The Parents Are Coming! The Parents Are Coming!

Hide the Clutter and Mayhem! Clean the Filth of the Bathroom! Brush Up on Local Trivia so as to Make Them Proud! Buy Airbeds! Wash! Tidy! HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!!!!!

Yes, preparations are underway for the arrival of the OutLaws. [In K's fam, they refer to those who are blood relations as "InLaws" and the less-than-blood relation's families as "OutLaws." It's handy & humorous, so the convention stands. Translating for my readers, then, "my parents are coming to visit."]

They're making the trek down by car and arriving on Thursday evening. We plan to hit the towns, pack some yummy picnics, and TALK. I remember coming home from any given break to have my mother offer me a beer, my dad ask about the drive home, and to spend the next two hours talking without interruption. Like our very LIVES DEPENDED ON IT. For those of you who ever wondered, there's a reason I turned out this way.

Anyhow, the time of reckoning approaches. The house is relatively clean already. There's not a tremendous amount of clutter out, but there's enough that something must be done. Parents must be lead to believe that their lessons from birth about Cleanliness, Orderliness, and Responsibility have taken hold and BY GUM, who are we to stop the charade perpetuated from the dawn of the human race?! We are no revolutionaries, we. No, Sir & Ma'am.

So we dust, we declutter, and we organize. But not without frequent breaks. TV shows won't watch themselves.