Is It Too Early For Happy Hour? Or, How To Survive the In-Laws

My mother-in-law arrives tomorrow for her annual Christmas visit. I'm pretty much set: The guest room is clean, the presents are under the tree, the bathrooms are immaculate...and the wine is chilling in the fridge. (C'mon, 3:00 isn't too early to start drinking, is it? As my friend Jeanne says, it's always happy hour SOMEWHERE in the world!)

In the immortal words of Grace Adler ("Will and Grace"), "Mother deflector shields, activate!"

Don't get me wrong. Mostly, she's a lovely woman, and mostly, she means well. She brings the kids more than Santa does, and she worships the ground my husband walks on (which is really the crux of the problem, but we'll get to that later). She does dishes, offers to babysit, and takes out us to dinner. So what, you ask, is my problem? Why the ungrateful, stereotypical daughter-in-law attitude?

The reasons are many and varied. Partly, it's due to the constant hovering. (Do you NEED to follow me to the bathroom? I've already got kids and pets in there with me!)  Or perhaps it's the criticisms barely disguised as mere questions. ("Is THAT the way YOU do it, dear? How, um, interesting.") Or maybe it's the endless stories of how perfect her son is and what a treasure to the entire world - no, universe -  he is. Or it could be comments like, "You expect him to do DISHES? He WORKED all day. He's the king of his castle. He shouldn't be doing dishes; here, let me." (First of all, the Queen rules THIS castle; just ask the princesses. But really, what do you think I did all day, sit around watching bad daytime TV and eating cookies?)

When I was first married, and worked at least as many hours each day as he did (and left while he was still fast asleep, mind you), these comments used to really bother me. Why was it OK for ME to work a 10-hour day, then come home and cook and clean, but Mr. Wonderful here? Not on your life! During one visit, when I was 8 months pregnant with my first baby, I (gasp!) asked my husband to get me a glass of juice. She (and I am not exaggerating in the least) jumped off the couch and ran into the kitchen, saying, "He WORKED all day! He's TIRED! I'LL get it!" At which point I elbowed my husband in the ribs so hard you'd have thought I was back in my glory days, throwing elbows on the dance floor at the hottest club in LA. Tired, my backside. YOU carry around a 10 lb baby all day while teaching little kids, and then you can talk to me about TIRED. If I can deal with being kicked in the bladder all day, spend four straight hours vomiting, and lug around a belly so large that strangers ask me when my triplets are due (really, who DOES that?), he can get off the couch and get me a glass of orange juice, lady!

Other memorable moments: The time she told me how terrible it was that I didn't get him a fresh towel after every shower. (Now, unless the towel got up and put itself in the hamper, I don't think he'd ever even think about changing the towels. And besides, he's a grown man, and he's lived in this house as long as I have. I think he can find the towels himself.) Or the time she said she'd go to the store with me so she could buy him his favorite foods. (We'd been married 5 years at the time, and had dated for three years before that, but apparently I didn't know how to "feed him properly". But go ahead, Mom, buy us some groceries. More money for wine, thanks.) Or when she got off the plane for a visit, six months after our wedding, and oh-so-casually said, "Oh, dear, you've put on a few pounds, haven't you?" (Um, at 5'7" I'd gone from a size 4 to a size 6 - my normal size, thank you very much. But yeah, I did gain 4 1/2 lbs since the wedding that kept me so busy that I regularly forgot to eat, and thanks for noticing.) And my sister's personal favorite (and I SWEAR, I am NOT making this up: My sister and best friend were standing next to me when she said it and will totally vouch for me): The time she said, "Doesn't my son have a GREAT physique?" Um, ew? Ew. EW!

Now, I'm not a huge drinker. I mean, I'll have a glass or two of wine, the occasional beer, the odd mojito or margarita. But in order to keep the peace and bite my tongue as my MIL tells me (again) how wonderful and perfect a baby/child/teen/man her son was/is, I definitely need to self-medicate just a bit. A glass of wine with dinner leaves me just warm and fuzzy enough to make it through the evening. That way, when she says for the 27th time, "My, but don't you have him well-trained" as he pushes in his chair or takes the kids up to bed (HIS chair! HIS kids!) I just smile and nod instead of scream and shout. When I was a younger, less experienced wife - and before I was a mother - I'd get bent out of shape, angry, resentful, and escape to the bathroom to call my best friend and vent. (Who, by the way, rather enjoys this time of year. Her husband's mother is perfect, and she has no good MIL stories.) She made me crazy; I had to work hard to be polite and deflect her barbs with grace and good manners.

But now I've been married longer. I've grown up; I'm a mom now, too. And I've realized something: It just doesn't matter. It's not a big deal unless I make it a big deal.

Here's this woman, who gave birth to the man I love, who then left her and moved on with his life - with me. She's alone, divorced and then widowed. We have each other and two healthy, happy kids. She needs to feel like she's part of his family, part of his life, like she still holds a piece of him that I don't and never will. She had him for 28 years before he was mine; she's just staking her claim. For a week or two each year, I can give her that. It may take a large pitcher of strong mojitos and a couple of bottles of wine, but I can give her that.

Slacker Mom Says... give the MIL a bit of a break. For her, I will always be the other woman. We both love the same man, and for better or for worse, I get him full-time and for the rest of his life. She only gets him for a few days here and there. So I'll hold on to the fact that she created the person I love more than anything in the world, and shaped him into the man that he is today. After all, she gave me the man of my dreams, the father of my children, and for that, I'll always be grateful.