Then there are the days where I wonder if it’s just me and I’M the crazy one, not her.

Operation: Keep Us Out of Jail (by helping us come up with a down payment for our own place so we don’t end up killing our downstairs neighbours in an epic bloodbath of Texan power tool proportions) is complete, and we’re more than a little shocked and verklempt that it is so. Asking our parents for help was a last-ditch attempt; one we didn’t think had a hope in hell of working – but it did. Between Ed’s parents, my mom, and our meager savings, we now have enough money for a down payment. We’re officially officially looking for a place to buy, and it is a spastic dance of stress and constipation.

There were a variety of hoops Ed and I had to jump through to make things happen, including an uncomfortable full disclosure of our spending habits (YOU try explaining to your mother in law all those charges you have marked as “for science” without using the words “masturbatory aids for my amusement”). As well, Ed’s mom wanted to speak to my mom about this whole thing. This was worrisome for a variety of reasons, least of which is because my mother is crazy.

Unfortunately for me, she’s also crazy cunning. She is an expert at hiding the crazy to others, so when I tell stories about my mother’s bizarre ways and inability to communicate without going off on tangents about lottery tickets and people she doesn’t like, *I* look like the unstable one. We had warned Ed’s mom before she called, to let her know that my mom could be mean and weird and made little sense at the best of times. I was quite sad that I wouldn’t be in earshot of either woman to hear the call – if it was anything like the conversations I routinely had with my mom, it would be a feast of hilarity.

Apparently, it wasn’t. Ed’s mom claims my mother was gracious, lovely, had nothing but good things to say about the two of us, and it was her idea to go halfsies on the amount. I had to ask if she was actually speaking to the right person – this was the woman who blamed me for everything wrong with the world, and still says things like “I’ll buy you a car if you lose 40 pounds” – lovely and gracious? Saying good things about me? The hell?

So once again, my wily mother has made it seem as though *I* am the one who is off-kilter and needs warning labels, instead of the other way around. Don’t get me wrong – I’m beyond grateful to both parental sides for the support they’re giving us – but sometimes it feels as though I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone and they’re going to cart me away while I scream about peeing in buckets as Rod Serling looks on gravely before advising the audience to question their surroundings – can you truly believe what you perceive to be real, or have you taken an endless detour into: the Twilight Zone?

Hey, we’re buying a house. Party at our eventual place!

terrifying!