Twinkle: MIL Pathology

Tonight we had an extended family birthday/dinner anniversary dinner at my inlaws' home for all the people with occasions to celebrate in November. (This included both Mr. Twinkle's and my birthdays as well as our anniversary)...so the whole family was there, and they very generously gave us gifts and came to celebrate with us and all that, which was nice. But, wouldn't you know it?--I still have some b*tchin' to do.

Rewind to the beginning: I was in a quiet room changing Twinklette's diaper when the majority of the guests arrived, so we walked out to a huge room full of family members that Twinklette sees on occasion, but not every week or anything--and they were all staring at her because everyone always stares at the only little kid in the room. I understand this can be a daunting social situation for an almost 2-year-old. So Twinklette wanted to be held, and unequivocally stated, "Mommy, Mommy, I want Mommy." Well, my MIL never could stand the idea that Twinklette actually likes me--and she especially dislikes it when Twinlkette shows her preference for me in a large social setting, so MIL got up in her grill and said, "Do you want to come to Grams?" As if her position on the issue were somehow unclear before, Twinklette again said, "Mommy, Mommy, I want Mommy." But MIL still did not give up. She said, "Do you want to come help Grams?" Twinklette threw her arms around me neck tightly. My father-in-law said, "Is she tired?" (because, again, not one of these people can ever imagine that a child might just want her mother sometimes) and I said, "No, she's just feeling shy--which is OK sometimes, isn't it, Twinklette?" Then MIL goes, "Do you want to come help Grams in the kitchen?" and Twinklette again said, "I want Mommy." Well, this was too much for MIL to bear. She said, in front of the whole room--as if repeating what Twinklette had just said--"Come on, Mommy!" as if Twinklette really wanted to go help Grams and I was the only thing standing in her way. (MIL has a long history of repeating loudly what she wishes Twinklette has just said; it usually happens when Twinklette has said something sweet or complimentary to me, but MIL finds a way to announce a distorted version to the room).

But wait...this is just the beginning, and the pathology just becomes more evident later on in the evening...

Those of you who know me know that my inlaws are not ones to recognize that I might mean more to my daughter than, say, a sofa pillow. So you can imagine my delight when, in the middle of dinner, Twinklette looked at me and adorably stated, "You're a good Mommy." She didn't just say it once, she said it several times. She also told Mr. Twinkle he was a good Daddy, which was also adorable and the only time my MIL acknowledged the statement...whatever, I'm used to it. And, while it wasn't the first time Twinklette had made this statement to me, she chose an incredibly opportune time to bring it up in front of the whole family (even though they ignored it). You can be sure I relished it.

Well, a few minutes later, the subject of law school and bar exams came up between a cousin and his friend who are in their last year of law school. Well, evidently MIL could not bear the sweet toddler-to-mommy moment the table had just witness without tooting her own horn a bit, so she decided to tell the story about how when Mr. Twinkle took the bar exam, in the archaic age before cell phones, she stealthily followed him to and from the exam without his knowing, just to make sure he got there OK and his car didn't break down or he had a flat tire or anything that would have prevented him from taking the exam (he had a reliable Saturn at the time, by the way...he was not driving some clunker). But, whatever, cute story...I'm sure my mom's done something similar and I will probably do worse. The story is not the point...here is the point: she finished the story with, "And I followed him all the way to his exam to make sure he got there OK--what a good mother!"

Um, it's not really as effective if you have to say it about yourself, Grams.