Is it wrong to eat my mother?

It started out so well…

As I faced the Great Texas Icepocalypse of 2013, I knew I had two options: stay at my own house alone where I would eventually die of boredom and be eaten by a pack of wild, rabid dogs, OR stay with my parents and eat warm meals, watch endless games of football, and spend quality time with my mother. I opted for the latter. And besides, it was only supposed to last a couple of days.

It was going to be the perfect mother-daughter bonding time. I could already smell the buttery cinnamon wafting out of the oven, and hear the fire crackling in the woodstove and the tinkling laugher as we merrily hung the ornaments on the tree together, reminiscing over every cotton ball and popsicle stick ornament from my childhood.

It started out SO well…

Day 1.

I woke up like I was in an Ambien commercial. Refreshed, energized, and practically glowing from warm, restful sleep under an electric blanket. The scent of fresh coffee hit me before my feet hit the cold floor, and as I entered the living room, my mother called to me from the kitchen with a bright and cheerful “Hi there, honey!”

Heaven.

Though the weather outside was frightful, we had a beautiful day. Like the good daughter, I took the dogs out so my mom didn’t have to brave the cold. In return, she made homemade blueberry muffins. We cozied in on the couch, and had deep heart-to-heart discussions about love, faith, and healthy living.

Day 2.

No fresh muffins…

No worries, I ate the remnants from yesterday’s breakfast. Mom and I chatted a bit about the weather. We stayed inside. It was quiet.

The ice had compacted and solidified overnight, so it was clear that my stay with my parents would be a little longer than expected.

We eventually decided to watch a movie. Bridget Jones Diary kept us entertained and laughing for a good 2 hours, and then it was quiet again. Only 6 hours until bedtime… We were confined to the main living area of the house because it was the only one with heat, so we were grateful that we got along so well. Braving the cold, we went outside to take pictures of ice to post on all of our social media and spent the rest of the day scrolling through thousands of other filtered Instagram photos of merry sledders and icicles on rooftops.

Day 3.

We ran out of milk. Our morning greetings were reduced to low grunts.

The ice froze on, but our cheery dispositions slowly melted away over the long hours of confinement. I took a long hot shower for the sake of alone time. Our entertainment consisted of mocking each other.

Day 4.

All attempts at personal hygiene were abandoned. Roads were still impassible. Considered walking the 7 miles to my house. Leftover spaghetti for breakfast. Took turns chasing the cat out of the half-decorated Christmas tree. Sick of the living room. Stopped talking to each other. Spent the evening working on a jigsaw puzzle and bottle of wine. She finished one of them without me.

Day 5. (Today)

Contemplated cannibalism. Tried to chop up the ice on the back porch for fun. Didn’t work, gave up. Battery life on phone back down to 20% after refreshing Facebook 375,284 times. Argued with mom over how to properly scramble an egg. Wondered how long it would take wild, rabid dogs to consume an entire corpse.

The ice is threatening to melt… Kinda.

This has been such a great practice run for NEXT weekend when my mom and I will spend 4 days together in San Antonio for my birthday. We are still excited about the trip (The Hobbit, SeaWorld, and Riverwalk, oh my!), but this time we will be sharing a bedroom… Hilarity ahead…

Stay tuned…

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