Only When My Mother Comes To Visit...

...do I feel the pressing shame of my home, yard, children, car, finances, clothes, etc. Maybe you have one of these, too. Mothers, I mean. With standards. That differ greatly from yours.

Not that I don't have standards - I really do. It's just hard to maintain them with my children and their lives, my dogs and their lives, my marriage, work, activities, and all the time I waste when I could be maintaining higher standards.

I truly, truly am grateful for all the time I have with my parents and cherish their visits, but my mother has these supernatural powers that allow her, like a divining rod, to go directly to anything that is wayward, broken, or about to break in my house. For example, I have this lamp in the den that is very attractive - and somehow the top is loose from the base. So the top sits there precariously, balancing on the bottom like a circus dog on a unicycle. But it works, and it works fine - as long as no one touches it. And since it's a lamp we hardly use, this generally is not a problem.

So my mother comes for a visit, gets a glass of tepid water (the ice maker is broken, so we just go Euro), and goes to -what else? - turn on the flipping broken lamp.

"Oh! Tara, did you know this lamp is broken?"

"Oh, yeah, it is. Sorry."

"Do you not want to fix it?"

"I guess I do; I just haven't"

"Well, why not? Do you not like to see?"

"It still works, it's just broken."

"Well, if you don't fix it, it's bound to break further..."

You get the point.

So what does my dear mother do for me? Replaces the lamp! Now I feel like a total jackass. But wait- it gets better.

She comes to visit again three months later, heads straight to The Lamp, turns the little nob, and...

"Is THIS lamp broken, too???"

"No, Mom, I just haven't switched them out yet."

Yes, I know that's completely my lazy-ass fault. But like I said, the old lamp still works!!! I just haven't found the time to unscrew finials and replace bulbs and such. Well, I have, but I have better things to do. Like eat Goldfish and play on Facebook. But it gets even better...

My oldest daughter is an absolute slob as far as her room goes. Given her slovenly lair, it came as no surprise that at some point, an odor eventually began to emanate from her private living quarters. My parents were soon to arrive for a visit, and I promise you, I spent DAYS trying to unmask the fragrance - with no luck. It got worse and worse and worse. Even my daughter claimed that her room smelled like a dead animal.

Great. Since nothing horrific was ever revealed in her room, I thought maybe she was right and an unfortunate squirrel was tucked away in her bedroom walls. Perfect timing. So I planned to guide my parents away from the girls' living area, since the guest room is on the other side of the house. No one has to know...

Well. We have a church barbecue the night my parents arrive. We're having a nice time, eating, talking, introducing my parents to people who think we've got our act together, and then - oh, my God. My gentle, artsy daughter and her long-time, gentle, perfect-student friend, a boy, get into a 'Fight Club'-style BRAWL with another kid. A GIRL!!! WHO- DOESN'T -EVEN- GO- TO- OUR- CHURCH!!!

It's true. I'm sitting there, enjoying my third helping of delicious pig, when a woman comes and kneels beside me and begins, "I don't know how this started, but I need to talk to you and some other parents."

Yay!!! Words I LOVE to hear - with my mother listening! It turns out that my daughter and her friend were attempting to 'defend' their little sisters against a visiting bully (she was twice their size and age) who was threatening them. WHATEVER!!!

Who in the world gets into a fight at CHURCH? For God's sake, we're PRESBYTERIANS - a hair away from Quakers! My daughter, that's who - but only because my parents were there, I have no doubt.

So I leave with my daughter, who is in big, big trouble with me. I send her upstairs to her room so I can sort this out. And what does my mother do? Follows her upstairs to have a 'talk' with her.

Fine. Wait - oh, no!!! THE SMELL!!!!!

But it's too late, and you'd have to be dead or locked in a vault not to notice it.

I must give my mother credit - nothing was ever said about the smell. But I did get an ear full about being too hard on my daughter - jeesh.

Anyway, after my parents finally left, I was putting away laundry in my daughter's room. She was cleaning the garage as part of her penance. And as I was standing by her dresser, the unearthly smell seemed to loom directly over me. I looked up, almost expecting to see a ghost or, at the very least, a human head. And I was close. Because there, high on a built-in shelf in her twelve-foot-ceiling bedroom, was...

...her Halloween pumpkin, completely caved in like old-people gums.

Did I mention this was February???

So thanks, Mom, because I know it was your magical powers that led me to this discovery and allowed me finally to dispose of the source of the putrescence.

And just to show my appreciation, how about turning on that lovely new lamp of mine next time you're here? You might be nicely surprised.

Just don't expect any ice in your water.