Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Hot and Mothered

My dad has gone away.
This is a rare occurrence, he's as attached to his tweed arm chair and over head projector slides as Husband is to his balls (due to be removed soon har har). He's gone to a potato convention. That's right, a potato convention. He found the advert in the back of a seed catalogue and hasn't been so excited about anything since Barry from next door entered a dodgy cauliflower in the Best Cauliflower competition:
He hasn't got a chance the silly bugger, he strained to me from the corner of his mouth, breathing heavily in an attempt to supress his excitement,
the fool's deluded, I mean, look at it, it's almost as bad as his tomatoes. The silly buggery fool. You get the gist.
Anyway, Dad being away means Trouble (you note the capital T), because My Mother loses all focus, actually she loses every bit of focus she has: My Dad. No focus means a whirling dervish with nothing to whirl around. Who if not my dad will listen to the tirades about Shirley-The-Competition and her latest attempts to out wit My Mother in the Church league? Who tastes the sauces and exclaims with practised ease delicious dear, I don't know how you do it. Who acknowledges the hourly missives regarding paired socks (pin each pair together before washing to prevent loss), eating over cooked cheese (worse than death apparently, I have a feeling she's got a shock coming one of these days), saving empty butter wrap in the fridge for no apparent reason at all, hand washing clothes and then putting them in the washing machine (it's not thorough enough) and wiping the dog's bottom because he's practically human? My dad, that's who, I have a lot to thank him for.
But not this week because he's gone to this bloody potato convention. He set off with several examples of the potatoes he grows wrapped in bubble wrap and placed delicately in a briefcase. He looked like MI5 were developing a top secret potato based listening device and he had been bestowed the honour of providing Just The Right Potato. He even took his own spade because you can't buy them like this nowadays, i.e. with a long handle and a square spade on the end.
Anyway, where was I? Aha, yes, My Mother, I remember now because she's standing behind me, fiddling for her glasses and squinting at the screen. I haven't seen her, but I can feel the criticism cloud building as I type. Best type fast then.
As you have probably guessed, the whirling dervish has landed squarely on my doorstep. Approximately 32 minutes after my dad left for the station, My Mother let herself in to my house with a key that I have never given her (How? How? How did she do it?).
Hello Darling she trilled excitedly as she surveyed all the criticism potential hovering in the hallway, it looks like I've come just in time, pass me a duster would you and we're definitely going to need some bleach for the light shades.
She's here. To stay. And won't go away until my dad comes home which is in forty eight hours (2880 minutes/172800 seconds). She's washed all the curtains (full of bacteria), swept the ceilings (a hive of bacteria), bathed the dog (a bacteria factory), scrubbed the bath down (full of dog bacteria) and cleaned out the cheese tray (cheese is mouldy and therefore bacteria filled).
Last night I woke up to find her cleaning out under my eyelids with a toothpick before giving Husband a quick go down with the disinfectant.
Ok, so I can cope with a clean house, and I am nicely pleased with my clean Husband, but she has got to go. I'm going to get the Potato Convention to page my dad and say I've spotted blight. On his potatoes. Give me two minutes.

42 comments:

Granny on the Web said...

Oh dearie me! I think I am a bit like this when I visit my daughter and see her houseplants looking all forlorn. They are all repotted and fed and watered before I go, with the order, "Look after those poor plants!"
Terrific fun post Mille'

Love Granny

Laura - Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy? said...

Send her ove rmy way - I have a few jobs for her. Rent a Mother could catch on!

Vic said...

I was going to ask you to send her over but then you mentioned the eyelids.

Nota Bene said...

No no no. That's very selfish of Laura and Vic. My needs are greater than their's. Have you seen the state of my house? Your mother is needed. I can send key.

Mud in the City said...

Will your dad need disinfecting on his return?
I'm not sure Your Mother could cope with the tate of my cheese drawer. Can you send her over once she's finished at Nota Bene's? Key under the flowerpot.

Clare Wassermann said...

Here was me thinking Shirley had gone away - thank GOD SHE'S STILL AROUND. Very good post - can't help thinking I'll be like your Mum one day though xx

Herding Cats said...

Hilarious! I kind of love your mom.

5thsister said...

Oh dear...I could use your mama! I don't think my shades have ever been bleached, or the dog's butt wiped (she could use a bath) or my ceilings wiped. (hey, I'm short...it's out of my sight range and I can't reach anyways)

Seriously a fun read!

brainella said...

Gee. Send your Mom to my house -- she'd go crazy! :) I'm sure she'd want to burn my shades...

clo said...

Sounds like your mum and mum would get on well. I think mine has a phobia of dust. When she came to visit she used to iron everything including my ex husbands boxers.

rosiero said...

One of these days that dog is going to turn around and bear teeth, almost human or not!!! Hilarious. Your poor Dad!

geraldgee said...

How do you make Welsh Rarebit without overcooking cheese?

Summer said...

"... a key that you never gave her." That's hilarious. Mothers. They always find a way in.

Amy said...

this post made me chuckle! At least your mum likes cleaning mine is not so good in fact when i go round to her house i'm the one getting out the mop and duster lol!

nappy valley girl said...

I could do with having the children disinfected - do you think she would like to do some Christmas shopping in New York?

Sarah Brown said...

You are quite entertaining!!!! What a funny post---sorry I am just plain old Sarah Brown from Az.
Thanks for stopping by today!

Chatterbox said...

simply wonderful and hilarious!
I know exactly what you're going through.Send your mum over to my place she'll love having a big fun-time in our kitchen garden. But a word of caution, it's 45 degrees centigrade at my end of the world. Yeah, peak summers.

Loved the idea of a potato convention.I simply love potatoes :)

Keep up the wonderful work buddy. Stay in touch.

Cheers!!

muummmmeeeeee...... said...

Boy - wish I had a mum like that. The husband definitely needs a good going-over with the disinfectant - when you finally manage to kick her out you can send her over to mine...

Tooting Squared said...

I feel like I've just read a post about my own (key holding .. how?!) mother, who says things like "don't you dust your uplighters, dear?" or "shall I give your understair-cupboard a quick vac out?" NO! IT'S MY MESS! LEAVE IT WHERE IT IS!

The Dotterel said...

Are we, in any way, related?

Eva Gallant said...

My Mom passed away 25 years ago, and my house hasn't been really clean since! Could I get on the waiting list to borrow yours?

Paige said...

What a hysterical post! Just stopping by to say Hello. Thanks for visiting my blog today via SITS. Have a great week!

Arhonda Bend said...

Oh please send your mother over this direction. I could live with a bit of discomfort in my eyelids in exchange for a clean house.

Expat mum said...

Bleaching what???
That is going to stink once the lights are switched on.

Holly @ posypocket.blogspot said...

thanks for stopping by!

Medora said...

I don't think my parents like coming to my apartment - my mom wants to move everything around, and my dad can't stand stuff on the refrigerator. At least I don't have to worry about cleaning up for them to come over.

Gabriella Moonlight said...

This post somehow made me giggle and cringe at the same time..how does one do that?

I hope that your words aren't all so true, the toothpicks under the eyelids might hurt...LOL!

Thanks for the grin!
G

Miss Rowley said...

I like your blog very much. you have done a great job thank you for stopping by my blog. Happy sits...

Cristina said...

So you're renting your mom out!? Send her my way...with 5 kids she will be busy whirling around them and the bacteria infested house (through her glasses) that I live in.

Very funny! Popped in from SITS.

xx

Cristina

A Confused Take That Fan said...

Isn't it time to call in the locksmiths MH. Her own key? Why would you do that? Or maybe even consider moving. Hope she brought her own teatowel to sit on. Have fun with mum x

theobrienbunch said...

Ha! Brilliant!

Would you mind terribly if I should borrow said mother?

I could take her off your hands for a long while.

My house hasn't been cleaned----since--------I'll have to get back to you on that!http://theobrienbunch.blogspot.com/

God's Favorite Shoes! said...

Wow...A potato convention...I'm pretty speechless at that one.

But you can send your mom over here and she can clean all she wants!

Quasi Serendipita said...

This is a hilarious post - a potato convention? You couldn't make it up! Brilliant! Visiting from SITS, hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend :)

angelsandurchinsblog said...

heh heh, my mother keeps butter wrappers in the fridge too, and uses her old knickers as dusters. She doesn't keep them in the fridge, though. And I hope she doesn't use the butter wrappers to dust. Must seem a confusing old world when you're a domestic goddess.

5thsister said...

I left you some bling over on my blog! Come on over!

Katie said...

Yikes! ...although, I would like someone else to do the cleaning at my house.

American in Norway said...

I was going to ask if she could pop over to Norway for a bit...?? Could use some help getting all of the Christmas decorations up.

Thanks for popping over today... great blog! I look forward to reading more from you!

Lemonade Makin' Mama said...

Okay you are hysterically funny. I love it. Thanks for visiting, me too!!

Blessings,
LMM

Diney said...

Her own key?!!!

She sounds great to have around, though - make the most of it as my Mum is no longer around to help me at all, and you miss them when they go....

Aimee said...

the only practical reward I've ever got from my poetry (yes, dammit, I'm a poet) was a basket full of cookbooks and aprons and whatnot from the Washington State potato board for winning their annual potato poetry contest. Yes indeed. I ran into their booth at a food convention and saw they were running a poetry contest. It was the last day of the convention and there were only twenty minutes left to enter; but surely any poet worth his salt can write a poem to order in twenty minutes?
Well I did and I won and I love the cookbooks, although I never did wear aprons.
What? The poem? ....no you don't really want to hear it, do you? Seriously?
well okay

My dad planted potatoes
in old tires
all along the long side of the yard
and us kids grubbed them up
all summer
some as small as marbles
with thin, papery skins
some bigger than our child sized fists
The clean, cottony inside
of a baked potato
is such a surprise
or at least it was to us
who had prized them just that morning
asleep from the mud

Queenie Jeannie said...

LOL!!! Best laugh I've had in a while, so thank you!!

And you can't fool me. You love your Mum more than anything!!!

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