To My Mother In Law

To My Mother-In-Law,

I am tired of making excuses for you and your behavior. I am tired of defending you because you gave me the love of my life. I am tired of trying to find the good in your cruelty. I am finished with you and will not allow you to passively abuse my family.

Despite what you may believe, postpartum depression is real. I did not abandon your son when I moved back in with my family. YOUR son packed the baby and me in the car and drove us there to save my life. I would have abandoned your son if I had gone through with my frightening thoughts of drowning myself in the bathtub. How can you not see that? Why should we all be punished for doing what was right for us?

How dare you blame my postpartum depression instead of honestly admitting to your lack of interest in your first grandchild. How dare you blame my location on the simple fact you have never met him, 10 months later. Why would you ask me, 5 days after giving birth, if I was allowing my husband to get some rest because he sounds tired? When have you ever shown the least bit of compassion toward me? (Your son is in the middle east! I am alone, a single parent with no help 24/7. Not even an e-mail or a call... once.) I have given your son a child. I have given your son a loving home. I am YOUR grandchild's mother and father for these 8 months. I have gotten help and fought out of the most frightening darkness of depression I have ever experienced. Why do you despise me for these things?

I will never again cry a single tear when I have finished speaking to you. I will let go of my fantasy notion of acceptance from you. I will never again allow you to penetrate my armor which you have forced me to apply and scorch me with hyper criticisms or your passive aggressive silence. When you do not call for my sons birthday, I will forget you exist. This is your loss. This is your own loneliness and punishment. Thank GOD for my family and their involvement with this beautiful little angel. I am sorry for you and your misery.

S

Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Posted by Anonymous.

First, a little history. My husband and I have been dating or married since 1999. When we got married, I was slightly horrified to discover what his Christmas celebration plan looked like. He got up early on Christmas morning, raced over to his parent’s house, opened presents there and then went to his grandmother’s in the afternoon. It wound up being this non-stop marathon of a day, where he was never home. AND they never went to church. On one of the most important holidays of the year, his highly Christian family (as in, no swearing, very little drinking, prayer before meals, goes to church twice a week, etc) doesn’t go to church on Christmas. I was flabbergasted.

Anyways, when we got married, I told my husband that I wasn’t enthused about the way Christmas worked, but I would do it until we had kids. When we had kids, I wanted to make some changes so that a) the kids were able to wake up in their own beds on Christmas morning (something that I didn’t get to do as a child very often) and b) not have to be rushed through present opening, and c) not have to leave newly-opened, and hopefully much longed for presents to go to someone else’s house for more Christmas celebrations. He agreed. This is important to note: MY HUSBAND AGREED THAT WHEN WE HAD CHILDREN WE WOULD CHANGE HOW CHRISTMAS WORKED.

Fast forward to now. We have children. Two of them. A girl, E, who is 5.5 and another girl, L, who is 3.5. To date, we have done the Christmas thing roughly as described above for the last eight years. When E was born, I said “I don’t want to do Christmas like this anymore.” And then caved because she was 4 months old and as long as she had food and a pacifier, she couldn’t have cared less about what we were doing. Each year, I would mention that I was still unhappy with the Christmas craziness and every year, I would back down because the kids were too young and they wouldn’t care. Or because my parents were in town (my parents are divorced and remarried. My mom and her husband live about 20 minutes from us and my dad and his wife live in Michigan) and so things were slightly nutty anyway. I think we skipped exactly one Christmas because his mother couldn’t grasp the concept of naptime. My kids, when they napped, went to bed for nap at 1 pm. Every day. Maintaining the consistency of naptime was very important to me so that I wasn’t dealing with the Anti-Christ on Christmas evening because someone hadn’t had their nap. Now that they are older, they don’t need to nap as much and I can be more flexible.

Anyway. Last year, I said my annual “I don’t want to do Christmas like we did it last year. It’s too crazy, it’s too much. I don’t like it.” And my husband talked to his parents about potentially changing things so that we could host Christmas here or make some other arrangement so that everyone was, if not happy, at least more content. It was flatly turned down. His dad didn’t want to change things. Whatever. I bit my tongue, and worked very hard to relax through the day so that I wasn’t a vibrating ball of stress. It was a nice day. Not exactly what I wanted, but good enough.

This year, October turned to November and we started thinking about Christmas. And I said my usual piece about how much I hate the craziness of his family’s celebrations. And my husband, bless his heart, dutifully called his mother and said again that we would like to host Christmas. Or make some other arrangement so that those of us who weren’t happy with it could be happier. Or something.

-> I need to insert a small digression here.

OK. So the whole tradition of everyone trooping over to my husband’s parent’s house has its roots in his mother freaking out about running all over kingdom come on Christmas Day and deciding that everyone could come to them and they would just stay home. This was probably 30 years ago? I think? SO. You would think, if you were a logical person, that she would COMPLETELY understand where I’m coming from. Given that SHE ONCE HAD THE SAME ISSUES. Apparently not so much. Either she has COMPLETELY forgotten how her tradition came to be or she just doesn’t give a shit about my opinions, because we have told her repeatedly that I don’t like the craziness and I want to just stay home on Christmas with my family. She even SAID when we were talking about this stuff that when the time came, she would willingly change it so that WE COULD JUST STAY HOME ON CHRISTMAS. I’m not much for swearing, but WHAT THE FUCK, WOMAN?!

/Back to the story.

One of the things that my mother-in-law said to my husband was that he needed to contact his siblings (he has an older brother and a younger sister) and make sure that they were OK with the potential switch from Christmas morning at his parent’s house to Christmas morning at our house. Now, in here, the communications between my husband and me got a little garbled. What his mother said was, if your siblings are OK with it AND her slightly agoraphobic/somewhat strange/also Alzheimer’s-y parents were OK with it, then you can host Christmas. What I *heard* was “If your siblings are OK with it, it’s OK with me.” Now, I’m not sure where that message got messed up, but regardless, I’ve spent the past week and a half under the impression that I was hosting Christmas morning at our house. His family is somewhat large – there are the 3 kids and their spouses, plus my mother and father-in-law and then my 2 kids and his sister’s 3 kids, plus his mother’s parents and aunt and sometimes his mother’s brother and his girlfriend. So that’s what? 18 people? In my 1400 square foot house. And my nephew and nieces, God love ‘em, are somewhat like hyperactive bulls in a china shop. On speed. (The bulls. Not the china shop.) So, this Christmas celebration wasn’t exactly what I was looking for when I said I just wanted to stay home, but it was better than dragging my kids away from their presents at 815 because we had to get dressed and ready to go to Nana’s house.

So last night my husband calls his mother to talk about Christmas. And as the conversation progressed, I could tell that the kibosh had been put on us hosting Christmas again. This time, his mother said that she’d been dithering back and forth, trying to decide what to do. And then his dad made the executive decision that Christmas was being hosted there. Because my mother-in-law’s parents would maybe come to their house for Christmas, but they ABSOLUTELY wouldn’t come to Christmas at our house.

My husband gets off the phone and relays this information to me. And is upset because he thinks that we won’t be going to his mother’s for Christmas. At which point I lose my ever-loving mind.

The problem is this.

Well, there are actually a bunch of problems.

1) My husband is perfectly happy with things the way they are. He’s been doing this for so long, it’s how Christmas should be to him.

2) He wants to see his siblings and parents ON Christmas Day. Christmas Eve doesn’t count. (I don’t understand it either, but I’ve given up trying)

3) I don’t really want to host Christmas.

4) There isn’t a viable or acceptable alternative to the current Christmas plan.

-> Here’s another slight digression.

When my husband spoke with his brother to make sure he was OK with changing the venue of Christmas, my husband was all “E doesn’t want to do this anymore. E doesn’t like running around all over the place for Christmas. E wants to just stay home.” Which, while perfectly true, somewhat tossed me under the bus. And pissed me off. My husband hasn’t exactly grasped the concept of presenting a united front to people and so he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he said. I’m hoping I can help him see the error of his ways with that. Because OMG I was ready to smack him.

/end digression.

Now back to the problem.

So all of this boils down to the fact that I am not happy with this situation. I don’t like rushing on Christmas. I want to stay home, relax and linger over breakfast and presents. I want to stay in my pajamas if I so desire until I decide that I want to get dressed. I want to have the ability to consider going to see a movie or watching a movie. I want to watch my children open and then play with their new presents. I want to be able to wander off and take a nap if I so choose. I can’t do any of that because we have to leave the house at 1045 to get to his mom’s roughly near the 11 o’clock hour and that means we have to be done with presents by 10 and we shouldn’t have a big breakfast because his mom will be serving brunch. And if we have to be done with presents by 10, that means we should be dressed and more or less ready to go by 9. And so on.

So my choices are:

- Give it up and go with the flow. My girls don’t know any different – this is the way it’s always been.

- Or decide to make a stand and make my husband very unhappy.

- Or or have our family Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve, wherein we do the leisurely present opening, breakfast eating, potential movie watching, nap taking and relaxing the day before Christmas and then go to his parent’s on Christmas Day.

-> Yes, another digression.

We bought our house from my husband’s parents. His parents built this place back in the late 70s and when we bought it, we agreed that they could stay in the house with us until the house that they were building was sufficiently completed for them to get their Certificate of Occupancy. When we moved in, we naturally started going to the church that his parents were attending. I was 4 months pregnant with E. I wasn’t all that wild about the church, mostly because the members were mostly of the same age as my in-laws. My husband’s sister and her husband were also going to the same church, but that was about it in terms of people our age in the membership. It is a VERY small church. When E was born, I received very little support from the church. And when E reached an age where she was beginning to be a disturbance in the sanctuary during the (usually hour to hour and a half) service, I was encouraged to take her into the pastor’s office, which was attached to the back of the sanctuary. It had a speaker in the room so that I could hear what was going on, but I was still essentially told to leave.

As E became older and more active, the setup was less than optimal. Finally I asked the pastor if it might be possible to set up a small nursery somewhere so that I could take E someplace that had some toys and wasn’t equipped with printers and copiers and computers and other office equipment that is so very tempting for a mobile baby to get into. He agreed that sounded like a good idea, given that in addition to E, there was now a second baby, my nephew T in the group. That was the sum total of the child care available to us at that church. It’s been 5 years and I STILL find that appalling. When I spoke to the pastor several years (and 1 building move) later, and said the lack of Sunday School/Child care/ volunteers to watch kids/what-have-you was troubling me and making me unhappy at the church, his response was “Start a Sunday School.” THAT wasn’t my point. My point was HE was my pastor and it was HIS job to (forgive the Christian-y language) shepherd his flock and provide for their needs. After ANOTHER entire year of this, I finally had had enough. I told my husband that he was perfectly welcome to take the girls to that church, but that it was affecting my relationship with God and I had to go somewhere else. We both made it exactly one week. He agreed to leave that church and begin looking for somewhere else that would better meet the needs of our whole family, not just him.

/end digression.

This whole Christmas thing has a very strange “déjà vu” feeling for me. It feels so eerily similar to the church issue where I spent FOUR YEARS repeatedly telling my husband that I wasn’t happy with something and he repeatedly telling me he didn’t know what I wanted him to do and around and around until I finally reached my breaking point (during the church thing, I remember asking him “how long? How long is long enough? How long do I have to be unhappy at this church before it’s long enough for us to go somewhere else? Another year? Two? Because if I know how long I have to deal with this, I can do that. But I need to know how long.”) and made the decision more or less for him. Unfortunately, I can’t do that here. I can’t up and decide that I’m going to take myself out of the equation because it’s Christmas, not Sunday church services. But the fact remains that again, I’m telling my husband that I’m not happy about something and while he’s willing to work with me on this, he’s also not entirely convinced of the issue.

A big part of what brought this to such a gigantic head this year is a conversation I had while waiting to pick L up from preschool. A woman, who was there to retrieve her grandson, and I were talking about the craziness of the impending holiday season. And somehow she said that she really regretted not taking just one Christmas to spend at home with just her family. That they always did the rounds to see all the relatives and while no one complained and everyone seemed to have a good time, she really missed just taking that time. Because her kids are all grown now and have families of their own and so she doesn’t get to just spend the time with them. I desperately want to do that with my family. And I’m essentially being denied that chance.

But I know that if I put my foot down and say that I don’t want to go to his mother’s for Christmas, that my husband will go along with it, but he won’t be happy about it. And when I look for agreement that this was a nice Christmas to have, he won’t agree. Because he didn’t see his family. And I don’t want to do that. Not only because he won’t agree that my vision of the perfect Christmas isn’t the same as his, but also because I don’t want to keep him from seeing his family. And I don’t want to be “THAT girl” in this family. Though I am sure I already am. Clearly I have opinions and am not shy about expressing them.

I just don’t know what the hell to do. What do I do? Do I go along to get along? Do I cobble together an acceptable alternative? Do I give up on the perfect quiet Christmas at home? Do I tell him that he can have Christmas as he wants it as long as I get {insert other large-ish religious holiday here} the way I want it?

Also, Christmas is in a few days. How the HELL am I going to rid myself of the seething anger and hurt and sadness that comes pouring out of me at the mere MENTION of Christmas in time to be all happy happy joy joy on Christmas morning? And then continue that happy happy joy joy-ness while I’m visiting my parents in Michigan, since my stepmother LOVES this kind of conflict and will drag this out of me faster than fast? And then bring it up for YEARS to come in a pseudo-caring, but really just nosey and gossip-monger-y way?

Please help me, O citizens of the basement. I don’t know what to do. And it’s tearing me apart.

Thanks ever so much.

Neurotic

Posted by Anonymous.

It's been six months since my baby was born and still, every time I see you and have to fake smile and ask you how you're doing as if I cared. I feel so furious. I'm a new mother, you were once too so I assumed you would understand. If I don't want children visiting us in the hospital and holding the new baby then as the mother of the baby guess what? I have the right to make that decision! We made the decision that we didn't want any children at the hospital, just adults. We did not selectively choose your kids and say that they were the only one's not allowed. At NO POINT did we say this was because we thought they were diseased and would infect the new baby, why the heck would you assume that? Although if I had to be honest about it, it's true I don't trust you enough to be able to control your kids around the new baby, they're manipulative whiny brats. The fact that you decided not to visit because your kids couldn't was your decision, not ours. We accept responsibility for our decision, why not accept responsibility for yours?

That day was not about you or your kids, it was about the new baby and the fact that you would call us selfish self-centered idiots only goes to show just how insecure and neurotic you are. Screaming at us in letters and writing on facebook about how dumb we are and how selfish our decision is only shows what kind of person you are. Everyone, and I do mean everyone in the family hates receiving your little "The world didn't revolve around me for five seconds and I'm mad about it so I'm going to blame it on you" letters. Stop writing letters and talk to us- maybe we could clear up some of the misunderstandings you get in that delusional little head of yours.

You are the parent to your children and as such you have the right to make decisions regarding them, explain to me why that isn't the same for everyone else? Are you super fucking special? Now I can't see my brother without there being a strain and it's obvious that the relationship is forever marked by your insecurity and bi-polar behavior. Thanks, really.

Solutions Needed (Please Help)

Posted by Anonymous.

Solutions needed

1. living and being supported by in-laws

2. while husband lives in another state with friends

3. to be near clients

4. no vehicles in either of our names

5. four children, 9 and under

6. virtually no income currently

7. it's been since January 2009

8. cannot move to in-laws town (officially, anyway)--we have absolutely no “warm market” here to support our business (in fact, all family has outright refused to give us any leads—they're not comfortable referring friends to us; you know, because we're family).

9. I have the background to do a preschool/daycare

10. but, as we're living in someone else's home, I'm trying not to make to many waves.

11. Would state aid take my in-laws income into account, if we applied, since we live with them?

12. The state is UT

Help!

He's Terminal

Posted by Anonymous.

My husband’s step-father, K, has been in our lives for almost as long as we’ve been together. They got married the year before we did. Since my husband had never had a father in his life, he was thrilled that his mother had finally found someone. Thrilled that she was happy, thrilled that he could finally build a relationship with a ‘father’. They both enjoy sports, and fishing (zzzz)… they both are pranksters that love to laugh. K is indisputably the most outgoing person on the planet – any time someone new walked by, he wants to say hi, see if they need anything, give, help, love. My husband is loving, but not nearly as outgoing and open.

We had our son in 2005. Immediately there was a bond between he and K. Immediately, my husband and I noticed that K was not being quite as supportive as we needed him to be as new, young parents. I struggled with breastfeeding my colicky son. “Just give him a bottle before he starves to death.” As he got older, we set boundaries and rules. Our son thrives on a rigid schedule. K didn’t understand. “Why is he going to bed so early? It’s the weekend.” He gave him loads of sugar that our high-energy, spirited son did not need… and then sent him home for us to deal with. He didn’t understand that smoking around our asthmatic son was probably not the best idea. He would volunteer to watch him for the weekends, and when he returned to us, our son would be miserably overtired, wheezing, and in desperate need of something OTHER than fast food or junk.

We had numerous conversations with K and my husband’s mother about how our rules need to respected. Yes, we understand that grandparents spoil their grandchildren and bend the rules – but we know what he needs to thrive. Within our rules, spoil him. Yes, he can have a piece of cake. No, he can’t have half of a cake. Yes, he can go to bed a half an hour late. No, 10:30 is probably WAY PAST HIS BEDTIME. Yes, he can watch TV. No, not for three hours straight. AND NO – shoot-em-up action movies with monsters are PROBABLY not the best idea for a three year old with an overactive imagination.

Yes, I’m a bit overprotective. Am I ridiculous? No.

Two and a half years ago, K had brain surgery for an aneurism. He was told to follow his doctor’s advice on nutrition, since he is a diabetic. He didn’t, and never has. He was told to quit smoking before his surgery. He didn’t. He was told by his doctors to a lot of things that he didn’t do. He was emphatic that he was going to die. He spent as much time as he possibly could with all of his grandchildren.

Yes, just his grandchildren. No, my husband has never gotten the father figure he wanted. K ignores him, mostly, and myself, unless our son is involved in the conversation. He spends more time greeting strangers than talking to us. We’re told that he has nothing but good things to say about us to others – but he really hasn’t made much of an effort to get to know either of us. So… I’m not exactly sure what it is that he says.

He survived his surgery.

And less than a year later was diagnosed with cancer. Lung cancer. He still didn’t quit smoking. Eventually, the cancer went into remission. And then came back. He still wasn’t following any advice from his doctors - he had to be coaxed into the radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and would postpone them or skip them whenever he felt the need. (I do understand that radiation and chemo are not easy on your body and that it is probably easier for me to say JUST GO GET IT BECAUSE IT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE than it is to subject yourself to those kinds of treatments. But. It is still difficult for me to reconcile why someone wouldn't want to take these steps when there is still a very good chance that they could heal you. And also, knowing that the quicker that you respond to cancer, the more of a chance that you can get rid of it....)

He still was convinced that he was going to die.

Now, a year and a half later, he is terminal. The cancer has spread to his liver. And although he has quit smoking, I am angry with him. I am angry that he never listens to anyone. About anything. Not doctors, not us, not his wife. And that someday soon, my 3 ½ year old son is going to lose the grandfather that he loves so much, and there is a part of me that feels like if he had just listened to his doctors along the way - about the diabetes, the aneurysm, the smoking, the nutrition, the resting, ALL OF IT - maybe we wouldn’t be here. I am angry that he let my husband down, and – unintentional as I’m sure it was – that K reinforced his feelings of rejection from his own father. I am angry that strangers are more important to him than we are. I am angry that he is depressed, because even though it isn’t all his fault, I feel like he does have a degree of guilt.

I am angry that he is dying. And I am angry that I could never tell him, or anyone else, any of this.

Sticks And Stones And Sisters-In-Law

Posted by Anonymous.

I just have to get this off my back because it keeps playing over and over in my head and it is starting to disrupt my happy and carefree lifestyle.

Lets start by coming out with the cold hard facts. My sister in law and I are pretty good friends. She is actually also my supervisor at work. We get along fine generally.

It's hard for me to even type this. She makes fun of my ears.

I am a confident adult woman. I have slightly large features. big brown eyes, full mouth and lips, large nose and large ears. I have always enjoyed my eyes and lips and tried not to think about my nose and ears. I am very sensitive about my nose and fantasize about having it "done". It is the middle of my face though and I have accepted it as my nose. I idolize beautiful actresses with large noses because if they can get past it then I am. (And I am). I was mocked a bit for it in school but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I am stronger for it.

My ears... *sigh* My mother always said if I tucked my hair behind my ears they would stick out. I couldn't help it though. My hair was in my eyes and the ears held the hair wonderfully. I have embraced and accepted my ears. There is nothing I can do about them, and I have had them pierced 7x each in a sort of "so there" gesture. Yes they're big but SO WHAT. They're ears. I was never made fun of for them and I don't even think of them besides to hold my hair. No big deal.

Until now.

At first it was kind of, "wow, I never noticed how big (my name's) ears are!" to my partner while I am standing there.

Then:

"WOW look at those ears!"

"Look at (my 2 year old son's name's) ears! I hope you don't have mommy's ears!"

"I just can't think with THOSE EARS!"

"Would you just LOOK AT THOSE EARS!"

Etc, randomly. We could be in the car with my partner or in the house with my mother in law
and out those comments come.

I know she does it for attention but WHY???

Just thinking about it makes me nauseous. If this is how bullied kids feel going to school then I don't blame them for not wanting to go. I want to avoid my sister in law completely. And when we are in the car, like last weekend, and she turned to my partner and says, "OMG HER EARS!" and he turns to me and says, "Hey I didn't say it!" I want to punch him in the mouth for not standing up for me. We have a rocky relationship at best (on my end, he thinks its fine), but the thought of hearing her say that for the rest of my days HONESTLY makes me want to leave him. GONE. I would never have to hear it again.

I don't know what else to do at this point. I have said it bothers me, I have gotten angry. If I bring it up with my partner I know he will blow it off as joking and playing and then not only would I be angry with him I would be hurt to actually hear him say it.

I don't know where else to turn either because it so too embarrassing to even discuss it with my best friend. To me they're just ears until it comes out that they're so big. UGH.

Dads Need Their Dads

Posted by Anonymous.

A little background: my father-in-law is remarried to a woman not much older than my husband and I. She has tried to come between fil and us (and has pretty much managed to do it). Trust me there is more to this story than I can put on here for fear of it being discovered and used against me.

To my fil: I wish you would grow some balls. Your son was only home from a freaking combat zone for just under a month. You did not call him when he got home, amazingly you were on "vacation" AGAIN when he got home. He finally called you. You were not home. He spoke to you three times while he was home and saw you only twice, for a total of two hours. You could not even get away from your WIFE to come see him before he left.

In the last couple of years you have gradually crawled up your wife's pussy and cut your grandkids and your son out of your life. I don't care what you and your c*nt of a wife think about me, but DO NOT TAKE IT OUT ON MY HUSBAND OR OUR KIDS.

Do you even see what it is doing to your son, how he hurts for a little attention from his father. You do not know your grandchildren. You have not seen either one of them in over six months. How dare you even claim that you know how they are doing, do you really even care? Are you scared of your wife is that why you don't see them?

My friends tell me not to let it bother me, they don't seem to see that it is not me that is hurting, it is my children and my husband. That is why I get so fucking pissed off. I don't like seeing them hurt. The youngest I don't think it bothers as much, it has pretty much been this way since the youngest was born. It is the oldest, the oldest has seen it become this way.

My husband does not deserve to be treated as crap. He is your blood, your flesh and blood, how can you do this to your own son? How can you treat your grandchildren this way?

I know this does not make sense, I just needed to get it off my chest. I just got back from the airport from putting him on a plane to go back to that combat zone and he was hurting from his father not coming and seeing him before he got back on the plane.

Master Manipulator

Posted by Anonymous.

When I first met my husband I felt sorry for his mother. My soon to be in-law's were going through a nasty divorce that was, upon first glance, caused by my fathers-in-law's blatant and embarrassing infidelity. He was living with another woman while still being married to my MIL. What I have learned after a few years of inclusion in this family, is that I cannot blame him for leaving her. His choices, actions, and lack of recognition for the hurt he caused his children will never be acceptable to me, but I now understand why he couldn't take it from her any more. The woman is a Master Manipulator. The reason that I am writing is because it has begun to affect my relationship with my husband, and I need an place to blow some steam.

My husband is a good man. He is a lover, a provider and a terrific friend to me. I love him dearly and he loves me. He recognizes that his mother has weaseled her way between his siblings and their spouses by being that sympathetic garbage dump for all their problems (which she then shares with everyone else in the family). The problem, my problem, is that he does not recognize was she is doing as it pertains to me. He excuses every one of her words and actions that hurt me. I have heard him say things like "You are taking her the wrong way" "She doesn't think things through that far" "You are exaggerating" "Just get along" over and over again. I have had it with her, and there is going to be a big nasty fight soon if something doesn't give. Maybe there needs to be a big nasty fight. I have spent way too much time stewing.

I looked up the definition of the word manipulate and this is what I found:

ma·nip·u·late (mə-nĭp'yə-lāt')
tr.v. ma·nip·u·lat·ed, ma·nip·u·lat·ing, ma·nip·u·lates

1. To move, arrange, operate, or control by the hands or by mechanical means, especially in a skillful manner: She manipulated the lights to get just the effect she wanted.
2. To influence or manage shrewdly or deviously: He manipulated public opinion in his favor.
3. To tamper with or falsify for personal gain: tried to manipulate stock prices. (From Dictionary.com)

and

Manipulators often make requests or demands by playing on your affections and your guilt. Spot manipulative comments like "If you loved me, you would (or wouldn't) do this" or the converse: "Since you insist on doing this, I can no longer love or trust you." There are no gray areas with manipulators. If you don't perform as they wish, there is something lacking in you. (From "How to spot a manipulator" on ANSWERBAG)

The definition "To tamper with or falsify for personal gain" makes me sick. This isn't a phrase that should be able to define how someone deals with family. I feel like she has tampered with me. I haven't fit what her idea of family is, and was told these words "You are married to (insert hubby's name) now. You're an (insert family name) now. This is how we do things". I don't think that my husband always sees her manipulation for what it is because she is very skillful at it.

I haven't handled this well from the start. I conceded to whining about her instead of presenting facts to my husband from a standpoint of logic. I can understand why he has a difficult time taking this from me. Maybe he does see the manipulation, but doesn't think her motive is bad, so he lets it go. I mean, after all she wants is a close family...just on her terms.

Yuck.

Sick

Posted by Anonymous.

Let me tell you about this man I know- I call him my father-in-law, because my husband calls him "Dad." Really? He was the shittiest kind of stepfather, withholding love, affection and worthwhile gifts while showering my husband's sister, his bio-child, with everything that he could. But my husband doesn't seem to resent it, he still calls him Dad.

My "father-in-law" has Hepatitis C. He also has a secondary disease that I have alluded to above that I like to call "Serious Asshole Disease." He has had Hepatitis C now for going on fifteen years- I have been with my husband for six of those years. During the first two, I rarely saw him. We were young, and the only time he came out of his room was to pull the intimidation route (note to parents, also to self- intimidating your kid's friends and/or significant others will not make them like you) At the top of the third year, he came out of his room and started smoking pot. Then drinking. My mother-in-law packed up and left- she said that if he could not live for his family, couldn't leave that back bedroom to eat dinner or talk to his kids but he could do so for drugs and alcohol then she didn't want anything to do with him anymore. He then started doing Pharmaceuticals. He swore he wasn't. Years pass, this behavior continues. We took him to the hospital last Christmas Eve because whatever he was on started a major GI bleed. (He lived.) That was my daughter's first Christmas Eve.

He came home and managed to fall and hurt himself on the next major holiday (I couldn't make this up, this kind of thing always happens on a holiday)That time he was just drunk. He turned a corner then, said that he had changed. My mother-in-law took him back. My sister-in-law started talking to him again. My husband believed him, hell, I believed him. He was convincing.

A month later the Hep C started kicking his butt. He ended up in the hospital and things got weird- he was disoriented and "off"- he even cursed out my preacher- but that was the disease. When liver failure starts kicking in majorly, it causes some people to lose their heads a bit, or so I am told. He got out of the hospital and went to all of his appointments, and got on the liver transplant list for our state.

Three months in, and we start noticing weirdness. He would get oddly aggressive when talking to people, stirring people up, even when talking to my not quite two year old. Have you ever seen somebody pick at a child until the kid is screaming and they are all the while laughing while the child is upset? That's what he does. One night I saw him fix a drink and take a swig. We made eye contact, and he poured it down the drain. I was still angry, so I asked him why he was drinking again. He told me a sip wouldn't hurt him. My mother-in-law, sister-in-law and husband confronted him, and he mocked them.

This month he went to a checkup at the liver doctor. He quit smoking for two weeks and didn't drink for a bit and went for his checkup. The doctor moved him down the list, said that he was doing better. That was three weeks ago, he is now drinking openly, smoking again, and I acting a lot like he's back on the pharmeceuticals again. Today he went to the regular doctor and was supposedly told that he's better now! He doesn't need a new liver at ALL, and he is off the list. I think he got kicked off, that they found something in his blood system that proves that he isn't a good candidate for a new organ.

He isn't a good candidate. Hep C causes cirrosis of the liver. A new liver will give the Hep C patient a good chance to live a LONGER life, but it isn't the golden ticket. He will always have Hepatitis C. If he won't behave, then he will destroy the new liver too.

We have tried confrontation, we have tried trusting him. I even told him that if nobody cared then we wouldn't ask about it, would not even ask about the drinking. We don't know the truth about the doctor visits, we don't have a clue what is going on.

I am angry. He made my husband's childhood so hard, and now his twenties too. He has no respect for my mother-in-law or any of my husband's or my family. I wish that if he was going to commit suicide, that he would just do it already and save us all the pain of watching this destruction. He told my sister-in-law that he didn't care if he lived to walk her down the isle later this year or not. We've asked if he was depressed- he mocked us.

I don't want to see my kid get hurt by this man. She is his first grandkid and he doesn't seem to care - she is only two, but she is a very AWARE two year old, you know?

Dear Sister In Law

Posted By Anonymous

Dear Sister-In-Law,

Our mother-in-law is on her deathbed, yet you still can't put away the pettiness that has plagued our relationship from day one. From the beginning, we have done our best to welcome you into the family. Yet from the beginning you have treated me coldly, found one reason after another to confirm your belief that we are intentionally excluding you from the family.

Normally, I would shrug this off and continue to take the high road. I would say that if you want to allow your pettiness to keep you from allowing yourself to be welcomed and accepted into our family, then it's your problem. But this time you've crossed the line. And I can't just shrug it off because it is impacting the people I love.

You are driving down here with your husband to visit our mother-in-law. I think this is a good thing. I really do. I am happy you were able to put things aside enough to make the trip. It what is best for both her and you. It is also what is best for your husband, who needs your love and support right now. But, my husband received a call this morning saying that because you are coming, and you can't put aside your petty grievances, you won't be staying with us. And, even though we cleared our schedules to be with family at this time, we are left hanging because you don't want to see us. And even though we canceled our dinner reservations (our first night out since the baby was born to celebrate my birthday) so we could spend time with family, we can't count on that because you do not want to see us.

And again, normally I wouldn't let such things bother me, but here's the catch. You don't want to see us, or spend time with us in this critical time. But you want to use my mother's house for free lodging. Even though it made me angry that you wanted to use my family and I in this way, I called my mother and asked her to open up her house to you, which she was more than willing to do. Because even though I don't think you deserve it, your husband does. And because now, when our Mother-in-law is dying, is not a time for petty grievances. It's a time for family to come together and support each other. So I didn't hesitate to call my mother on your behalf.

And even though it makes my blood boil to know that upon hearing that I was upset about my family being used, you turned everything on me, saying you had to get a hotel instead of staying at my mom's because I was uncomfortable with you staying there (something I never said or even implied). That even after all this, you are still finding ways that things are my fault, that I am the one being unreasonable, that I deserve your ire and stubborn silent treatment.

Given all this, I can still look past your pettiness. I can even swallow my pride and allow you to use me and my family so you and your husband can have a place to stay during this difficult time. But what I can't shrug off is the way your stubborn pettiness is fracturing this family at a time we need to be coming together. I can't look the other way while you prevent my husband from being able to be with his brother right now, to have him to lean on and to be there to be leaned on in return. I can't pretend it's all ok when you are leaving him to go through this without any other family to help him through this.

And it makes me angry that at the same time, you are leaving your husband to go through this without his brother as well. That because your relationship with him is fragile enough that he feels he has no choice but to take your side, even at the expense of his own brother. Because he knows his brother will forgive and always be there (even after all this crap), but you may not. With all that this family has gone through (the messy divorce that has left strain and tension and now the loss of their mother), your stubbornness and pettiness are robbing these guys we love of the only thing they have left -- each other.

We have tried everything! Hand made Christmas gifts? Check. Knitting lessons? Check. Stocking our cabinets with your favorite foods during visits? Check. Homemade whatever you want to eat? Check. Showing you around and doing whatever you want to do? Check. And this is the thanks we get. You have hijacked this family. It is always about you. Even with our mother-in-law dying, when it should be about her and about our husbands and coming together as a family, it's about you.

But I will never say these things to you. I will continue to do my best to keep the peace and not add further strain to our family. I will keep taking the high road and not give you any more "proof" that I'm the bad guy. I will continue to welcome you when you'll let me. Because that's what this family deserves. Maybe one of these days you'll realize that. And for the sake of our husbands, I can only hope you don't cause irreparable harm before then.

Not Welcome Here

Posted by Anonymous.

You were not invited. In fact, you were specifically told to wait, perhaps until the holidays when your son could be here to "entertain" you. Because I, I would have a brand new baby and I would need my space. Now was too soon. I have a new baby, later would be better. I was very clear with you - visitors make me uncomfortable, and you especially so because you dislike and are afraid of my dogs, who are my family. You flinch when they brush past you, and you make no secret about how they are "dirty, expensive and time consuming." They are my family, and have been so long before your son was my family. You've never liked them, or me, and you are very clear about that. But now that there is a baby, MY baby - you seem to feel the need to play this grandma gig to the hilt. And yet, you don't like me, and I am her mother. Right now, where she goes, I go. We are still virtually one being, with her wholly dependent on me. You offer to "help" but your idea of helping is sitting on the couch and staring at the wall. You are the most helpless person I've ever met. How do you plan to help me? By telling me what you think I'm doing wrong? I don't need your picking..........

I told you not to come. I told you to wait. To please, give me some time to heal from the ordeal of birth both physically and mentally. How could we have known the baby would be late, I would have a c-section, and that we would both be so so very exhausted? Somehow, I did know. I knew that I would need time to recover and get my feet under me for this "mom thing." I knew that I would need more than three or four weeks to be comfortable enough, healed enough, to have you here. This is why I asked you not to come right away. Because I was having a baby. I knew I would need more time. I would need to be on top of things to deal with you and your dislike and disdain for me and my dogs. Now, I have a three week old baby. I am not on top of anything. It's amazing I showered today. And yet, you are here, in my home, in my personal space. You ignored me, completely blew off my request for space and time and came anyway. You wonder now why I am distant and a touch rude? Perhaps because I have a three week old baby and I'm exhausted. And because you were here, demanding to see and be seen - I missed out on a three hour nap this afternoon. I am exhausted, have I mentioned that I am EXHAUSTED? I'm lacking the ability to cope with normal stress, with everyday activities, let alone the added pressure of having someone in my home who dislikes me so much.

You have begun a battle of wills that I will win. I am her mother, I am his wife. This is MY family and you don't get to say how it is run. You do not get to parade my daughter around like she is some prize pig at a fair. You do not get any credit for who she is. She is mine, not yours. I carried her all these months. I am the one who gets up in the middle of the night to feed her and cuddle her back to sleep. And he may have been yours long ago, but he is mine now. You've never been my friend, have been nothing but judgmental and cruel, and NOW you want to play the doting grandmother? I think not. I feel ignored, manipulated, railroaded, and just plain pissed off. You and I will never see eye to eye, mostly because you see only what you want, and hear only what you want. I will never understand someone who is so very afraid of animals, someone who is so intolerant of other's beliefs. You will never be able to comprehend the depth of the relationships I have with my icky old dogs. How much they bring to our lives and what they mean to us. That they are an integral part of my being. That yes, we are going to let her "get all doggie." You will never understand me, you never even try. Which is fine, because I no longer have any desire to try to create a relationship with you. No desire to do the "family thing" with you, and no desire to listen to your venom. You do, however, have to respect that this is OUR life, not yours, or you will be promptly removed from any aspect of it. I understand you, I just don't like you, but at least I can play nicely with others. I can put on the happy face and pretend that I am not enraged. Most of the time. Not this time. This time I will let you feel my anger and disdain. Because I am tired, so very, very tired - and here you are, in my face.

I told you not to come - because I was having a baby. And you came anyway - because I was having a baby.

Sick

Posted by Anonymous.

Imagine you had a grandchild who was immune deficient. Now, just say you had another grandchild who came down with gastro and then add into the mix that an arrangement had been made with two other grandkids (who you don’t see very often) for a sleepover. Would you then go and visit the infectious grandchild just before the said sleep over, considering those kids are the siblings of the immune deficient child?

Would you not tell the parents until the big kids had been in the house for 24 hours that you had been to see the sick kid?

Would you carry on and make the eldest grandchild feel bad when she wants to come home (for fear of infecting her sister with gastro) when she finds out that the still infectious child is coming to be babysat at the sleepover house?

What about if the grandfather suddenly came down with the stomach bug? Would you tell the grandchild she was selfish for wanting to come home?

As the mother of the immune deficient child, would you be angry because you know that once the gastro hits your house (and it will) and the immune deficient child gets it, it will mean another week in hospital?

I don’t get it.

No, my parents in law don’t get it.

Either that or they just don’t care.

We have a mess of kids. The bug will run through them like wild fire.

Our family dynamics are already strained. Very strained.

We don’t need this and yet the two (now infectious children) are on their way home.

I don’t usually swear but

FUCK.

The Fender Bender In The Corner

Posted by Maggie, Dammit.


When I got the call at 2am that my brother was crouched broken and drunk in his garage with a loaded gun pressed to his temple, my first thoughts were of you. Where the hell were you? How did you manage to sleep through these precious wretched hours while your husband was imploding? Why did he turn to his friends, these friends who called me at 2am, instead of to you, his wife? But I murdered those thoughts as quickly as they came because there just wasn't time. I had to keep both of you alive, I had to figure out what to do, I had to weigh the images in my mind of him shooting himself, of him shooting you, of the police shooting him, and decide which one I could live with. I had to make decisions from the deserted island of my living room floor, and I failed. I froze, and I failed, and though someone else stepped in and saved us all, the business of hating myself was enough to keep me busy and distracted for the next few months and so I did not think about you at all.

That was this summer, a lifetime ago, and the changes I've seen in him are nothing short of miraculous. He has quit drinking. He willingly takes his medication. The boy who would speak to no one now confides weekly in a therapist, and the boy who could not read until high school writes for hours in stacks of weathered notebooks. He seems so steady now he's almost unrecognizable to me, a likable stranger I plan to get to know if I can just baby-step through this trail of broken trust and old pain but, you? You are leaving him.

You're not just leaving him, you're slipping responsibility like a cocktail dress from your angular frame. You are pouring wine in front of him, you are poking at fresh wounds. You and your crazy family are searching for new problems, new mysterious ailments he must possess, and blaming his non-cooperation in his own witch-hunt as proof he doesn't want this marriage. It makes me question everything I have ever known about you, everything you have ever said.

When my brother was a train-wreck nobody noticed you, the fender bender in the corner. Now he is mending and you can't handle it, your own scratches and dings and decades-old mold coming to light. And it's not just the distraction from your own brand of crazy, it's something more, something sinister, and I don't think you mean it and I don't think you see it but it's there, and it's real, and it's this: It's like you need him to be sick, like it's feeding something in you. Without it, you starve.

I have waited 30 years to know my brother. You can leave him if you want to, I'm staying right here by his side.

Broken

Posted by Anonymous.

My dear mother-in-law,

I don't know that you realized this weekend how much your cavalier comments regarding the abuse that I endured as a child have wounded me. Your flip responses and unwillingness to hear what I was saying have thrown me into a tailspin, causing me to recall many of the painful, humiliating, terrorizing events of my childhood. I feel that I need to clarify exactly what I mean when I say that I was abused, so that you can make your own decision whether or not to believe me.

This weekend you repeated to me, multiple times, that you assumed that my father was "only" verbally abusive. While "only" being verbally and emotionally abusive may seem like a trivial matter to you, the fact is that those are the wounds that never seem to heal. The bones that have been broken and the bruises that I've had are long since gone, but I deal with the after effects of the emotional abuse to this day. While you may have convinced yourself that I was "only" verbally abused, I can recall several occasions where I discussed with you about exactly what my childhood was like and described the abuse that I endured. The fact that you don't recall these conversations forces me to believe that you did not take my history seriously, and dismissed it. If you once again choose to disregard my truths, I'm afraid that for the best interest of my marriage and my child, I will have as little to do with you as possible. I simply cannot tolerate your type of negativity and close-mindedness – I have worked too hard to build a happy, productive life.

For your edification, I will give you a few examples, and a bit of history:

My very first memory is of my father lunging across our kitchen table to try and strangle my mother. She had made some sort of financial mistake, and written the wrong number in a ledger in pen. He pulled out a large clump of her hair – she never even fought back. I was sitting on the floor, playing with the dog. I couldn't have been more than two and a half when this happened. Shortly thereafter, his attention and anger shifted toward me. I bore the brunt of his abuse until I left home at 18.

In another of my earliest memories, Dad had made me cereal for lunch. He was taking care of me that day, because he was in college and preschool was expensive. I was eating the cereal out of a bowl that stuck onto the table by means of a big suction cup on the bottom. While trying to get the last of my Cheerio's out of the bowl, I accidentally upended it, spilling the milk all over the kitchen floor. Dad made me lick the milk up off the floor, telling me that I had to get every drop or he would beat me. He then made me spend the rest of the afternoon crawling on all fours like the "animal I was." He didn't like messes, you see.

When I was in elementary school and had gotten in trouble for something (I don't remember what) Dad forgot to hit me where my clothes would cover the bruises. I lipped off, and he hit me with a balled fist. I got a horrible black eye – I had a laceration on my eyelid and my eye itself almost swelled closed. My Mom, who was teaching in the same school as me at the time, told everyone that I had fallen down the steep stairs to our basement. They believed her. I learned a hard lesson that day. Adults were quite willing to believe a story told to make them feel better, at the expense of the well being of a child. Of course, I was too scared to tell anyone what really happened. Sadly, it seems to me that you, too, would rather invent for me a happier childhood than the one that fate dealt me.

The day that I was graduating from high school, I spent the afternoon home with my father and grandmother. Dad decided that I absolutely had to change the oil and filters on my car before he'd allow me to go to my graduation. I was graduating 8th in a class of four hundred and something kids, and receiving several awards for academic excellence. He said that he "didn't give a fuck what I'd done in school, that I would always be an arrogant little bitch, and he was going to teach me a lesson." He did. He knocked me around, pushing me to the ground in the garage and shoving my face underneath the car. I somehow managed to change the oil and the filters and still make it with minutes to spare to the graduation ceremony, though I remember still having grease on my hands. It was a hard day for him. It's always been difficult for him to see me succeed where he'd failed, and he dropped out of high school at 17. All I could think about was how the end of high school and my childhood meant that I could get away, far, far away, from him.

I thought that leaving home would be the answer to all of the problems that I had with my father. I had always baited him when he was angry and spoiling for a fight, because, quite frankly, I was the only person in the family who could endure his wrath. I always figured that if I diverted his rage towards me, my mother and sister would be safe. And it worked, until I left home. As soon as I left, he turned his abuse more towards them, and I was powerless to do anything about it from thousands of miles away.

I accepted plane tickets from him to come home from college over spring break; despite the fact that I knew it was a bad idea. By this point in my life, I realized that everything he'd ever given me came with strings attached. But I was desperate to see my mom and sister, to make sure that they were doing all right, so I came home. Within a few days of my (two week) vacation, he decided that I'd broken his computer. And when I couldn't fix it quickly enough, he threw me into a wall, then another, then a chair. When I reached out to hit him back (by this time I was in therapy and realized that I could not let him abuse me and retain what shreds of dignity I had left), he grabbed my wrist. I heard it snap. I got in my car and called a friend from the the out-of-state college that I was attending who was in town visiting high school friends at the local University. She told me to go to the doctor, and I did. I had 3 broken ribs and a hairline fracture in my wrist. While this was the first time that I'd had x-rays to show that my ribs were broken, I remembered having the exact same pain many times as a child. The x-rays showed that my ribs had many previously healed fractures. I can't say that I was surprised. I spent the rest of my break staying with a stranger (a friend of a friend) in the dorms, because I didn't have anywhere else to go. I swore then that I would never let him hurt me again.

The next year, I returned to my hometown to attend the state school there. I knew that, academically, it was a poor decision. I had a 3.95 GPA and a great scholarship at my out-of-state school – it wasn't as though I'd had any trouble succeeding there. But the suspense of worrying about my family day in and day out was wearing on me, and I made the decision after the spring break incident that I needed to be closer to my sister. At that time, she was only 10 years old. I wanted to be able to provide that safe haven for her if she ever needed it, the one that I'd never had. So I rented an apartment with another student, rather than moving into the dorms. If she needed a place to stay, I wouldn't be allowed to take her in with me in the dorms. An apartment had no such restrictions.

At school in my hometown that fall, I met your son. I was, when I met him, prickly at best. I was just learning how to live on my own, and dealing with many more issues than most other kids my age. Nevertheless, his kindness and generosity helped convince me that every man was not necessarily out to hurt me. Quite simply put, he restored my faith in the opposite sex, and taught me that the way I was brought up was the NOT way it had to be. I fell in love with his kindness first, because I was unaccustomed to a person who genuinely cared for someone else without expecting something in return. Without feeling the need to hurt them. Until I met your son, I had thought that pain and love were inseparable, at least in my life. I credit his upbringing with the majority of his kindness – you should be proud of him. He is a truly good person, in a world where such character is increasingly rare.

That brings me back to why I'm writing you this letter. Because, you see, I have worried for years that I would not be able to break the cycle of abuse. And now that we are expecting a child, it weighs increasingly on me. I know in my heart that I would not intentionally hurt my child, but I still fear it. That was what I was trying to express at breakfast the other day. But you chose to misinterpret what I said, to twist it. I don't know if it was your ignorance that prompted your comment about "having to set my child's bones" or some sort of hubris, but I want you to know that it was out of line. That it hurt me deeply, because to me, that comment and those that followed proved to me that you either never listened to my story, or have chosen not to hear it.

With a child on the way, I will again be in a position where I need to protect someone other than just myself. I will not allow anyone else to again twist my childhood to make it appear something it was not. I lived in a house where irrational anger and unexpected tirades ruled. I learned to cover bruises with makeup before I was 10. I have risen from that upbringing to become a generally positive, productive, successful adult. Your son has played the major role in my transformation. He, too, has sacrificed so that we could live near my sister and create a home for her, should she need it. He, too, has deflected my father's anger many a time.

I know that it is difficult for you to reconcile my relationship my family with how I feel about the abuse. Simply put, I abhor the sin but love the sinner. While I have managed to forgive everyone involved, I still would not trust my father not to hurt me or someone else again. That isn't ignoring the abuse, that's just being responsible. He has proven over and over again that he is incapable of controlling his anger, and it is only prudent for me to take the appropriate precautions to protect myself and those that I love.

By denying the conditions that made me who I am, you are ignoring what I consider to be one of my greatest achievements. I stood (close) by and bore witness to my father's abuse – to the extent that I was able, I did not allow him to pass that abuse on to my sister as he had to me. I have protected my mother whenever I could, despite the fact that she was, at best, complicit in most of the abuse. I have been there for them. My mother and sister have known that I would do everything in my power to protect them. My sister always knew that if she wanted me to, I would sue for custody of her. For the last eight years, she has had a safe place to go, with strong locks on the doors. She had a haven to run to when he was being irrational and she was afraid. And she needed that safe place, many times. She never had to sleep in a car when it was below freezing outside, as I did. I am proud of that. I think that your son is, too.

In the interest of maintaining a relationship with you, I can't allow you to insist that I am lying about my childhood. I can't allow you to twist my reality to fit the mold that you would like all families to fit. It is simply too important to me that I remember, so that I can bear witness against it should I ever face that demon again in my life. So that I can stand up for others who do not have the resources or fortitude to stand up for themselves. You can choose either to accept my less-than-perfect upbringing, or not. But if you continue to dispute me on it every time it comes up, I will have to have as little to do with you as possible, for my own self-preservation. I still fall apart when these memories are called, unbidden, from the deepest recesses of my mind. I have been a mess for days. I am hoping that clarifying what I have lived through will help you to be more compassionate, and less aggressively argumentative when I discuss such things around you. If you can't handle it, I understand that, too. But it means that you will play a seriously limited role in my life, and that of my child.

Sincerely,

Your daughter-in-law

They Say It's Your Birthday

Posted By Anonymous.

Dear Mother-in-law,

Damn! Already off to a bad start. Because technically, you are not my in-law. You’re the woman who birthed that guy I live with. Your son. As far as you know, your son and I have not had a stranger declare us Husband and Wife. We haven’t handed money over to The Government in exchange for a piece of paper that makes our relationship legitimate. And we haven’t held a big party so that relatives can grumble later that the food was too spicy.

I’ve been with your son for eight years, and for seven of those we’ve been living outside the law. Except we haven’t, not really. We pay taxes together and get invited places together and he was on my group health plan at work. We’re boring outlaws, really.

I’m writing to you because once again, you haven’t bothered to acknowledge my birthday. And I want you to know that it really hurts.

I know, crazy, right? I’m a grown woman, with 34 birthdays behind me; I should be beyond such petty things as acknowledgement of the day I was born. But here’s the thing:

You send your grown son, the son in his mid-thirties, the son who has not lived with you or been financially dependent on you for 15 years – you send him cards all the time. Valentine cards. Easter cards. Halloween cards. You sewed a giant advent calendar one year. You sent stuffed bunny rabbits at Easter the following year. You address these cards and age-inappropriate gifts to him, and you’ve kept them coming steadily over the years.

But there is no birthday card for the woman who lives with him. You know, the person he shares his life with? The gal he loves?

Your daughter told me that her boyfriend, whose birthday is three days after mine, received a birthday card AND a gift card from you this year. Which of course was very nice of you. Very thoughtful.

But nothing for me. Okay: it’s petty time.

As stated above, and as you are well aware, we have been together for eight years. Your daughter and her boyfriend have been together half that time. I have a friend who has gone through two divorces in the past eight years. It is not an insignificant amount of time, and it has not always been easy. YOU KNOW THAT.

I’ve sent you birthday cards and pestered your son to make sure we get a present off to you on time.

I’ve wracked my brain to come up with interesting birthday gifts for you. I’ve written thank-you notes for the Christmas presents you sent.

Boyfriend tells me that you’ve never even asked when my birthday is. Whoa – here’s some more pettiness: my mother has his birthday marked on her calendar and she always sends him a gift. Always always always.
She’s not too happy about us not being married either, but her marriage is a pit of misery and despair, and I think she’s pretty happy to see me happy. I shouldn’t compare you to my mom, but I can’t help it.

One year you happened to call on my birthday, and when Boyfriend told you we were about to go out to celebrate – you asked to speak to me. You wished me a happy birthday. It was very nice.
That’s when I thought “Aha! Now she knows when my birthday is! I’m gonna get a card next year! Or a phone call! Or an email!” Problem solved. I did a happy dance. Acknowledgement from the family of the man I love!

But that was….five? years ago. No birthday card from you, ever. But those weird valentines and stuffed animals keep on arriving.

I married your son one spring day seven years ago. I don’t remember the date. But I remember how I felt that day, when we made the overwhelmingly adult decision to move in together. I remember my tummy fluttering with the realization that I wanted to be with this man through everything. EVERYTHING. We didn’t want a wedding, we didn’t want a party, we didn’t want someone else to declare us married. I know this is not within your realm of reality, but couldn’t you just pretend?

Mother-in-law, I don’t want to send you any more birthday cards. I don’t want to pay for super expensive shipping costs to make sure a birthday gift arrives on time. But then I have a problem, because of that good ol’ credo: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I think those are fairly wise words to live by.

See? There’s the problem. Because I love getting things in the mail, and I love it when people remember my birthday, I know that you must like it too. To know that someone spent time choosing or making a card, addressing an envelope, looking for a stamp? Or a phone call. An email. It’s nice to be thought of.

But I think I’m being a bit of a chump here. What would Miss Manners tell me to do? She would tell me to suck it up and just get married already. And to handwrite the marriage announcements. But that advice messes with MY belief system, which is often contrary to the beliefs of Society At Large. But my belief system is important to me.

Your birthday is coming up, so I have to make a decision soon about whether to throw something in the damn mail for you. But whatever I decide, PLEASE stop sending your son valentine cards meant for a 10 year old. It was kind of funny at first, but now it’s just….creepy.

Sincerely,

Fake Daughter-in-law

Dear Sister-In-Law...

Posted by Anonymous.


Dear Sister-in-Law,

I am not the best parent in the world, but I am better than you. How dare you yell at my child last night in your parents house because she brought a cookie downstairs. First, this is not your house. Second, cookies downstairs are allowed in grandma's house. Third, she's not your kid to yell at. Fourth, don't get out of it by saying that's your pet peeve. I was at your house last week and you know what I found? Candy wrappers by the guest bed and a moldy apple core in your bathroom. Hypocrite. And how dare you mock my child for using manners. IT'S WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO WHO WANT FRIENDS.

You want to know what my pet peeve is? That you tell your kids to shut up, you hit them, you slap them, you call them names. All you do is yell. You hit them when they hit their siblings and follow with a "DON'T HIT". You tell them "don't call your brother names, stupid." Instead of playing with them you ignore them and if they dare try to talk to you your response is "GO AWAY YOU'RE ANNOYING ME!"

You expect your kids to be so well behaved with this martial law you lay down. The big problem is that you are more immature than your five year old. Grow up and treat your kids with respect if you ever want them to do the same. You're kids are adorable and just want POSITIVE attention.

And another thing-a $4,000 washer and dryer? A $6,000 60" TV? A brand new car whenever you get sick of the old one? Your parents are making your house payment and these are your priorities? How about you spent $10 and get some pants for your kids? Why are they always in diapers and dirty disgusting t-shirts? I don't get you.

These are the things I want to say, but we are family, so I don't.

Thanks for listening.

-the one with the clean kid.