What good is it to run around picking up toys and straightening clutter just before my MIL arrives at my house for a pick-up or drop-off? It does nothing but feed the pettiness of our relationship and make me somehow subordinate to her in my own home, and so I refuse to do it. I realized that a lot of her power and influence comes from me actually caring what she thinks, and since she's never going to approve anyway, I'm going to stop caring and just be my normal (some would say fabulous) self.
It is hard, because I'm a natural straightener and I like for our house to be neat for us (not solely for the sake of my MIL). Mr. Twinkle was home alone all day today and the place looked about like you'd expect when I walked in the door, five minutes before my in-laws returned our children. I resisted the urge to pick up--and not just that, but I resisted the urge to apologize for the mess. The last thing I owe her in my own home is an explanation. I just want to be real with that woman--even if she can't or won't be real with me. And our reality happens to be that, between two small children and Mr. T, neatness in our house is a constant battle. And today's mess was all his, so screw you, MIL--you raised him, not I.
She came in, probably thinking unkind thoughts about the disheveled pillows and blankets on the sofa, guns blazing about some Dora balloon from the Shriners' circus. Here's the text of the passive-aggressive attack (a thinly-veiled jab at my no-tv, limited character policy).
MIL: She picked this out.
Me (fine with Dora): Oh, Twinklette--that is so cute! I love it!
MIL: It wasn't me. She wanted it.
Me (really and truly not caring about the Dora thing): Well, thank you--that was sweet of you to buy her a treat.
MIL: She said she's watched Dora before. She said she has the movie.
Me: No, we don't have any Dora movies.
MIL: Well, she said she has the movie.
(MIL then walked away from the conversation so I couldn't get the last word in).
Twinklette: Yes we do, Mommy. (See what I mean about her throwing me under the bus?)
Me: No, sweetie. I don't know what you're thinking of, but we don't have any Dora movies. (We really don't. I am not some hypocrite who secretly parks my children in front of Dora the Explorer and then preaches loudly about the evils of screen time for children).
Twinklette: Yes, Mommy. I watched it last night.
(MIL was still trying to ignore it all so she could continue thinking that I am a closet Dora-pusher, but I was NOT letting this one go).
Me: Oh--did the sitter let you watch Dora? (to MIL:) It was the sitter.
MIL:: Well, she definitely knows who Dora is.
(Yes, she's four, goes to school, and lives in the world. I suppose she does know who Dora is).
Me: Yes, she knows who she is. It's not a big deal. Twinklette, I love what you chose--let me see Dora do a twirl.
I mean, do you see the passive-aggressive bullsh*t I have to put up with? It's so small and petty that even describing it makes me seem small-minded, but everything out of her mouth is a judgment or indictment of me or someone else (no one is immune, actually--I shouldn't take it personally). But I do, and I wish I didn't have to defend myself and my beliefs, or deal with subtle accusations that I do not practice what I preach. I just want to be my real self, and I want her to respect that. She never will, which is why I just can't let it bother me.
* P.S. I love all the blog activity recently! Keep it up, Daddy Rabbit Girls!
No comments:
Post a Comment