So I’m sitting in the car enjoying some chocolate custard with my girls and my phone rings. Incidentally, this is the day I wrote the “Choose Joy” post … so you know God was up in heaven stroking his beard and saying, “Hmmm. Let’s test this theory.”
Here’s the conversation.
Me: Hi Honey (My husband is on the phone. Thought I’d clarify so nobody starts any rumors, because I don’t call anybody Honey except Hubby, except for that time I was under anesthesia which doesn’t count).
Hubby: So guess what? (I’m a bit nervous here, because he’s using THAT voice. No, no not THAT voice, THAT THAT voice, the one that says, “I have something to tell you that is gonna freak you out.”
Hubby: “Aunt Sandi’s here. She’s sitting in the driveway.”
Aunt Sandi is Lee’s 70-year-old maternal aunt. She’s kind of like Mary Poppins in that she flies in and is gone as quickly as she came. Also, she has a huge purse, so there’s that.
Hubby: “Yep. She’s here. She said she told YOUR SON she was coming yesterday.”
My son, aka Mancub, said nothing of the sort. He suffers from short-term memory loss, which is highly selective. He can’t remember to give me field trip forms, to tell me he needs lunch money, or to let me know that Aunt Sandi is coming to visit.
Let me be clear: I love Aunt Sandi. She’s a kick. The last time she flew into town I got my first tattoo, and she got her 5th. Or 6th. Whichever. And the whole time the 20-ish year old man was inking a dragon on her right buttock she shamelessly flirted with him. I had to tell her to behave. She also speeds and has severe road rage, but she is super kind and supportive and very fun.
One of the things Mancub and Aunt Sandi discussed on this easily forgotten phone call was that he said, “No Auntie, don’t get a hotel room! That’s crazy. You can stay in MY room. No of course, I don’t mind!” Then he went back to Minecraft world where the biggest problems he encounters are creepers and griefers. Sounds like my high school years.
Do you have a Mancub or Watergirl? You do? I’m sure at your house, your Mancub freaking DELIGHTS in cleaning his room, starting online competitions with his equally squeaky clean friends over who has the tightest bed sheets and the Shinyest Toilet Seat Award.
The last time I went in his room, it had that weird smell–you know the one. It’s a curious blend of sweaty socks, damp towels, old nachos and testosterone. The Exxon Station on the corner has a cleaner bathroom. There was a sad collection of empty toilet paper rolls stowed away behind the toilet, victims of the use and toss method.
You’d be so proud of me, though. I took a deep breath and counted to 10,000. I was only sobbing in the fetal position for ten minutes. That’s like a record for me.
Hubby is totally laid back about the whole thing. When he got home from work, he entered the house with the laizze fare of the mayor in the 4th of July Parade. I was surprised when he didn’t throw cheap candy to the crowd. Very rarely has Hubby EVER gotten upset…he’s a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy–even Steven. So I gave him a toilet plunger and pointed toward Mancub, whom I was fairly sure I was never going to see again in his Hoarders: Buried Alive room. At one point I opened the door a crack and threw in a couple of sandwiches and some hand sanitizer but that’s it. Those boys were on their own.
We always have such fun when Sandi visits. She shakes up the routine and we can’t help having a good time.
And Mancub’s bathroom is pretty clean for a couple of days–so win/win.