On Saturday afternoon, Mags (my future mother-in-law) and Roger (her boyfriend) arrived from England. Dave went to pick them up at the airport on his own, as I was busy renting a dump truck so Steve can haul around all the dirt he’s excavating around our house. You know those old black-and-white movies of people exercising, and they have that rubber band contraption that goes around their hips and jiggles them to death to supposedly help them lose body fat? Driving that dump truck felt a lot like what I’d imagine those machines feel like. Translation: not fun. However, it did have one of the best warning signs I’ve ever seen, which I fully intend to take a photo of and post here. After I dropped off the dump truck back at the house, I went to meet up with Dave, Mags & Roger for a drink. That was fun, but being totally jet-lagged, they were ready for bed by 6 p.m., so we left them at the hotel and headed home.

Then on Sunday, Mags and I went shopping (I needed a jacket; she needed shoes & a handbag to go with her outfit for the wedding) while the boys went out to test drive cars. Dave has fallen in love with a car, and he really wants to get it. I haven’t actually seen this car in person, but based on the pictures, I’m not really a huge fan. However, if this means that Dave is excited about getting rid of his current car that I hate, then I’m all for it. It gets better mileage, has better maintenance reviews and safety rankings, and it’s big enough to be a nice family car. So, cool. Speaking of which, Roger made the mistake of telling Dave, in front of me, that for the money he would spend on a new car, he could buy a second-hand Porsche. I piped up with, “But you can’t put a baby seat in a Porsche!” Luckily, I’m not marrying a real sports-car kind of guy, so I don’t have to worry about that. (And the baby thing is still way, way off in the future, so no worries there either.) I was very impressed, though, that my betrothed told the persistent car salesman that he would have to discuss it with his wife first. I like that he’s practicing the terminology already. After all, we’re at T-minus 6 days and counting.

So after all the shopping and car-fantasizing was done, we took Mags out for Mexican food for Mother’s Day. Perhaps not the most traditional Mother’s Day meal (originally I had intended to cook, we just ran out of time), but it worked for us. Today, while I’m at work, Roger is going to help Dave and Steve turn the mud pit in front of our house back into a driveway. Long story, don’t ask – it literally makes me want to cry just to think about it. Ugh.