The Differences Between Them

Things were not always this stressful. There was actually a time when I liked my Mother-In-Law. In the beginning, when I first met Rich twenty years ago, I adored his parents and really admired his Mother. She was, so I thought, classy, confident, elegant, smart, sophisticated and aggressive. Yes, I was a little afraid of her too. I was young, uneducated, shy and in love with her son. She thought we were too young to be serious. And I know she thought I was not good enough for him. I know this for a fact because about five years ago she told me that's how she felt. We were 16 and I was not as affluent as she would have liked. One of the first things she said she noticed about me was how "passive" she thought I was. Christ, I was so young, I didn't even know what the word meant. So when she said it, I just giggled. Like the stupid girl I was. Just giggled, like an idiot. Now the writing was on the wall, she knew I was really a "passive" idiot and I would be putty in her hands.

Flash forward twenty years. The classy, confident, elegant, smart, sophisticated and aggressive woman I first encountered back in the 1980's, is now my longtime Mother-In-Law. No longer any of those things I thought she was. And I, dare I say it?  I hate her. There, it's out on the table. Yes, I can barely stand to be in the same room with the woman. Really the only reason I tolerate her is because I am a decent human being and I would never keep my kids, her grand-children from her. It's how I'm wired. I'm a sap sometimes. I think the saying, "Nice guys finish last" was made up with me in mind. So to keep the peace in that area, I bite my tongue when visiting and let her see the children. Also, I love Rich so I visit. Rich knows full well how she can be but he's so non-confrontational that he never addresses any of the horrible things she says to me. Hell, he doesn't even speak up when she says them to him.

An example of her mean spirit so you don't think I'm just blowing smoke here. And I use that analogy for a reason. My son and I both have Asthma. Not severe or anything thankfully, but nonetheless, we both have it. Things like smoke or scented candles can set both of us on an Asthmas course.  Rich has asked his mother politely (the only way he knows and that's one reason why I love him) to not smoke when we visit at her house. Rich has asked her, but somehow that has turned into ME being a drama queen and being the one who is trying to prohibit her from smoking in her own home. So when we make our monthly visit (which is one visit a month too many in my opinion),  we walk into a massive smoke cloud as soon as we get there. Does she know we're coming? Oh yes indeed. Yet still she smokes right before and during the visits. And as a little added bonus, she always makes sure to put on a gallon of Elizabeth Arden's Red Door, has a heavily scented Yankee Candle going and has just sprayed most of her house with Gardenia air spray. To cover up the smoke smell, so she tells us. A perfect storm for an Asthma attack. Oh and let's not forget the Raid bug killer spray. Which I believe should be a "spot shot" kind of deal, but she sprays it in the air like something to freshen her lair with. Ugh.

The woman is now pushing 80 and is someone so un-attractive to me that I get a knot in my stomach every time we have to be thrown together. She's alone now (Rich's father passed away 9 years ago) and I have to say I do give her credit for making a go of her life without him. She never really knew any other adult life, other than the one she had with a husband she married after knowing for just two weeks. They were married for 43 years. I thought she'd completely lose it when he died. But the tough old broad held her own. She immediately started pushing through, going out on errands, taking the local bus places and going out to gamble and drink a little with neighbor ladies who were also widows and became what she calls friends. People she had no time for when her husband, Gus was alive. But now she needs them and they've been neighborly and decent enough to tolerate her company on a regular basis. The years of smoking have left her face looking like something you'd see on Google Maps and every part of her body has gone South. When she talks to me, it's all I can do to keep from staring at those wrinkles. And the jowls!  I firmly believe that if she were more attractive now, I might not hate her so much. I hate to even admit it, but I know in her day, she was considered a real looker, with jet Black hair, piercing Blue eyes and a killer figure. Teeny waist, big boobs. That's most likely what drew Gus to her. Because other than that, I could never see anything they could possibly have had in common. She was educated, he wasn't. He had a kind heart, she didn't. .

Thanksgiving is coming and so is the yearly stress that I feel from the holidays. I am an only child with just my mother for family. My mother and father never married and he was never in my life. He did die a while back, so now when I tell people he's dead, thankfully they don't ask any further questions. I'm glad they don't ask because I really hate to talk about him. Rich's mother, Vera and my mother, Grace are polar opposites, other than the fact that they are both alone. Vera is outspoken, aggressive and straight-forward in her opinions. She has absolutely no filter. On the other hand, my mother is quiet, very self-conscious, wouldn't hurt a fly. My mom's philosophy is that she is so un-worthy of love and all the good things this life can offer, is that she's in no position to insult or speak badly about anyone else. She feels she could never judge anyone. So you can probably see how the differences they have are a recipe for stress for me. When the holidays come around, I dread them. We try as best as we can to separate the two, but someone always ends up with hurt feelings. In a perfect world, we'd be like one of those television commercials where everyone is smiling, laughing and toasting each other for the holidays. Everyone is dressed perfectly, the dinner table looks fabulous and a loving grand-mother appears with a perfect turkey on a platter to the delight of the family. That's not how it goes in our world. We have to have two of every holiday to satisfy each of the mothers. I know, you're saying, "Why don't you have the holiday celebrations at your house and make the two meet in the middle?"  We've tried that and my mother just hides in the kitchen using cooking as an excuse not to socialize, while Vera stays center stage, hogging the conversation, making sure it only leads to subjects that will revolve around her. When she commands the attention of everyone, she talks about things that my mother cannot possible contribute to. History, Politics, Literary Works, etc. One stressful part is when she finally does stop yapping and notices that my mother is STILL in the kitchen. "Alma, come sit down, you've done enough!" She says this as a command, not as a caring notion and my mother gives her that idiot giggle, just like I did when I was 16. Now you know where I get it from.

There's a line in an episode of "The Honeymooners" where Ralph Kramden and his bestie, Ed Norton are fighting and Ralph becomes "BFFs" with a man he works with in order to replace Ed after they've had a falling out. When this new man makes the mistake of insulting Ed, Ralph strongly objects. The new friend points out that Ralph has been speaking badly of Ed as well. Ralph barks, "What I say about him is one thing, and how I FEEL about him is another!"  That pretty much sums up what's inside me. Sometimes, I admit, I'll say derogatory things about my mother in Vera's presence, just to vent. I know I shouldn't, but I can do that if I want to, right or wrong. She's MY mother. When Vera chimes in, that's where I draw the line. She should know better than to say anything bad about her to me. But sometimes I forget, sensitivity is definitely not her strong suit. So when Vera brought up the subject of Thanksgiving this year, I knew it was not going to go well. I tried to tactfully explain that I just didn't know what to do, with both mothers wanting Rich and the kids and I to be with each of them that day. She said, "Well, will your mother come here to my house if I call and ask her?"  I thought honesty would be the best policy here, so I told her, "No, she really just wants to be in her own home".  She erupted, like a volcano. "What kind of an idiot is she anyway!?"  This comment made me feel like someone just stabbed me in the stomach. What came next made it feel like I not only had a knife sticking in my stomach, but that someone was twisting it. And the worst part is it was me. I totally caved. I didn't stand up to Vera like I envision in my head when I think about terrible things she has said and I predict she will say to me. Instead I AGREED with her. What the hell? I heard this come out of my mouth: "I know, right?"  There are no words. No words. I'm a terrible daughter, a hypocrite, a wimp and, say it with me: I'm PASSIVE!  I hate that she's right about me, I hate that I didn't stand up to her and defend my mother and worst of all, WORST of all, as if that's all not a spider web of guilt, anxiety, tension and all things evil, my eleven year old daughter was in the room hearing this conversation! What am I teaching her? She's seeing me as I see my mother, someone who caves at the slightest hint of bullying! Not good. Not good at all!

Vera came from a very different background than my mother did. Vera had the "stability" of a mother and father in her home. Her mother didn't work outside the home, her job was to raise 7 kids. Her father was a Master Carpenter and I think made a pretty good living, but don't forget they were a family of 9, so things were still tight from what Vera says. I remember her telling me the story of how her father was controlling and would stand outside the bathroom door when he was there to see one of the kids go in. She says he would yell in to them, "Make sure you're not using more than two squares of toilet paper!" Two squares! There were mentions of how stern he was, spankings, punishments, etc. One time I happened to overhear a conversation between her and one of her sisters about their father that had the word "molest" in it. Being the passive, polite person that I am, I never asked anyone, not even Rich about that. Maybe it explains some of her aggressiveness.

My mother, on the other hand, came from a large Italian family who all lived in the same house, split between four apartments and a small separate house that was situated behind the main house. There was always family around. Aunts, Uncles and Cousins. It was a safe environment. It could also be very smothering. No one could make a move without a family member asking where they were going, when they would be back, who were they going with and the like. Well all that smothering (which they always pointed out as CARING) didn't stop my mother, at 22 going out somewhere with the very type of person they warned her about, and getting pregnant. And that's how I got here. My shy, shrinking violet mother, went out and did one of the things my grandfather labeled as "a shame", she was unmarried and now pregnant. In today's world, it's so commonplace for a woman to be unmarried and have a child, or children, but back in the 1960s, in an Italian Catholic household, it was a sin. And I wasn't there for the conversations that must have taken place once her parents found out what she had done, but I bet they made her go even deeper into her Introverted self than ever before.

I spent many a night crying on Rich's shoulder about a father that abandoned me and he spent a lot of time being supportive and consoling me. I never felt close enough to anyone to tell them my story. But something about him, his kindness, his eyes, his support, and just the person he was, I was comfortable telling him. So, I'm sure when he told his parents that he found a girlfriend, they naturally wanted to know what she was all about. Where did she come from? What was her background? And once he told them, I'm sure his mother had already decided how she felt about him getting involved with a girl from the "wrong side of the tracks". The ironic thing is, I literally was from the wrong side. Our backyard was where the train tracks ran. Friends from school would come over and ask how I could stand the loud sounds of trains and their horns right in the back yard. Honestly, after a while, it was something that wasn't even an issue. When you lived in the house, you didn't even hear them anymore. You knew that you had to wait 5 minutes until the train passed to finish your conversations.

When Rich and I had our kids, we had decided early on that sending them to a Daycare Center was just not for us. We'd heard too many horror stories of Daycare gone wrong. We had no idea what we were going to do with our first kid when I went back to work. Being young and ignorant is such a luxury. Yes, that's it, get pregnant and THEN figure out what you will do with this kid when you're not there to take care of it. Not the best thought out plan. And I am totally a planner. In discussing it and trying to find a solution, Rich came up with the perfect solution: I would go back to work two days a week. One day my mother could take the kids, the next day his mom could take the kids. Problem solved! Right?...Wrong. That is how it played out, when we approached them with our plan, I have to say we sort of took advantage of my mom, we really didn't ask her, we kind of TOLD her that's what would be happening. Being the PASSIVE mother, she said ok. When we asked Rich's mom, she said "My services are available". And I could tell, she did not like this idea at all, but what could she say? We kind of cornered her.

So with our plan in place, we thought we were in the midst of a foolproof plan. We didn't anticipate how self-centered my mom would turn out to be. She worked at night, so she had to rest or sleep during the day. Her schedule was not set; Week by week it was determined what nights she would work. So sometimes, she would have the day off that she'd have the kids, sometimes she didn't. Enter problem number one of our plan. I thought she could be a little flexible. I thought she would enjoy having the kids one day a week. Well maybe a little part of her did like seeing them once a week, but how she felt about herself really took top billing and her needs were presenting a problem. I suppose I can't blame her. But in my defense, I had never asked her for anything. I never got in trouble growing up and I was left alone a lot. She worked a different job once I turned twelve. And it was the 3pm to 11pm shift. So I would come home from middle and high school to an empty apartment. The trouble I could have gotten into! But I didn't. I'm not wired that way and don't forget, I lived in an apartment house with Italian relatives above, next to and behind me. My aunt, Carmella was like a mob boss. She would knock on my door every couple hours and ask it I was alright. I say yes, she'd say ok, the she'd go upstairs and immediately call me to see if I was really ok. If she thought I was lying, she'd use her spare key and just come right in. So getting into any kind of trouble was pretty much off the table with the knowledge that she'd be around to kill any fun or crazy ideas I had going on. So I thought that one day a week wasn't too much to ask.

Rich's mom, problem number two. Before our kids came along, Rich's sister had a baby. Since she had to go back to work after the baby's birth, Rich's mother watched the baby five days a week. That's right, a full time Grandma job for her. And even though she didn't like that either, she did it. She told me she wanted "her life back" because she was so tied down with this kid and couldn't do any of the things she did pre grandchild. Here's the ironic part: She had no hobbies and no friends. So one would think she'd  love having something to occupy her time. No. Because she'd had to give up her "me time" to practically raise that kid, we suffered for it. She was so burned out from raising a baby who turned into a toddler, who turned into a young child, that she didn't want ours when our turn came. So he took our kids one day a week, but wanted them out of her house by at least 5pm on the dot. God forbid, I should work a little over on her day to have the kids. She would call me at work to say I should come get them because they were tired and needed to go home. And here's the kicker, Rich would drop them off at 2pm so he could go to work and do the late shift. We were lucky his boss agreed to that to help us out. So her "day" to get the kids was 2pm to around 6 or 7pm. We didn't expect her to feed them dinner even, Rich lugged a large cooler to her house with drinks, snacks and everything they would need. So basically, she just had to get the stuff out of the cooler when they got hungry or thirsty and just keep them alive until I got there to pick them up. Honestly, this is one area where both moms were alike. We brought both kids to them Road Ready. We packed for both moms videos, drinks, snacks, toys, dinner items, changes of clothes, you name it. We were trying to be as thoughtful as possible. If you think getting all that ready and dropping them off with it wasn't exhausting, you're wrong. It was like our work day began well before it actually did.

We'd heard stories of how grand-parents took their grandkids overnight and on weekends so that our friends could get a break, get some sleep, have some alone time. Regardless of the reason, we did not have that kind of luxury. We were flying solo and it's a good thing Rich and I were totally on the same page with the Daycare issue. Rich's mom let it be known that "When I had my kids, I didn't have Grandma around to help." A little dig to me, horrible person that I am, taking advantage of both moms like that.

Let's talk about the elephant in the room: The fact that we had moms that swore they loved their grandchildren more than life itself, which they probably did love them a lot. But, they only wanted to see them in very small doses. And by small, I mean not 8 hours in a row. And these were good kids, didn't touch stuff they weren't supposed to, followed the rules, were fun to be around. Maybe I should be the bigger person here, but there are times I remember when these two women actually had something in common when it came to giving of themselves; They were very self-centered people. Self-centered when it came to their "me" time. Here's some information to back up what I'm describing: My mother once fell down her stairs taking out the garbage and broke her ankle. When it happened, she crawled her way to her phone, bone literally poking out of her leg. Able to dial, who did she call? Not an ambulance. No, she called the girl with two small children to come and save her. Who stayed with her in the E.R.? Me. Who stayed at the hospital until her (successful, I might add) surgery was done? Me. Who, with two small kids, once she got home, got her groceries, delivered them up two flights with two kids until she felt she was healed? Me. I say "felt she was healed because she would not move from her couch until she was COMPLETELY healed, would make no effort to get around, except for to the bathroom, and only that because it was a necessity. EVERYTHING was, "I can't , how can I with a broken leg??" During this healing time, Rich's father took ill and ultimately passed away. When I told her, she said she was sorry. But the bottom like came down to, "How can I mail out a card, with a broken leg?" She couldn't pick up the phone for a sympathy phone call to Rich or his family, but could call me to take her to the hospital. She didn't even see how ridiculous that was.

So onto self-centered in-law: Rich and I had a wedding to go to. We never asked for babysitting other than the two work days we really needed it. But this one Saturday, we (I) asked his mom to watch the kids so that we could attend. It was from around noon to 5pm. And even that was us cutting it short so as not to burden her too much. I called her the morning of, to make sure it was still a go. Yes, why sure, she'd take them. Getting ready for that wedding was like running a marathon. Me, trying to fit into the clothes that belonged to the old me, the non-mom, the psuedo-career woman from a couple years and a few pounds back. My husband trying to muster up the energy to attend, because, isn't it better