Holy crap, I'm tired.
Half my parental units will be here mid-week, and I never realized that we had SO MUCH JUNK in the house. Most of it is cleared out, and yet I'm still certain at some point during their visit my mother will sotto voce exclaim something about my slovenly habits.
Or my out-of-control children.
Or something.
Tact and maturity: A long couple of words to explain the concept of biting your tongue.
6 comments:
Ya, but why don't they have to bite their tongues. (Much whining.)
EXCELLENT definitions.
Never mind. When you're a granny you'll get to do this to Rosey and Cass!
I bet I have more junk than you. And probably less things to put my junk in too!
Wine. Lots and lots of wine.
I am a messy-to-average housekeeper, but by my mother's standards, that makes me a neat freak, and if she stays more than two days, she will call me this to my face. In tones of stern disapproval. I, however, never comment on her *cough*gawdaful*cough* housekeeping. Ever.
My (step)mother's comments are usually about how unpleasant I am when I'm pissy (hrm, wonder why that is); how my kids have SO MANY toys; how she doesn't know how kids these days are going to live with all these allergies... Ugh.
Thankfully, we're going to their house this time, so she'll be on her own turf.
And I still have to bite holes in my tongue. Thank God for blogging... :)
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