Today, November 22nd, is the semi-annual scrub-bloodhound-slobber-off-all-the-walls day. The Meem, aka Mimi, aka my mother arrives tomorrow to talk turkey and, even though she always says we should not clean for her, we do. If we do not, we’ll hear grumbling about “those dogs” and “look what they’ve done to this beautiful house.” You know it’s true, Mother, don’t try to deny it.
Every one chips in a bit on SBSOATW Day. Today was the Anthony’s first time and he did his best to be a part of the festivities. In a few short minutes, he was elbow deep in my special slobber eraser (vinegar and water) which made him smell a bit like old pickles. He grabbed all the rags I put in the bucket and swung them around, creating large puddles over the slate and drips down the kitchen cabinets. The old towels I brought out to remedy the situation turned out to be a good thing as I did not have to mop the kitchen after I sopped up all the water. Despite this little bit of aid he delivered on SBSOATW Day, for the most part, I regret to say, he was in the way. We now call him Anthony Pint-Sized P.I., as in Progress Inhibitor.
Back to my mother. My mom is the type who hangs on to the now mostly abandoned formality of dressing in something other than sweats and jeans to travel by air. She looks like she could dine at Le Cirque, thereby outshining all her fellow passengers, which could very well be the point. However, she is not dining at Michelin’s best rated, she is coming to the Rancho Laurena, home of three of the biggest and most slobbery bloodhounds on earth. They get to me and I love them. My mother does not love them.
When she arrives dressed like this, and if the dogs are in the house, she will not come inside and give me a haven’t-seen-you-in-months hug but instead stands outside the glass front door and gestures. She grimaces the put-the-dogs-out face and points her fingers in the direction of the big yard as if I did not know where to put said hounds. She then looks exasperated until I do so. If by some chance she comes inside unaware that the dogs are indoors, and they discover one another, Mom does a little series of dog avoidance spins in a desperate and usually unsuccessful attempt to avoid their abundant spit.
Regardless of the situation, the Meem will quickly change into jeans and one of my sweatshirts and smartly stay that way until she leaves, still doing her best to keep the dogs away from her. She has said in the past that it is best to stay slightly buzzed the whole time she is here to tolerate the madness and that was before the arrival of Anthony Pint-Sized P.I. It might be best if everyone would collectively say a prayer for her sanity; she’ll need it.
By the way we eventually are the happy recipients of Mimi hugs, as are the kids, and even occasionally, the dogs will benefit from her abundant love. We are thrilled that she is spending the holiday with us; she has been absent too long. Mom, I will do my best to put the dogs out- woof, woof, woof, woof, woof.