Ok, SO!
Alison here… with the first order of business: it’s Tuesday night, and yep that’s right, YOU’RE BACHELOR RECAP IS IN PROGRESS. OH ALSO, DID I JUST WRITE *YOU’RE* IN THAT SENTENCE BACK THERE WHERE I TALKED ABOUT YOUR BACHELOR RECAP? Because I could swear I’m smarter than that.
What in the F Word is happening to me.
I have a mind to think it’s this whole Chrisharrison situation that just happened to my face. Chrisharrison had to pull me aside earlier to tell me some story that I was totally thinking was about my best friend dying or my dog dying or the apocalypse or that I’m pregnant with the child of Satan or that I have to marry Ben, because of the awkward way he made THE MOST MAGNIFICENT OF DEALS ABOUT IT when he came to grab me. But it turns out he just had to tell me about some really awesome, awesome guy from my past who really loves to eff up my future, and how I now have to go home for no good reason, and then my face started crying for like, I think it was at least four commercial breaks. It was rough. But I’m sure Chrisharrison totally didn’t sum up my abrupt departure to my family and friends by saying “Alison had to go home because she was here for the wrong reasons,” or anything like that, I’m sure of it. I trust Chrisharrison and his unwavering dedication to truth-telling.
NEW TOPIC, IT START NOW!
SORRY, ME LOW ON WELL-CRAFTED TRANSITIONS AT MOMENT; ALL RESOURCES ARE BELONG TO RECAP
We introduced a fun, upbeat, super-lighthearted new series recently, on the topic of totally awful, horrible in-law situations that completely sucked/were hard. And given the way our last real life story went over with y’all, I’m psickity-psyched to bring you yet another harrowing tale of what happens when families that are not equally prepared to merge… like totally MERGE anyway.
…. aaaaand, GO! Oh WAIT wait wait, first, the disclaimer of sorts:
I think we all know that there are lovely, kind, wonderful in-laws out there, as well as go-with-the-flow in-laws, and not-very-involved in-laws…. clearly, since in-laws are people, naturally they come in all shapes, sizes, and personalities. And many make a bride’s transition from girlfriend to wife easy breezy beautiful – even delightful in many cases! – and for these types of in-laws we are beyond grateful. They disprove the reigning stigma. Trust me, great in-laws do exist!
Unfortunately, they don’t exist in all cases. Even more, they are hardly the exception to the rule.
Now, without further adieu, I introduce you to Miss M, and her story.
Why hello there, TKB readers! It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances, and if I could reach through my monitor, I would definitely give you each a hearty handshake, and then pull you into a hug. Because I am a major personal space invader like that.
I’m here today to talk about in-laws. I’m sure that the mere reading of that wordage right there might have just sent some of you into a full body spasm. And I get it. Oh believe me, I get it. I am married to an amazing man; he’s kind, funny, a great cook, and he’s quite the studmuffin, if I do say so myself. I get a high five for snagging him and making him all mine. And then we have…the family. A group of people who seem to dally back and forth between thinking I’m awesome and being very irked with me for forking the family tree. Pun entirely intended.
Let me first regale you with the sordid tale of what I affectionately refer to as The Great Phone Chain Incident. Shortly after we got engaged I made a casual joke about my Italian family. Something about generally being loud and gatherings vaguely resembling scenes from My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding…only Italian, so there’s trippa in lieu of lamb on a spit. Somehow, a couple of aunts got “mafia” from that. No really…I said, “some of my relatives like to eat fish guts”, and they heard, “tick us off and you might wake up with a horse head in your bed”. And they called a couple other aunts who called grandma and mom. Who called my sweetie and asked if he really knew what he was doing getting involved with something like that. Now, we’re without volume control, we talk with our hands incessantly, and eat like we’ve gathered at a trough, but taking hits on people is not something we do a lot of. Unless you count annoying someone to death. We do a lot of that.
Next, we have The Birdseed Incident. (sidebar: I like using the word “incident”.) After being a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding, I learned the hard way that I was not a big fan of birdseed for exits. It sticks to everything and has a strange tendency to wedge itself in weird places. So when the time came for me to get married, I went an alternate route for our exit, and specifically said that I didn’t want birdseed. According to my MIL, you’re not really married if you don’t have birdseed. So she brought her own. Even though I point blank said I didn’t want any there. And then she distributed it to her friends. We were nearly to our car when I took an overhand throw to the face. My eyes were open, and so was my mouth. Our photographer, hoping to capture a sweet shot of us kissing, waving, etc… instead got a shot of my new husband trying help me get the seeds out of my eyes as I spat more seeds into the floor of the car. Sexy and romantic, no?
So now that we’re married, and throwing stuff at me isn’t a viable option, my MIL now likes to exercise her right to do whatever she pleases by calling her son an average of 14 times a day. More if her spidey sense kicks in and she thinks we’re on a date. It’s usually pretty life altering stuff, such as, “I saw on the news that a blue car was in a wreck, and I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t you”. Never mind that the blue car in a wreck was in another state. And I know that phone calls aren’t particularly invasive, but if he doesn’t answer, she’ll just hang up and call right back, until he finally answers. And if he still doesn’t answer? Well, then she’ll just come on over…because she’s “worried that something must be wrong because [insert name of my studly hubby] didn’t answer his phone”. And then there was the time that she nearly leg swept me to get back to the recovery room after my hubby had surgery before I could see him. Seriously, I have witnesses. There was sprinting and “oh no she di-in”’s involved. And Heaven forbid we leave her presence without her getting her hugs. We’ve pulled over into random parking lots to meet her for hugs more times than I care to count. I knew I’d made it when we had to turn around and go back to a restaurant because I got into the car before making my hug quota. At least I’m getting included.
Listen, I’m not trying to say that my husband has exactly walked into the most benign of situations. For 2 years running, my family has managed to spend a disconcerting amount of time discussing farting, naked people, and the word “nipple’ pretty much every time we’re all together. My 80 year old grandmother offered to jump out of a cake at his bachelor party, and I don’t really think she was kidding. My grandfather is prone to saying things so politically incorrect that I’m honestly embarrassed to type it out. We also consider no holds barred Jeopardy watching, with lots of yelling in the general direction of the TV, a majorly good time. We’re not exactly teeming with normalcy ourselves over here.
Strangely enough, we all really get along most of the time, and my husband and I rarely argue about familial issues. I’m not saying never… I think that comes with good communication sometimes. We can even intermingle the mob bosses with the chronic smotherers and it’s mostly pretty docile. So how in the world do we do that? Honestly, there’s not one great formula. If there was, I would have already written that book and would be relaxing on my private island in the Bahamas. We handle everything on case by case basis, and the solutions range from simply letting things go, to setting new boundaries, to a good friend who can totally relate and responds promptly to the “omg, I’m about to lose my s@!$ text, to things our families like to pretend we don’t do that we actually do all. The. Time. IfyaknowwhatImean.
So, what about you guys? I’m eager to hear what stories you have. Trust me… a good cyber-rant session is some of the best therapy money can’t buy. ;-)
xoxo - Miss M