Daddy, Let Your Mind Roll On

This weekend marked our third of four consecutive weekends of company. Last weekend we hosted my "actual" mother-in-law and her husband. As my in-laws are both remarried, things get a little complicated. Though the step-mother-in-law insists that having two mothers-in-law would be, for me, like having "three mothers," I maintain that one is more than enough.

On that weekend we visited Our Italian Restaurant; The Boy operated, manned and wrote the rule book for the moonbounce at the Grand Opening of our church building, and for the first time, I had an opportunity to say, "Also, Chinaman is not the proper nomenclature. Asian-American, please." No, really-- at the dinner table in my own house. Welcome to life with visiting step-fathers-in-law.

Conditions are declining at our B&B. This week, we ran out of Pledge. I finally threw out the once fresh flowers, replacing them with silk flowers in the guest room. I'm running out of linen water, and the laundry is piling up. This week, the office didn't get touched. I didn't get the grocery shopping done until Sunday. Fortunately, our friend visiting from Vermont, Mindy, was kind enough to bring buttermilk pancake mix and a killer handthrown batter bowl as a thank you gift. Groceries or not, we had a great breakfast.

Despite Saturday's chilly rain, The Boy joined Mindy and her friends for the festival. I headed to a baby shower where I joined another newlywed shrugging off "Who's next?" questions and lamenting over that dreaded but oft-repeated query, "How's married life?"

"What am I supposed to say?" She rolled her eyes. "That it's an adjustment? That he has trouble remembering to put the seat down?" I laughed and agreed.

I joined my man and his new friends at an Irish pub where everyone had been there long enough to be thrilled to see me. "I'd like you to meet Danielle-- she's very intelligent and seems like a really nice girl. She just relocated here from Boston," The Boy guided me by the shoulder while supplying me with a beer. I noticed he put the emphasis on the third syllable of relocated.

"Danielle, this is my wife." She smiled and lit up as if she had long anticipated our meeting. I squinted at The Boy, wondering what he had told her. "I really think you'd be great friends," he whispered. "You should also meet Jocelyn," he said later. "She doesn't own a car. She seems like a nice girl." I laughed, realizing my husband hasn't stopped picking up girls in bars. It's just that now he's scouting for me.

Sunday morning we dragged before leaving for lunch with friends at PF Changs. Some of us weren't feeling well. "Mindy," The Boy said, "I think you'll be fine once you get a little Mongolian beef in you. Oh wait," he belatedly attempted to self-censor. We joined six others around a large round table. We stared wide-eyed at our friend who, two days prior, had eloped with the smiling blonde beside him. We tried to know her and presented them with a cake from Vaccaro's with a $7 dark-haired bride and groom on top.

"There was a topper with a blonde bride," I explained at this, my second meeting of the girl. "But she was dragging the groom behind her, and I didn't think that was appropriate. And also, it was like thirty dollars." I stopped talking and ate my chocolate cake.

This beautiful afternoon, I sat with Mindy and, over salads in Canton Square, we shared our life dilemmas. I was glad she came, sorry she had to leave. Thankful for an extra day of real life-- good life-- before the weekly depression set in. A day late, but right on time.