The snow is freaking me out. There’s just so much of it! Don’t get me wrong – with every second breath I scream hallelujah that I’m not in Alberta – but that doesn’t mean I’m at all prepared for a winter wonderland full of disgusting slush in my shoes. Sure, the snow is pretty while it’s falling, but when the falling’s all done and it’s sitting around blocking the sidewalks and making life treacherous for those amongst us with balance issues, it’s kind of really ugly. Dirty snow is not pretty. There’s a reason people don’t paint modern winter landscapes.
I had a productive weekend, all weather aside. On Saturday, Shan and I picked Miranda up from Gastown and hit up the Blim Winter Market for additional crafty things, then completed Operation: Secret. Reilly came by to whisk Miranda away in his yellow chariot, so Shan and I completed the remainder of our errands and returned home. My game plan was to not go outside on Sunday at all for any reason, and I was mostly successful – Ed had to leave at one point for cat litter and milk, but the rest of the day was a frenzy of preparation.
My mom is coming over for Christmas. She’s visited us in Vancouver exactly once, while we were still in East Van. Her lack of travel is nothing new; I lived in Calgary for seven years and she never visited me once. We’re not close, my mom and I. Still, my family-related holiday guilt forced me to urge my mother to come visit us over the holiday, and after much bitching about it, she finally agreed.
She doesn’t arrive for three days, but she’s already being a pain in the ass. First, she won’t get here until almost 4pm on Christmas Day because she refused to travel after her 4 hour Christmas Eve shift at the bakery. That sort of negates the whole idea of her coming here, but whatever – we’ll have a nice dinner together and she can open some presents. She’s already started making demands – she needs green tea, and peach yogurt, and coffee (which poses a problem; we don’t drink coffee at all), and a bath robe and slippers because she doesn’t want to bring her own, and special milk, and .. gahhh. There’s still the matter of what the heck I’m going to DO with her for three days, too. She’s here until Sunday. I imagine we will be at each other’s throats by Friday evening. I’m planning on keeping a lot of beer on hand to keep Ed drunk; I do not envy him for having to spend the weekend dealing with his suddenly-14-year-old wife and her insane mother.
And to think I’m going to ask her if she wants a computer so she can start to use the internet.
Perhaps it is time I had myself committed.