Saturday morning rambles

First-world problem alert: I'm going to ramble about how I haven't had pasta with olive oil in a week, and I realized--reading the Slate article I posted last night--that I miss it. I had pasta on Monday, but it was leftovers from a potluck I'd gone to the day before, so it was a more complicated olive-oil based concoction than what I usually do. Ethiopian on Tuesday, Mexican on Wednesday, Thai on Thursday, french fries and hummus (not together) last night. All very good (those fries were cooked in rosemary-garlic oil) but I miss my pasta; I don't know when I'm going to get it (meeting friends pre-dinner tonight and don't know if I'll have time to go home before the next place I'll need to be).

All of this got me wondering where I'll take my parents when they visit in a couple of weeks. Yes: my parents are visiting. At first it was just dad--we'd gone back and forth about who should visit first and I explained to him that he had more flexibility, being retired, since he could come during the week (I'll take time off, but not as much as I'd need to if I were to travel there). This way, I can take half-days. Dad didn't want to leave mom alone for too long, which was fine, but she's also been driving him crazy and he needs a break. Nonetheless, dad insisted that I visit because in spite of mom's behavior, she actually wanted to see me. The breakthrough came in the form of a two-day airfare sale, i.e., incentive to quit debating and just buy tickets. So dad agreed to be the one to travel. It was the threat of actually getting his ticket that got mom to agree to join him. So mom and dad will be visiting. I'll go to work almost as much to preserve my sanity as to get work done. I'll send the parents out to museums and parks, and then join them when I get out.

My parents are not natural restaurant-goers but they'll have to get over it. They'd probably like Ethiopian, but I'll take them to Afghan, first. Then Thai? Mai Thai for the view or Asian Bistro for the better food? Pita House for sure, and I think a new Vietnamese place opened up on Cameron (unless it's been there a while and I've missed it). Mom may insist on going to McDonald's every day just to spite me, and that is her choice. I don't actually care if she does.

Which brings me to my next ramble: I'm more determined than ever to ignore mom and let her barrage of criticism and negativity wash over me. I know I've been there before, but I'm even more there now. I'm not at all on edge as I was for their other visits; she won't be as cranky, not having driven for 8-10 hours. I won't be premenstrual, which, let's admit it, is a very significant, if not the most significant, factor in whether I snap at people. I expect constant criticism--I have every time--but this time, I really, really don't care. Not only do I not care how she feels about my house, appliances, furniture, hair, skin, gut, and butt, and not only do I fully expect her to share her feelings about all of those things in rotation, but there is nothing in me that is threatened remotely about her feelings or the way she is. Let me restate: last time (or last times), I wasn't bothered about the opinions, but there was something in me that resented that mom felt the need to spew her opinions non-stop. Now I'm more than ever at peace that her spewing has nothing to do with me--I've known that for a while--and there's no way to manage it. I've never been in a better position to just ignore her. Before, I was threatened by her: I thought that her negativity would poison me, even as I'd actively worked on not becoming her. But now I know I'm stronger than that: she can spew poison all she wants; I'm immune. Before I'd also harbored the delusion that our relationship had been salvageable; that there was a code I needed to crack for us to get along. The code I'd settled on was taking a lot of her shit but still trying to get her to tone it down. It was liberating to see that the relationship could never be saved, that she wouldn't give an inch; this shifted the relationship into subsistence mode, as far as I was concerned: I will tolerate you because you're my mother, but I'm not going to try to connect with you. Really liberating.

One thing that I anticipated might stress me out is the disorder that will infuse the house during the course of their visit. I am not the least bit OCD, and I recognize that when people visit, the sense of order that I generally enjoy gets thrown into chaos, and I enjoy the chaos as well. But I'm not about to let temporary chaos seep into permanent clutter. I've told my dad that if mom tries to bring anything for me to keep--any gadgets, small appliances, etc.--ya vikyinu k chortovoy matyeri. There is no way to translate that, so I'll let you use your imagination.