I have more than willingly allowed my mother-in-law to come see Ben, under the requirement that she remain on her medication and continue seeing her psychiatrist. She was doing great for a while. Stopped plopping down on my floor and dumping her purse all over. Stopped squeeking (because she is not allowed to scream in my house) unintelligable phrases to show how excited she is that there’s a bird outside. Lately, though, it’s started getting strange again.
While being pet by my mother-in-law as Ben napped on my lap, I noticed a curiously filled pillowcase sitting on Ben’s swing. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask before my mother-in-law skittered over there to grab it. She fiddled with it for a moment and, I shit you not, pulled a ukulele out of a pillowcase. A ukulele. Out of a pillowcase.
I’ll wait while the strangeness soaks in.
My mother-in-law was a little annoyed because Ben had been napping for about 30 minutes. “Is he going to wake up anytime soon so I can play for him?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t napped this morning so I’m going to let him rest.”
“I wish he was awake! He’d love this! I WISH HE WAS AWAKE! Can I play it and maybe it’ll wake him up?”
This is where I look horrified and Eric’s aunt says, “I’m sure he’ll love it another day. He’s napping.”
“CAN I WAKE HIM UP?”
“Um, well…I…” My need to be polite in front of company superceeded the needed to tell my mother-in-law that she was batshit crazy.
And then, she began to play and sing.
Seriously. She played the ukulele and sang, loudly, in an attempt to wake Ben. Her fingers were slipping off the ukulele, she was trying to play that thing so forcefully. She was quite cranky when, at the end of her song, Ben had done no more than snore. He hadn’t even wiggled slightly. At this point, I called victory and expected to move on.
I was premature.
Another song began, more loudly. Another wailing on the poor ukulele in an attempt to wake Ben. I looked around at the rest of the room, just to see if anyone else had the “I can’t fucking believe this is happening” look I’m sure I had on my face. I found Eric’s aunt and dad staring at the ground (”We are not related” faces), his cousin with his hand over his downcast eyes (”I cannot be related”), Eric averting his eyes in any direction but his mother’s (”I’m not here, this is not happening”) and his uncle fast asleep, his head all the way back on the couch, mouth wide open. The man.was.out. I immediately wondered if I might be on candid camera or in a new National Lampoon’s movie. It was surreal, to say the least.
At the end of the second song, there was a bit of discourse between his aunt, his mother and his cousin. His aunt and cousin talking gently, his mother…well, not.
Mother-in-law: “WHAT’S ANOTHER SONG?!”
Aunt: Tom (cousin) liked that dog song when he was little. What song was that, Tom?
Tom: I don’t know.
Mother-in-law: “DOG?” She begins singing some random dog song.
Aunt: “No, no, that’s not it. The dog song. Tom, you remember.”
Tom: I don’t know.
Mother-in-law: “DOG?!” Another random dog song.
Aunt: “No, no! Tom, what was that song?”
Tom: I have no idea. I was like 3.
Mother-in-law: “DOOOOOOOOOG?!” Seemingly begins singing the correct dog song and the aunt joins in. “No! That’s not right! Stop!” Because, apparently, the aunt was not singing in the correct key or the correct words and the ukulele was not quite in the beating position yet.
They started over. They sang different words through a dog song, mother-in-law as loudly as she could. Tom looked horrified. Eric’s dad stared at the floor. Eric stared at the ceiling. His uncle snored. I tried not to get up and run Ben out of the room, hollering, “These are not your genes! You are not destined to become this! YOU WILL BE NORMAL!”
After the dog song failed to wake the sleeping baby, mother-in-law shoved the ukulele back in the pillowcase and grumbled, “He’s going to sleep all day. We’re going to go.” I was grateful. I loved his aunt, I loved his cousin, I love his dad and his uncle was a great guy, too but his mom is such a bundle of nervous energy that it’s really hard to enjoy time with her. Especially when there are people around that she’s hoping to impress, she seems to lose all semblence of sanity.
Just as I was saying good-byes and thanking my lucky stars that the day had ended, my mother-in-law proceeds to proclaim, in obvious hopes that everyone would hear, “I hope you let us see him again!” Wow. Well, you know how much I love the whole victim act! Of course you can come over again! Since I’ve been such a racuous bitch and have allowed you to come visit whenever you express an interest, you can totally come over even sooner to try to wake up my baby with rabid ukulele sing-a-longs, feel me up and then throw guilt trips at me as you leave! I’m so excited, I could vomit.
And, my poor husband’s response, in his ever so sweet, avoidance sort of way, to the entire incident? “That was my ukulele.”
Does anyone remember that scene from 16 candles? The scene where Sam’s grandma mentions she’s gotten “her boobies”, sighs “and they’re so perky” and proceeds to feel her up? Well…picture that exact same moment with me as Molly Ringwald and my mother-in-law as the old lady with the roaming hands. In front of Eric’s aunt, uncle and cousin visiting from out of town.
Okay, so she didn’t grab my boobs or anything but it was just as uncomfortable and it’s something I’d rather repress for the rest of my life. Of course, instead, I post it here so I can just keep reliving it and, hopefully, make you all cringe just a little with me.
Eric’s aunt, uncle and cousin arrived first. They called a little over an hour before they were due and, when Eric informed them that we were not ready, they advised us not to look out our window as they were parked out front.
Ifreakedthefuckout.
They came back 30 minutes later. When Eric’s parents showed up about 30 minutes past due, we’d all gotten settled and comfortable with one another. That didn’t last.
We all know how my mother in law feels about me so imagine my surprise when she walked in, made a bee-line towards me, stared me in the eyes as if we’d been having a secret affair and began rubbing up my arm. “Oh, I missed you. I missed you so much. I missed you.”
“Oh…kay.” What the hell was I supposed to say to that one? “Oh yeah? Well, I tried everything to get out of this whole encounter and it didn’t work so that whole missing thing? Totally one-sided. And get off me because you’re giving me the creeps.”
Later that afternoon, Ben was sleeping on my lap. My 73-year-old mother-in-law crawled from across the room and began stroking his arm, “Oh, he’s so soft!” She asked her sister to come over, “feel him. Isn’t he so soft?”
“Yes, he is.” Eric’s aunt, very gingerly, rubbed Ben a couple of times and then went to go back and sit down.
“And feel her! She’s soft, too!” My mother-in-law began feeling up my arm again.
“Oh…uh…okay.” His poor aunt gave me a bit of an apologetic look, touched me once and sat down.
Eric, sitting next to me, looked horrified then looked away. Very apparently trying to pretend as if it weren’t happening. Great, way to protect me from your molesting mama there, bud.
Really, though, what the hell kind of encounter is that? Who feels people up and, not only that, but encourages others to feel people up? I’ll tell you what kind of people. Orgy masters. Orgy masters do that sort of thing but not mother-in-laws in the midst of a family get together. Well, none but mine, anyway.
And, you know, as weird as this part of the day was, it’s nothing compared to the ukulele story which I will write about next. Right after I go take another shower.
We were talking about possibly getting married for two weeks. We told my parents and they thought it was sudden but not a bad idea. Mom had meetings on the day we wanted to do it but we were going to work around them.
However, after more discussion, we decided it would be better if just Eric and I went. His parents couldn’t be there because I was not about to have his mother anywhere near my family and he didn’t want her ruining our day. I didn’t want to rub it in his face that my family could be there and his couldn’t. My parents were okay with it as long as we had an actual wedding later.
On Tuesday the 20th, we got our marriage license. We managed to get down to the building to get the license at exactly 2:22pm. It took all of 20 minutes filled with strange questions about who our parents were and where they were born. It was surreal and strange. Then we went to my grandfather’s heart appointment, where he, grandma, mom, Eric and I all shoved ourselves into an exam room to discuss his possible bypass surgery. We drove the nurse crazy. Grandpa did decide to have the surgery, though. All in all, a good day.
On Wednesday the 21st, I called every judge on the list to no avail. Except one. We made an appointment for 1:30 the next day. PROMPTLY at 1:30. The lady made sure to repeat that 3 times.
On Thursday the 22nd, we got up early to get ready to get married. Why the 22nd? Because 2/22 is an awesome anniversary. 2/22/2007 is even cooler. So, we got up early, got out and bought my ring at a store who’s address was 2220. If I thought the license process was surreal, this was just nuts. I was so nervous. Honestly, more nervous than I’ve ever been for anything. Eric was completely calm, which made me even more nervous.
We made it to the courthouse with 30 minutes to spare. We parked with 10 minutes to spare. We went to get out of the car and Eric asks, “Have the rings?”
“Yes. Here’s yours. Here’s mine. In my purse,” smug, I was.
“The license?”
“Uhhhh…No, do you?”
“NO! SHIT!”
So we took off for home – the entire drive we spent calling ourselves raging fucktards. We got there about 1 minute before 1:30 and there was the license on the table. Staring at us. I called the judges office and explained our predicament. “We got all the way to the office and realized we didn’t have the license.”
“YOU DON’T HAVE A LICENSE?!?”
“No, no, no. We have the license we just forgot to bring it with us. Is there any way to reschedule?”
“Um…hold on.”
Picture here, Eric and I pacing back and forth, white as sheets, completely freaked out and feeling like idiots.
“Ma’am?”
“YES!” I think I may have screamed that…
“He can do it tomorrow at 1:30.”
“NO! I mean…we won’t be here. Can he do it tonight? After hours?? PLEASE?” You should have heard the desperation in my voice. It wasn’t pretty, but I’ll be damned if my anniversary was going to be on 2/23.
“Hold on…”
More pacing and praying.
“Okay, but be here promptly at 3. AT THREE. PROMPTLY at THREE.”
“THANK YOU!”
We spent the next 30 minutes or so trying to decompress. I laid down in the bed and forced myself to breathe. And right as I calmed down…we had to go again.
So, off we went. Parked with 15 mins to spare, got down to the office with 5 mins to spare. Some other couple was just leaving. Apparently, the judge had mistaken them for us. They weren’t us. I wasn’t leaving. I was prepared to chain myself to the door, if necessary. Luckily, the judge was perfectly okay with it. So in we went. A little paperwork, we handed him our rings, he had us stand by his bookcase – Eric to his left, me to his right. It HAD to be that way. He was a nice, humorless man who needed us to be exactly the way he asked us to be throughout the ceremony.
And it began. Everything was wonderful. Eric said during our vows was the first time I ever made and maintained eye contact with him since he’s known me. I don’t believe him but it was incredibly moving. It’s definitely one of the best memories I’ll ever have.
So now I’m a married woman. I don’t feel much different but I love being able to say Eric is my husband. My wonderful, sweet, strange, loving husband.
After the appointment last night, we went to grandma’s to help her change grandpa’s doctor. We walked in and grandma immediately put her hand on my stomach. Why? No clue. She’s a very “in tune” woman and can generally guess surprises well before we even come near telling her.
“We have big news.”
“What?” She took her hand off my stomach.
“Put your hand back. Guess.” It took her a minute to figure it out, but when she did, she began screaming and dancing in the hallway. I can always count on grandma for a good reaction.
I then called mom. She gave the exact response I was expecting. Pure, unbridled annoyance and pissed-offedness. She kept saying she already knew and I should’ve told her earlier. She then said, “Well, you told me you had all this under control,” meaning birth control. I said it was an accident, and they happen. In fact, she got pregnant with me while on birth control. She kept repeating I should’ve told her sooner. I finally had to say, “Why? So you could’ve told me to have an abortion?” She stuttered and, in her sweet, fake surprise voice, she says, “Why would I do thaaaaaaaat?” She then said, “Well, I guess congratulations.” I told her not to say it if she didn’t mean it, I knew she was pissed. Of course, she’s not pissed, “I’m just shocked.” Wait, I thought you already knew? What are you shocked about. Meh. We end with, “Well, you’d better tell your father because I’m not going to be the one to tell him.”
I call my dad, scared to death that he’s going to rip me a new one. His response? “I already knew that! Congratulations! It’s about time we had a new baby in the house!” He was completely happy for us. I nearly cried, “This is a good thing, right?” “Hell yes! Shit, Jess, you’re 25. It’s not like you’re 16.” I was entirely happy.
I called mom back, to let her know I’d told dad and to get some information about getting grandpa a new doctor. I told her dads reaction and, instead of feigning even a small amount of joy, she hangs up on me. At least she never fails to not live up to my expectations.
She’s stopped being angry, but she refuses to talk about the baby. Dad can’t stop. He wants to know what we’re hoping for, what we’re naming it, and when I’m taking all my stuffed animals out of this house and to the new one, “because babies should have stuffed animals.” I’m glad most my family are happy for me, and it feels so much better to have that off our plates.
Eric called his parents when we got home. His mom’s reaction, “Oh…that’s…great. I guess…if that’s what you guys want.” His dad? His dad was completely excited, and congratulated us immediately. I’m glad we both have at least one parent happy for us.
Now everyone knows….I guess I’m actually pregnant, aren’t I?
Please don’t ever call me your daughter again, it’s creepy. I am not your daughter and, at this rate, I never will be. The people I call family would never call me fat, unable to control myself, smelly, nor a gold-digger. We will be family by law, which makes me your son’s wife. Please, don’t let the word “daughter” be mentioned again, even if it’s followed by “in-law.”
Yes, my family does think (know) you’re horrible. They’ve heard everything you’ve said about and to me. It’s pretty clear to them that you can’t stand me. My mom is kind enough to say, “Poor her, bless her heart. She needs help.” Which translates to, “Crazy ass woman better be nicer to my daughter.” My dad just thinks you’re mean, insane and are deserving of a beating. I tend to agree.
The problem has never been with your husband, so the little comment, “see, he DOES want us to come to his wedding” is a load of crap. Of course we want his father to come to the wedding, we just don’t want YOU there. So, think of it as a blessing that we’re not having a wedding for you to come to. My fat, uncontrollable, smelly, gold-digging, and slightly ghetto family would be 2 inches away from your face, calling you on all the shit you’ve pulled. We may chase you around the block, shaking our big fat bellies at you and throwing fattening, white flour filled, homemade Mexican foods at your head. At the least you may end up with a black eye. As deserved as it may be, I don’t want to be cleaning blood up on my wedding day.
Hey, guess what, I’m pregnant. Know what else? You’d better not come within 10 miles of my baby until you get some serious therapy. Asking how many times you have to go before anyone considers you “healed” is proof you have no interest in getting better, and that you think it’s everyone’s fault but your own. IT’S NOT! It’s YOUR fault. Go deal with it or you will never see your grandchild. We’re already planning on sneaking your husband around so he can spend time with the baby because he’s wonderful. Shouldn’t that be a sign to you that SOMETHING is wrong with you?
Stop saying you’re powerless! You control EVERYTHING. Your husband can’t eat without you okaying it first. Your husband can barely walk through his own house. If you don’t get your way, you cry in a corner. You have taken over the entire house with your stuff. You have even invaded the one thing your husband had that was his own, his music, and completely ruined it. You are a powerhouse, and you know it, because you wouldn’t live with it any other way.
Apologizing is supposed to be a sign that you’re sorry. You do not apologize by giving reasons why you were right to say everything you said. That’s adding insult to injury. By the way, “I was having a bad day,” is not an excuse to scream whatever you want about someone. Also, screaming at the top of your lungs to “release stress” only causes everyone else in the household to absorb that stress. It’s not fair.
Speaking of the house, it has absorbed so many years of unhappy crap, that the entire house feels like you’re walking into a bowl of jello. The air is so thick, you can barely breathe. Everyone feels it but you. I couldn’t let my child into that environment. I think it may develop cancer on the spot.
I get that you’re crazy. I get that there’s probably a reason you’re crazy. I DO NOT think that makes you completely devoid of responsibility for your actions. I DO NOT think I, or anyone, should have to just “accept” your horrible remarks, actions and SCREAMING FOR NO REASON, just because you’re insane and refuse to get help. Your family may have done it for years, I won’t.
Lastly, dearest mother of my future husband, I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. Stop pretending like I’m the perpetrator, because you don’t like me, either. This relationship is not what I expected my in law relationship to be, and I’m sure it’s not what you’ve wanted yours to be, but it is. You’ve made it pretty clear that no matter who your son married or was dating, you’d hate them. Learn to accept that and stop pretending like you’re mother in law of the year and your son’s future wife is just crazy. You have a real daughter that will, one day, help you gain another son. That will probably be much less traumatic for you. Hold out hope for that and back the hell up off of me.
Very sincerely not your daughter,
Your son’s future wife
