At this point, I’m not sure if S.O.S. should stand for “Same Old Shit” or “Save Our Souls.” Maybe both. My mother-in-law is a passive-aggressive, self-loathing, manipulative nutcase and she driving me and the Husband stark-raving mad. I keep hoping every time we see her she’ll have changed for the better, but no such luck.
Is there any woman out there who has a good relationship with their mother-in-law? If so, you are blessed. I, on the other hand, am cursed. You see, I committed what in her eyes is the cardinal sin - I married her only child. By her own admission, it was a child she really didn’t plan on having (she tells him this casually over dinner one evening) but alas… once he was here, she grew attached. Very attached. She’s the mother that thinks that her son’s sole purpose in life is to provide for her, as she provided for him. Although all she really provided him with was guilt because he has not followed the exact path she set out for him. Even though he somehow someway grew into a kind, generous, well mannered, well-educated man who is a successful executive with a beautiful and loving wife (*ahem*), it’s not good enough because, dammit, none of it was done for her.
She was nice to me once upon a time, while I was dating Husband, albeit a little odd - I had an awkward feeling about her from Day One. Since I am trouble, I can sense it in others, you see. Husband and I had a quick courtship – nine months from first date to wedding day – so, in her defense, she really didn’t have a lot of time to get to know me, as I was 800 miles away during the engagement. I guess I first pissed her off first by agreeing to marry her son and then added insult to injury when I actually had the audacity to go through with the wedding. I’m sure she was pissed about the us having the wedding in my hometown, too. But after the wedding, Husband and I return to Texas to live our lives less than five miles from her, so I bought myself a year or so of peace.
The entire time we lived here, in Husband’s hometown, we were never more than ten miles away. She and Husband’s father almost never came to our home to visit – we were always expected to come to their home. Strange, I thought. Husband said it was just because she was his parents were lazy (which they were) but looking back now I think it was a territorial thing. She couldn’t tell Husband what to do in his own home, but she let loose whenever he was on her turf. She’s the queen of the If I Were Yous and You Really Shoulds and every single time we came over, it was the same damn conversation. Always about money. Even though we were as financially responsible as adults in our twenties could be, she could never resist meddling in our financial affairs. Were we saving enough, because “you never know what might happen.” She was forever worried that we took too many trips and ate out too much and were not putting enough away. We should save now and wait until retirement to play. *A not so funny aside — she and Husband’s dad penny-pinched and saved their entire married life and still came up short when ”what might happen” struck. Husband’s 60-year-old father went from relatively healthy to dead from lung cancer in 3 1/2 months. She’s now a widow with no financial future at age 57. So much for retirement.*
After spending his entire life in the same town, Husband caught the wanderlust. I was kinda tired of our current locale as well; having myself spent most of my formative years there. After five years of marriage, we jointly decided to move somewhere knew. Being unsure of our future in terms of having children, we really wanted to remain a few hours away from family. We narrowed our choices to another town in Texas or Georgia, where my family lived. I would have moved to Austin, maybe even San Antonio, but Husband really wanted to try another state. We chose Georgia.
Of course in her warped mind, it was solely my idea. I coerced him. I pitched a fit until I got my way. I took her baby away, out of her reach and into the arms of my welcoming family. Even though Husband has told her time and time again that it was a decision he was a part of, she just wouldn’t accept it. So she can’t stand me. And she makes our life a living hell whenever we do return to visit with her unending guilt trips. “It’s been eight months since you’ve been here!” (She never once came to see us the entire two years we lived in Florida – planes fly both ways, bitch). “Can’t you stay one more day” (No, you’re driving us crazy and we’ve only been 24 hours!) As I write this, she is sitting in her La-Z-Boy reading the job and real estate ads to us. Just so we’ll know, right? I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything more than that, right?
