Apparently, I'm turning into my mother. . . . .

Friday night I feel asleep in great anticipation for this weekend.

Saturday, bright and early, the boys were off to Asheville, again.  Foolhardy men that they are they actually agreed to help my beautiful Step-Daughter move.  Again.  When asked if I'd like to accompany them, I laughed hysterically.  I'm barely over the move into this house almost three years ago so why would I willingly go help someone else move?  Especially someone who just moved six months ago?  Ahhh to be young and foolish.  I recall moving every six months or so when I was her age.  I have since wised up and only move when necessary now.

I had the whole weekend planned out.  I was going to loll about reading (books and blogs) and doing absolutely nothing that did not need doing.  To revel in the (rare) silence.  To do girl-y things like shopping, shaving my legs, wearing a mud mask.  I was going to type the greatest of all blog posts EVER!  It was going to be wonderful!

I vaguely remember someone (possibly Hubby?) kissing my cheek and whispering goodbye at some ungodly hour Saturday morning.

I recall waking up at a more decent hour, having coffee and reading the paper.  I remember logging on to catch up on your blogs.  The last thing I can remember is running out the door for a quick (essential) errand Saturday morning and thinking "Boy, this mudroom is a mess!"

Apparently, upon returning I morphed into my mother and went into a cleaning frenzy.  According to all the signs I started immediately on the mudroom and went from there.

As I sit here, more than thirty-two hours later, with every part of my body sore and aching, the entire house is spotless.  Apparently, I even took apart a fan and cleaned it inside and out.  Obviously, even the vacuum cleaner got cleaned - as parts of it are sitting out drying as I type.  It has become apparent to me that I even broke my cardinal rule(s) and cleaned Man-Child's room!  And?!  Did his laundry!

I know.  I am a very mean mom.  But in my defense, at least when he is in college he will know HOW to clean and do his laundry.  Will he do it?  I doubt it.  BUT he will know how.

In the meantime?  No wonder the child has allergies.  I about DIED just dusting his room.  Seriously.

My conclusion?  Other than the fact that my mother lives on in me (occasionally)?  I live with pigs.

When Hubby called to wish me a goodnight last night (and let me know that absolutely NOTHING got moved today-why am I not surprised? I mean seriously.  We are talking about young girls here.  Who, from what I recall, are very scattered about this sort of thing) I informed him of my accomplishments so far.  His response?

"Oh.  So we can't come home then?"

He knows me so well.