of the houses a year later, thought I certainly never told her that.) My new place isn't near a meth lab, but I'm still not sure it's going to get the stamp of approval.
Also, in college, on sheer principle, my parents would never stay in my apartment for more than an hour absolute tops. (I tricked them once by making dinner, but alas it was never to be replicated.) I think never staying in the apartment for long was their way of expressing the denial that anywhere other than where they lived could be "home."
So, of course, I've been talking up cleaning all week. Yet, here we are on Thursday, and it's not going so well. I threw my lower back out (I know what you are thinking. I thought she was 20 something not 80), and my husband is a little resistant to picking up the slack. I've got a lot of extra furniture standing around as well as a lot of trash. Uh oh.
48 hours and counting.