Quick, you’d better stash that handle of Smirnoff somewhere inconspicuous. Tell your roommate to dismantle that massive tower of PBR empties that he’s been accumulating. Oh, and that case of original Four Loko that you’ve been waiting to break out? Shove it somewhere deep under your bed. Honestly, you probably haven’t vacuumed since November, so you should do that now, too. Why? It’s that time of year again: Parents’ Weekend.

Ah, yes, the time each year when our beautiful little Stanford bubble gets popped for a few days so our parents can experience the fun and relaxation of The Farm. Stanford organizes a bunch of cutesy events for our parents to attend and finishes the whole grand gesture by making sure to ask them for even more money. You know, on top of the $55,000 they already pay annually to send us here.

Stanford also makes a habit of scheduling this thing in the middle of February every year, ostensibly so we can say, “Look! The weather is so much better than Harvard’s. We’re in California, remember?” Ah, but we’ve even somehow managed to screw up that fact this year. The San Francisco Chronicle reported this week that the Bay Area has its first chance for measurable snow since 1976 this weekend. Unless your dad is Tony Montana, no one is going to be enjoying the weather on campus this weekend.

Seriously, you thought Reunion Homecoming was bad? Parents’ Weekend is pushing that to the extreme. Even if alums are too busy day-dreaming about their debaucherous glory days, they at least know how to navigate campus. Parents’ Weekend is like the blind leading the blind. Throw some rain and cold in there, and people might get mangled in a Circle of Death confrontation in the next few days.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I may hate the idea of Parents’ Weekend, but I dig it in practice. It’s the only time I can ever get my mom to come to campus. She’s in the Bay Area relatively often, but she’s a flight attendant. Obviously, 12-hour layovers in San Francisco don’t necessarily mesh well with a three-hour time difference and a six-hour flight the next day. Invariably, I end up heading into the city for a nice Italian dinner. No complaints here.

But still, my mom hasn’t been on campus in over a year, so I’m psyched to show her everything new here at Stanford. Case in point: Ike’s Place. My weekly trip there is a mess of emotion. I’m always pretty certain the line won’t be long. Then, on arrival, I’m part disappointed and part terrified at how massive it is. As my wait time approaches an hour, I get increasingly pissed off. (If I manage to spot Andrew Luck skipping the line and grabbing his phone order, I always kick myself for not doing the same. They always say that he’s smart on TV. They’re right.) Finally, I get to order — except I then wait another 20 minutes for my sandwich. Yet, everything is forgotten once I take that first wondrous bite. In terms of sharing Stanford experiences with my mom, this is my first priority. The (really great) classes I’m taking this quarter? Meh, eating comes first.

Oh, and my mom always brings a friend of hers with her when she comes to visit for Parents’ Weekend! This reduces the need for me to babysit her during her time here and thus reduces the possibility of us getting into a fight. During freshman year, she brought along one of her best friends, Anita (also a flight attendant). I somehow became acutely worried that people would think Anita was my mom’s girlfriend (we do go to school in California, after all). This led to Anita introducing herself to people as my “second mom” for the next few days.

Parents’ Weekend, it’s always interesting. Oh, and if you happen to see me leading my mom around campus over the next few days, feel free to blame her for bringing the cold with her from Scranton. I know I will.

Want some tips for surviving Parents’ Weekend? E-mail Shane at [email protected].