Super Bowl sad and Mother-in-law sad

I have a confession to make. I think I may have contributed to the Broncos’ hideous game-playing Sunday. You see, I was pretty homesick and, if the Broncos had won, it would have been WAY too bittersweet. Heavy on the bitter and light on the sweet. The last time Denver won the Super Bowl, my Dad, a happy-at-home, self-described non-partier drove into downtown Denver and, in conjunction with the thronging masses, tooted his car horn and yelled out his car window. I would have given almost anything to see that but I missed it, being Down Under and all… So, if the Broncos had won yesterday and I had once again been sequestered on this tiny island, about as far away from home as I could get, I may just have cried and cried. Then I would have felt terrible because, while so many of my Bronco-brethren would be happy and Peyton Manning would have another Super Bowl ring after his record breaking season, there would be me: all self pity and sad, thinking how mean the world is.

As it is though, they not only lost but lost… wow… badly. So my Dad can recover in solitude and I don’t feel like I have missed out on something amazing and historic. So thank you Denver Broncos because, while the game was painful to watch, it is clear you need me in the country in order to win (as evidenced by the AFC championship, won while I sat in my Aunt’s living room next to my Dad). I will  humbly accept a plane ticket and season tickets in order to ensure victory next year and you may as well throw in a job (it is a long season). I mean, when going for the big one, you really should leave nothing to chance. And after yesterday, can you really be sure my absence had NOTHING to do with it? I mean, it was CRAZY bad and I think you should consider flying me in to Denver, just to see if it helps next time. (I should state that I am not a finely tuned athlete working towards a huge goal all year so I have no right to comment. However, I am not positive but, it may help if you guys sort out who the Quarterback is before you start... just so there is no confusion when it is time to snap the ball. I am not sure, but I think it's pretty mean to tell a guy he can be quarterback at the Super Bowl and then just snap the ball when ever you feel like it. It confuses him. And then for the rest of the game he is like "I thought I was the quarterback... I got to be the quarterback all season... remember, I broke all those records and such... hmmm"; meanwhile the defense is running all over and blitzing. I don't know, it is just a thought and again I have no right to comment.)

Anyway, just to be clear, I am Super Bowl sad but still a diehard Bronco fan.

Unfortunately, I cannot properly process the Super Bowl loss because I just found out that my In Laws are arriving for an unexpected visit. Now, for many of you this would not hamper your post-game blues recovery effort but (because I am a below-par daughter-in-law) I must pick myself up, dust myself off and figure out what to wear, what to cook, and of course clean the house because “we always live like this.” “This” being: sparkling, dust-free shelves, meticulously vacuumed floors, mirrors that reflect with pinpoint accuracy (not covered in spittle from tooth brushing), perfectly matched dinner table set ready with the most neutral food. The food must not make an impression; it must be delicious, but not too rich and not too bland. They should remember being satisfied without recalling exactly what you made because that would require discussion about cooking, which I do not handle well. (If I get a “this is interesting...” comment I tend to get a little insecure. Then I start speaking rather loudly and making REALLY bad jokes that no one is laughing at but I am laughing at such a loud volume I don’t notice, meanwhile shoveling more of the "interesting" food into my mouth to prove it is not "interesting" but delicious and then I am talking and laughing way too loud with the "Interesting" food coming out of my mouth… just trust me: neutral food!) I must put all my intrinsic crazy on hold so that they do not continue to get confirmation that their pride and joy son married a neurotic, dream-chasing, messy American. (You should get a bitter taste in your mouth when you say the word American. But I say, at least I’m not from Auckland! Right, New Zealanders from small towns? You know what I am talking about!) Mind you, I am pretty sure that after 16 years they have all the confirmation they need. But I like to pretend that, as they pull out of my driveway, they have a little conversation that goes, “Wow, Mel seems more normal right?” “Oh yes, much more normal…”

Or, I could just leave the underwear on the floor, the dishes half done, and the bags packed. (I haven’t unpacked from our trip to Denver… it’s for real reasons… I was busy… It is all winter clothes… OK, fine, it’s because I am not ready to be “back”, so if my bag stays packed, I’m not back, see? I realize it is a bit irrational, as I stumble over them EVERY time I need to pee, but leave me alone.) I could show that usually half of our dining table is used as storage for socks with no matches, laundry that is just to difficult to put away and bike helmets.  (It's a big table so we just eat around these things.) Then maybe I could top it all off by letting Amelia tell them that we had hotdogs for dinner two nights in a row. Normally, she gets a pre-visit lecture about what is okay to tell the in-laws. For instance: Don’t tell them that Dad has to sleep in the spare room (See blog from 20^th of September before forming an opinion please) / Don’t tell them we sent you to your first day back at school with only half of your school supplies / Don’t tell them you were late on your first day back at school / Don’t tell them I put the left over hors d’ourves from the Super Bowl in your lunchbox and talked myself into believing it was a balanced lunch (there was, like, cream cheese which is goodish and, like, salsa which has, like, vegetables… you know, balanced). And please don’t tell them that I let you have unsupervised amounts of Coke, Fanta (because, you know, it's orange… team spirit!!) and endless bags of chips while I could not tear my eyes away from the train-wreck Super-Bowl, in order to actually parent.

Also, don’t tell them that when I told your Dad I needed to make his mother a birthday cake, he suggested I take the desiccated remains of the Bronco Super Bowl cake, put it into a smaller pan as if I had originally baked it in there and THEN rearrange the letters to say Happy Birthday instead of “GO Denver Broncos!” (This was particularly bad because I actually tried to fiddle with the frosting letters to see if I could do it…)

Maybe I will go for Daughter-in-law of the year next year AND the Broncos will win the Super Bowl…

But…probably not.