Spaniards, please click here if you do not get this reference, although apparently Paul Revere never uttered this phrase! Bah humbug.
One week. In one week, my Spanish family is coming. Can you all give me just one minute to freak out? (To metaphorically scream into a pillow, if you will.)
Thanks, that’s just what the doctor called for.
My Spanish family is coming. My mother-in-law (suegra), father-in-law (suegro), brother-in-law (cuñado), and his girlfriend. They are all staying at our house. We are actually getting out the RV we share with my aunt and uncle, so that we can have even more people stay close to us. Are we crazy? I think the unequivocal answer is a big, fat y-e-s.
My mother and I have been fastidiously preparing for the upcoming house takeover. We’ve made and frozen banana and pumpkin bread, cookies, cinnamon rolls, more bread for dinner. We’ve canned tomato sauce, salsa, and tomato-basil jam. The garden, which we normally let live in a more—ahem—natural state has been weeded and maintained to the point that it’s frankly unrecognizable. The deck has been varnished, the driveway redone, the house powerwashed, and that’s just the start. We have to make a good impression, and if the house is moldy … well, that just won’t do.
We’ve been menu planning. We’ve made lists upon lists upon lists. We have a calendar with activities scheduled. It’s not airtight, but it’s close enough.
Why are they coming? My in-laws are making their first visit to the US. They actually had to get passports; even though they had traveled to various countries, they hadn’t left the European Union, so they’d never required one. Luckily, they live in Zamora, where this sort of trámite (paperwork) can be done in one day. (Note to self: do all paperwork in Zamora, if possible.) They are coming because Mario and I plan to have a little shindig to celebrate our wedding last year. My relatives need an excuse to party, honestly.
My one hope for this visit is that they will leave with a positive impression of my hometown, Indiana, the Midwest (Midwest is best!), and the United States in general. I hope my dear husband gets a chance to take his mind off his demanding job and play basketball in our driveway instead of push paper. I hope that our parents, despite the language barrier, are able to bond on a deeper level, and that Mario’s parents can see the beauty here, just as mine were able to see the beauty there.