My mother arrives tonight.
As per the standard state of affairs, anything involving my mother is mandatorily complicated, so we are unsure if she will make it to our house in time to leave for the fringe play that Rob and Kitty purchased an extra ticket for.
She seems to think Montreal to the far end of Toronto can be done in under five hours -- with the tail end of the drive smack-thick in rush hour.
This morning I caught myself re-cleaning the corners of the bathroom floor.
I stopped. My boss-and-mentor is right. She's going to find things amiss no matter what, at least this way we are being honest.
Yes, we cleaned. Yes, we organized a bit, mopped and vacuumed both in the same day whereas we tend not to get around to that more often than once in every few weeks.
But we didn't change the way we live. There are still a thousand changes left to make because I can and want to, but we'll make them one at a time, when we feel the urge. Not for a visitor.
All this talk is becoming odder and curiouser to me now. So many of my friends are mothers on their own, this rift between my own generations is losing definition around the edges.
I am finally ready to change the lighting in that corner, after so many years of fighting with my own Id and Ego.
I wonder if being ready, however, is enough.
I wonder if I can learn to live, with a mother.
And if she changes my garden around on me (help is always welcome, but doing it FOR me while I'm away at work as she threatened, takes away the "I did this" of it...) so help me little dustballs hiding under my desk, I'll turn the hose on her.
Gods. I have no idea how to have a mom. Is twenty six too late to learn?