I can remember in the years preceding 1997 B.H. (before husband), when it was I who was the apple of my mother’s eye, well perhaps after my brother. She would shower me with gifts, both large and small, both thoughtful and inconsequential but treasured nevertheless. She would sing my praises at the slightest provocation. And then along comes the hubby and suddenly the sun is shining out of his many bodily orifices! When we go for a visit he has to bring an empty suitcase for all of the gifts she bestows upon him. (That may be a slight exaggeration. I use the empty part of that suitcase to stash more wool home.) But when he enters any room that my mother may presently be sitting, I swear trumpets start tooting like the Queen (or King as it may be), has just entered the room. What’s worse is that the feelings are completely mutual!
Every time we come back from a visit, I have to listen to my husband go on and on and on about HIS mother-in-law. “She makes the best potatoes!” “Nobody makes French toast like my mother-in-law.” “You can’t top my mother-in-law’s coleslaw.” (I’m starting to notice a food theme here.) Well the last couple of trips to visit my parents, my mom has occasionally folded our laundry and has now set yet another impossible, and useless, standard for me to attempt to match. FOLDING HIS UNDERWEAR! Shortly after returning, he started dropping the hints, truly lacking any hint of subtlety. A quick “thanks, honey” and then an expression of surprise, “Oh! My mother-in-law folds my underwear!” So, like any good wife in a constant state of training, I have done the unthinkable and started to fold his frickin’ underwear. With our household being a bit chaotic the past couple of weeks, planning and executing a very impromptu househunting trip, madly cleaning & organizing the house for our mildly OCD suffering relief member, returning, unpacking, laundering, finalizing the house sale details, filtering and selling some of our belongings, hosting a couple of dinners and gatherings. Well, you get the picture. It’s been frenzied to say the least. To give credit first, my ever appreciative husband comes out and says, “Thanks for doing my laundry,” quickly followed by, “When my mother-in-law folds my underwear, she turns them right side out before she folds them!” There is just no pleasing some people!
I suppose it could be worse. They could hate each other rather than love one another.
Every time we come back from a visit, I have to listen to my husband go on and on and on about HIS mother-in-law. “She makes the best potatoes!” “Nobody makes French toast like my mother-in-law.” “You can’t top my mother-in-law’s coleslaw.” (I’m starting to notice a food theme here.) Well the last couple of trips to visit my parents, my mom has occasionally folded our laundry and has now set yet another impossible, and useless, standard for me to attempt to match. FOLDING HIS UNDERWEAR! Shortly after returning, he started dropping the hints, truly lacking any hint of subtlety. A quick “thanks, honey” and then an expression of surprise, “Oh! My mother-in-law folds my underwear!” So, like any good wife in a constant state of training, I have done the unthinkable and started to fold his frickin’ underwear. With our household being a bit chaotic the past couple of weeks, planning and executing a very impromptu househunting trip, madly cleaning & organizing the house for our mildly OCD suffering relief member, returning, unpacking, laundering, finalizing the house sale details, filtering and selling some of our belongings, hosting a couple of dinners and gatherings. Well, you get the picture. It’s been frenzied to say the least. To give credit first, my ever appreciative husband comes out and says, “Thanks for doing my laundry,” quickly followed by, “When my mother-in-law folds my underwear, she turns them right side out before she folds them!” There is just no pleasing some people!
I suppose it could be worse. They could hate each other rather than love one another.
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